#which involves c sharp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaeyunluvbot · 7 months ago

Text

bite the hand

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 enemies to lovers-ish, college au, hockey player!sunghoon, slightly nerdy!reader, angst, happy ending

word count 𝟅𝟈 4.6k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You take a deep breath, staring at your computer screen as you will yourself to finish your lab report before the weekend. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above only makes it harder to focus, their droning buzz tugging at your already fragile attention span.

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands as another burst of laughter erupts from the table next to you. The group of students there seems oblivious to the library’s supposed quiet rule, their chatter growing louder with every passing minute. A part of you wants to tell them to shut up, but the thought of confronting them fills you with dread.

Your eyes drift back to the unfinished lab report, mocking you with every cursor blink. Defeated, you shut your laptop with a sharp click and shove it into your bag. You’ve had enough of the noise, deciding that the solitude of your dorm is a far better place to work—or nap.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder and stand to leave, you throw one last glare at the rowdy table. Your irritation deepens when your eyes meet Park Sunghoon’s. He’s sitting there, mid-laugh, but the second your gazes lock, his amusement falters into surprise. Embarrassed, you look away and hurry out of the library, the encounter making your retreat feel even more awkward.

On your way back to your dorm, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance reveals an email notification from your professor. You unlock your phone, opening the email and skimming its contents. He’s asking if you’d be willing to tutor a struggling student who’s in danger of failing their class. There’s payment involved, and the arrangement would look good on your resume, but the thought of adding another task to your packed schedule makes you hesitate.

After weighing your options, you sigh and type out a reply. I’ll do it.

Reaching your dorm, you toss your bag onto the floor and collapse onto your bed without even bothering to change your clothes. Sleep comes quickly, a much-needed reprieve from your overworked mind.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days later, you walk into your chemistry lab, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You’d managed to finish your lab report over the weekend, but at the cost of the recovery time you desperately needed. Now, the decision to tutor feels like a mistake. Scanning the room, you notice several students looking as lost as ever, and you dread the thought of figuring out which one you’d be charged with helping.

Once the lab ends, you pack your things and prepare to leave, but your professor’s voice cuts through the buzz of conversation. “Y/N, could you stay for a moment?”

You pause, your curiosity mingling with annoyance. As you approach his desk, you notice someone standing beside him. It’s Park Sunghoon.

Your stomach sinks. He looks as sheepish as you feel, his hands shoved into his pockets and his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N,” your professor begins with a smile, “I’d like you to meet the student you’ll be tutoring—Park Sunghoon. Sunghoon, this is Y/N. I’m confident you two will make a great team.”

Sunghoon glances at you, his lips quirking into an awkward smile. “Uh, hi,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

You force a smile, your irritation at the boy bubbling up despite your best efforts to bury it. Of all people…

You clear your throat and nod stiffly. “Hi,” you reply, finding it difficult to keep your voice level.

Your professor beams, clearly oblivious to the awkwardness between you. “Why don’t you two exchange contact information so you can set up a time to meet?”

Sunghoon hesitates briefly, then pulls out his phone. You mirror the action, feeling your stomach twist as a rush of old memories surfaces—memories you’d rather forget. He recites his number, and you type it in, deliberately avoiding eye contact as you save it to your contacts under a simple Park Sunghoon.

“I’ll text you later,” you say sharply, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. “We can figure out a schedule then.”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, his voice softer than you remember. He fidgets, glancing at you briefly before looking away, not that you noticed, having avoided contact, visual or not, with him since you left high school.

Your professor clasps his hands together, clearly satisfied. “Perfect! Thanks again, Y/N—you’re doing a great thing.”

You force a tight smile, muttering a polite response before excusing yourself. The moment you step out of the classroom, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Park Sunghoon. Of course, it had to be him...

The walk to work feels longer than usual, your mind spiraling as you replay the memories you’ve worked so hard to bury. Sunghoon hadn’t been the worst person in high school��not overtly cruel, at least—but he had been a part of the group that made your life hell. His hockey teammates were relentless with their taunts, mocking your clothes, your grades, even the way you walked. And while Sunghoon never joined in directly, he never stopped them either. He just stood by, laughing along like it was some kind of joke.

You swallow hard, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. Maybe he’s changed since then. It’s been a couple of years, after all. People grow up, right? But the thought of spending time with him—helping him, of all things—makes your stomach churn.

By the time you reach the café, your frustration has morphed into a simmering resentment. You shove your bag into the staff locker and tie your apron around your waist, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

The hum of the espresso machine and the steady stream of customers provide a welcome distraction, but Sunghoon’s face lingers in the back of your mind. What was your professor thinking, asking you to tutor him? And why had you agreed so quickly?

You paste on a customer-service smile as you take another order, trying to shake off the unease. Maybe this would be fine. Maybe he wasn’t the same person he used to be. But as much as you want to believe that, a voice in the back of your head whispers otherwise.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next day, after exchanging a few brief texts with Sunghoon, you agree to meet in one of the smaller study rooms in the library. You keep the messages as formal and impersonal as possible, giving him the time and location with no room for small talk.

When you arrive, he’s already there, slouched in a chair with his phone in hand. He looks up as you walk in, straightening slightly but not saying anything. You drop your bag onto the table and pull out your notebook and laptop, keeping your eyes on your supplies instead of him.

“Let’s get started,” you say curtly, flipping open the notebook to the notes you’ve prepared. “What exactly are you struggling with?”

Sunghoon shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Pretty much everything.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course. “Okay, well, we’re going to start with the basics. If you don’t understand those, there’s no point in moving forward.” You flip to the beginning of your notebook, clearly having underestimated just how behind he was.

Sunghoon listens, his expression unreadable. He nods occasionally, jotting down notes without comment. Every time you ask if he has questions, he shakes his head, his indifference irritating you even more.

The air between you feels tense, the silence only broken by the sound of your pen scratching against the paper or the occasional rustle of Sunghoon shifting in his seat. You stick strictly to the material, explaining concepts and walking him through problems all while avoiding eye contact with him.

After about an hour, you close your notebook with a decisive snap. “That’s enough for today,” you say, packing up your things quickly. “Practice these problems before our next session, or this’ll be a waste of time.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at your tone but doesn’t say anything. “Got it,” he says, his voice as neutral as yours.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand, eager to leave. As you head for the door, Sunghoon’s voice stops you.

“Hey,” he says, and you turn reluctantly to face him. He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Thanks, I guess. For doing this.”

You blink, caught off guard, but quickly school your features into neutrality. “Don’t thank me yet,” you say, and walk out without another word.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It had been weeks since you started tutoring Sunghoon, and while he had made some minimal progress, his commitment—or lack thereof—was driving you insane. With the big exam coming up, you’d been trying to schedule an extra session to review the material, but every time you texted him, he either claimed he was busy with hockey or straight-up ignored your messages.

You slammed your phone onto your desk after yet another unread text from him. Why am I even trying?

By the time your next class rolled around, you were on the verge of screaming. As soon as the lecture ended, you spotted him at the back of the room, chatting casually with one of his friends. Your frustration boiled over.

“Sunghoon!” you called sharply, cutting through the buzz of students packing up.

He glanced over, startled, and his friend quickly ducked out of the way, sensing the tension. You marched up to him, your jaw tight and your eyes blazing.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped, ignoring the stares from a few lingering classmates. “You’ve been ignoring my texts for the last week. I’m done.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you wasting my time,” you hissed. “I’ve been trying to help you, but you don’t even care enough to show up half the time! Do you think I don’t have better things to do?”

He frowned, his expression darkening. “I do care. I just—”

“No, you don’t,” you cut him off. “You care about hockey and parties and whatever else you’re doing instead of studying. But you don’t care about passing this class, and I’m not going to keep wasting my time on someone who obviously doesn't care or respect my time.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he said, his voice tight, “If I fail, I can’t play. I’ll get benched.”

You stared at him, was he seriously saying that right now? “And whose fault is that?” you asked sharply. “You think I’m the one who’s been skipping sessions and ignoring texts? This is on you, Sunghoon. Not me.”

His face flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger, you couldn’t tell. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “Do whatever you want.”

“Fine,” you shot back.

He walked past you without another word, leaving you standing there with your fists clenched at your sides. The stares from the remaining students felt like needles in your skin, but you ignored them, storming out of the room and heading straight for your dorm.

As soon as you got to your desk, you opened your laptop and began typing out an email to your professor. You kept it short and professional, explaining that you could no longer tutor Sunghoon due to his lack of commitment and unwillingness to prioritize his studies.

After hitting send, you sat back in your chair, rubbing your temples. You wanted to feel relieved, but the knot in your chest only seemed to tighten.

Why do I even care? you wondered. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the image of Sunghoon’s frustrated expression—or the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t play.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The big exam had come and gone, with you achieving a perfect score, as usual, and for the first time in what felt like ages, your schedule had a lull. No tutoring, no extra shifts at the café, and no urgent RA duties. You spent most of the afternoon snuggled up in bed, watching your favorite movies and generally rotting away. You’d stopped thinking about Sunghoon entirely—except for the occasional pang of irritation when you remembered his smirk or the way he shrugged off your tutoring sessions. Whether he passed or failed, you didn’t know, and frankly, you didn’t care.

By evening, Liz and Wonyoung showed up at your dorm with all the energy of a cheer routine. Liz, your partner in suffering as a chemical engineering major, was insisting that you went out with them.

“You’ve been cooped up for weeks,” Liz said, digging through your closet. “You need a break. And a drink.”

“I don’t know…” you hesitated, but Wonyoung cut you off.

“No excuses. It’s Friday night, and you deserve to have some fun for once.”

Before you could argue further, Liz pulled out a dress you hadn’t worn in ages—a sleek, flattering number that made you feel good about yourself, but nervous at the same time. They practically shoved you into the bathroom to change, and when you finally emerged, their reactions made you blush.

“Okay, wow,” Liz said, grinning. “You look amazing.”

“Absolute goddess,” Wonyoung added. “You look perfect.”

Despite your initial hesitation, you agreed to go, your nerves bubbling under the surface. You couldn’t help but worry if Sunghoon would be there. After all, hockey players and college parties went hand in hand, and you knew his teammates and old friends would be out in full force.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived, music thumping through the walls of the off-campus house. You stuck close to Liz, nursing a drink she handed you as you tried to shake off your discomfort.

“Relax,” Liz said, nudging you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know.”

You took another sip, then another, letting the alcohol lessen the weight of stress on your chest. The more you drank, the less out of place you felt—though Liz kept an eye on you.

“Maybe slow down,” she said after your third drink.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, waving her off. “I just… need to relax. This helps.”

But your slight sense of calm shattered when you saw a group of people from your high school clustered near the back of the room. Among them was Sunghoon, leaning against the wall with that same effortless confidence that had always irritated you.

You tried to ignore them, but it didn’t take long for the group to notice you.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” one of them said, their voice cutting through the noise of the party.

“Oh my god, it is,” another chimed in. “Didn’t she always have her nose in a book back in high school?”

“And now look at her,” someone else snickered. “Trying way too hard.”

Your stomach sank, and you turned to walk away, but their laughter followed you.

“Shut up,” you heard Sunghoon say, his voice sharp.

The group fell silent, and you glanced back to see him glaring at them. For a split second, your eyes met his, but you turned and hurried toward the door before he could say anything.

The cool night air hit you like a slap, and you started walking, the alcohol making your steps uneven. You just needed to get home, to get away from all of it.

“Y/N, wait!”

You groaned, hearing Sunghoon’s voice behind you. “Go away, Sunghoon.”

He jogged to catch up, falling into step beside you. “You can’t walk home alone. You’re drunk.”

“I don’t care,” you muttered, picking up your pace.

He grabbed your arm gently, stopping you. “I care. Even if you hate me, I’m not letting you do this.”

You yanked your arm away, glaring at him. “Why do you care now? You didn’t care back then. You just stood there and let them treat me like garbage.”

He flinched, his expression softening. “I know,” he said quietly. “I was a coward. I should’ve done something, and I didn’t. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Great,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger. “You regret it. That doesn’t change anything.”

He looked at you, his jaw tight. “I know it doesn’t. But I’m sorry. For all of it.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but the anger bubbling in your chest wouldn’t let you accept it. Without another word, you turned and marched up to your dorm, slamming the door in his face as soon as you got inside.

Your phone buzzed with a text a few minutes later:

Park Sunghoon: Are you okay? Please let me know you got home safe.

You stared at the screen, your emotions a tangled mess. But you didn’t reply.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve managed to avoid Sunghoon for weeks now, successfully shoving thoughts of him to the back of your mind. For once, your schedule feels manageable—no last-minute tutoring sessions or stressful emails from your professor. You even have some free time to relax, which you’ve been using to catch up on sleep and unwind.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon feels like his guilt is eating him alive. Every time he sees you in class, he wants to apologize again, but the memory of your anger and disappointment keeps holding him back. His friends don’t make it easier.

“Forget her, dude. She’s just some uptight nerd. She's not worth it,” one of them says during lunch, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

But instead of agreeing, something inside Sunghoon snaps. He realizes that every time he’s around them, they make him feel worse about himself. About everything.

“You know what? I’m done,” he mutters, standing up and walking away, ignoring their confused calls after him.

For the first time in a long time, Sunghoon feels like he’s doing something right.

He starts studying more seriously, forcing himself to focus during lectures and spending time in the library instead of at parties. It’s frustrating at first—everything feels harder without someone to guide him. But little by little, he starts to understand the material.

When his professor hands back their graded exams weeks later, Sunghoon’s heart pounds in his chest. He flips it over and stares at the bold “B” at the top of the page. It’s not an A, but it’s the best grade he’s gotten all semester.

He wants to text you immediately, to show you that he’s not the same person you yelled at. He types out a message, attaching a picture of the exam: “Look, I actually passed! I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help."

But the text sits unread, as do all the other ones he had sent you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’re just leaving work when you see him waiting outside, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand.

“Sunghoon?” you ask, stopping in your tracks.

He looks nervous but determined. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute?”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He steps closer, holding up the exam. “I just… wanted to show you this. I got a B.”

You glance at the grade and then back at him. “Ok,” you say flatly, trying to walk past him, but he moves to block your path.

“Please,” he says. “I need to say this.”

You pause, your exhaustion fighting with your curiosity. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice soft but steady. “Not just for wasting your time or blowing you off during tutoring. For everything. For how I treated you in high school, for standing by when my friends were jerks to you. I was a coward, and I didn’t know how to deal with… anything, honestly.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself staring at him, speechless.

“I’m not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I hate the way I treated you. I hate that I hurt you. And I hate that I gave you every reason to think I’m just some… useless asshole.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m trying. I’ve been trying to change. To prove to myself that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You let his words sink in, the anger and hurt you’ve carried for years simmering just beneath the surface.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “You were a coward. And you did hurt me.”

He flinches, but you keep going.

“But… I can see you’re trying. And I respect that.”

His eyes light up with a glimmer of hope. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. “It means I’m not as mad at you anymore. But trust takes time, Sunghoon. You’ll have to prove it.”

“I will,” he promises, his voice earnest. “I won’t let you down again.”

With that, you finally let yourself smile, just a little. “We’ll see.”

As you walk away, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted. Maybe, just maybe, people really can change.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a few weeks since the two of you started working together again. Sunghoon is doing better in class—much better, actually—and has taken a noticeable turn for the better in life. He’s distanced himself from his old friends, who never did much for him except drag him down.

As much as you still don’t fully trust him, you can’t ignore how much he’s changed. He’s more focused now, more respectful, and maybe, just maybe, even a little bit likable.

And to your surprise, you’re starting to enjoy spending time with him, both in and out of tutoring. He’s always there now, walking to class with you, grabbing coffee, or just hanging out in the library when you’re working on assignments. He even comes along with you, Liz, and Wonyoung for some of your late-night hangouts, laughing along with your jokes, even if he doesn’t quite understand all the girl talk.

Liz and Wonyoung start giving each other knowing looks, and one night, after Sunghoon heads home, Liz grins mischievously.

“So, what’s going on between you two?” she asks casually.

You freeze. “What do you mean?”

Wonyoung snickers. “You two spend so much time together, and we see the way he looks at you. You sure you’re not into him?”

You shake your head, a nervous laugh escaping. “No. Definitely not. We’re just tutoring partners.”

Liz raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. If that’s true, then why are you so distracted every time he texts you? Why do you smile like that when his name pops up?”

You feel your face flush. “Shut up,” you mutter, pulling a pillow over your face. “I don’t like him. I just—he’s been there for me, ok? He’s changed.”

“Sure, sure,” Liz teases. “But you’re definitely into him. Don’t worry, we won't judge you.”

You groan into the pillow, but part of you wonders if they’re right. You’ve been trying to ignore the flutter in your chest when he’s near, the way your heart speeds up when he smiles at you or gives you one of those rare, genuine compliments. But you push it all aside. You don’t want to get hurt again, not after everything that happened in high school.

So, you keep things casual. You hang out, study together, laugh at his lame jokes, but you keep a distance.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, has been wrestling with his feelings for a while. He knows, deep down, that he likes you. And not just in a surface-level, "oh, she's cute" way. He values your company more than he thought possible. Your patience, your intelligence, your warmth—everything about you pulls him in, and every time he sees you, he wants to be closer.

But you’ve been pulling away recently, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know what’s changed, but he can feel the distance. And he doesn’t like it. Not at all.

So, after days of thinking it over, he makes up his mind. He can’t keep pretending he’s okay with just being your friend, your tutoring client. He decides to tell you how he feels, ignoring the risk and the burn of anxiety in his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s another Friday night when he shows up at your dorm, unannounced. Liz and Wonyoung are with you, watching a movie and chatting when you hear a knock at the door.

“Ugh, who’s that?” Liz mumbles as she gets up to answer it.

When she opens the door, Sunghoon stands there, his hands in his pockets and an anxious look on his face.

“I need to talk to Y/N,” he says, glancing over her shoulder at you.

“Uh, no, we’re having a girls’ night,” Liz says with a playful but firm tone. “What’s up, Hoon?”

Sunghoon looks from Liz to Wonyoung, then back at you. “I—I need to talk to her. It’s important.”

There’s something so serious in his eyes that it catches your attention. You stand up slowly, excusing yourself from the couch.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you two alone,” Liz says with a wink, grabbing Wonyoung’s hand and dragging her out of the room.

Once the door clicks shut, Sunghoon steps forward. His nervousness is palpable.

“Listen, I don’t know how to say this properly, but I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way,” he starts, looking at you with a vulnerability that’s hard to ignore. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t. But I like you, Y/N. I don’t know how else to say it, but I do.”

You blink at him, taken aback.

“I like you,” he repeats, more firmly this time, stepping closer. “And I think… I think I’ve liked you for a while now. I know this might sound out of nowhere, but I’ve been holding it in and pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You’re the person I want to be around. You’re the person I want to be with. So, I’m asking you…” He takes a deep breath. “Will you go out with me?”

You stand frozen, feeling a rush of emotions flood over you. The mix of confusion, joy, and fear swirls inside you. Your heart races in your chest as his words settle in.

It feels unreal—like this is some dream where everything is finally falling into place. But even so, you hesitate, unsure if you’re ready to take the leap.

But as you look at him, his earnest face, his sincerity, and the way he’s looking at you with so much hope, you can’t help but say it.

“Yes.”

Sunghoon’s face lights up, relief flooding through him as a wide smile spreads across his face. He reaches out to take your hand gently.

“I promise I won’t mess this up,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next day, Liz and Wonyoung don’t waste a single second, pouncing on you as soon as they see you.

“You’re dating Sunghoon now, aren’t you?” Liz asks, her grin stretching across her face.

You try to act casual, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “I guess I am.”

Wonyoung jumps up from her seat, practically tackling you in a hug. “Oh my God, we knew it! We knew it!”

Liz joins in the celebration, and you can’t help but laugh, even as the excitement bubbles up inside you. Sunghoon might’ve been a jerk before, but now, he’s someone you can trust. And for the first time in a long time, you’re excited to see where things go from here.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𝟅𝟈 ummmm i can't tell if i like this or not but oh well i'm too lazy to rewrite it. also sorry for so many text breaks i'm so bad at writing transitions. also thanks to my pookie kenzie for helping me think of the plot :3

#jaeyunluvbot #kpop #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #x reader #enhypen #enhypen angst #fluff #park sunhoon #college au

807 notes · View notes

lokisgoodgirl · 6 months ago

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: On a mandatory Christmas Avengers Getaway, resident Scrooge Loki discovers there is warmth to be found. (w/c 3.4k) Warnings: None, really. Fluff. Bit of angst. Brief reference to erotic fantasy. Loki in his Christmas feels. A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays & Season's Greetings my loves❤️ I hope all your days are merry & bright. 🎄

Loki’s hands dug deeper in his pockets with every methodical crunch of his boots into the snow.

The outline of the church was visible; the kind reproduced on a hundred greetings cards which had landed in Loki’s fanmail these past weeks. The cards, at least, he could ignore. Tony Stark’s ‘Olde Christmastime getaway’, it seemed, he could not.

The small church had a thick, proud steeple; old uneven walls arranged on either side in a way he was sure his brother would imminently compare to a cock and balls.

"Brother," Thor chittered madly beside him. "Doesn’t the dwelling yonder resemble—?"

Loki yanked a hand from his pocket and brushed it along a low wall running adjacent to the path. He lobbed a clutch of snow into Thor’s ruddy face and kept walking. He was in no mood for japes.

His eyes stung from the sharp, needling cold. The night was clear, and only his breath fogged the view of this place the gaggle of Avengers who insisted on ‘involving’ him hadn’t stopped wittering on about for months. Soon, they would realise he only spoiled the occasion. A perennially cracked door sending a draught through their warm surroundings.

A carol concert, he mused bitterly, shaking his head for the third time since leaving the toasted seclusion of his armchair at the lodge. Of all things he did not wish to partake in this weekend, the carol concert occupied prime position on Loki’s list of grievances.

I will go, he’d decided as Thor had forcibly manoeuvred Loki’s coat onto his body. But I shall not make merry. Loki of Asgard would not be caught dead engaging publicly in festive frivolities of any kind. Of that, he was resolved.

A soft, amber glow pulsed at the criss-crossed windows of the church. With a swell of hope, he wondered if the building was, in fact, unsalvageably ablaze. Perhaps, there would be no carol concert after all.

A vision of the cup of spiced wine he’d been rudely separated from flashed through his mind. Perhaps, it would still be steaming on his imminent return. Thor yanked his arm roughly towards the wooden doors with one thick mitten emblazoned with crudely stitched glazed hams.

"Un-hand me. This is Armani, you cretin."

"We’re already late, and I don’t want to miss a second. Besides, there are candles. You love candles."

Loki sighed. It didn’t surprise him that Thor had fallen for this seasonal, mortal farce. The fact that they were once worshipped and celebrated thus in their own realm had escaped Thor in a way it had not escaped Loki. It was to be expected, but still, as his cheeks pinched against the cold, it grated.

Behind wood and stone, an organ groaned to life and a low chorus of unsure voices rose.

“Once in Royal David’s City, Stood a lowly cattle shed…”

Thor yanked harder and Loki felt his feet unroot from the crushed ice. The voices were stronger now, coming together as one, melodious snake slithering against his iced eardrums.

Thor paused with one mitten on an iron knob, the other fastened to Loki’s Armani. Snot dangled from his nose. “Try and be nice.”

“I’m always nice.” His brother’s eyes narrowed and he relented. “Courteous, at least.”

Thor’s lips pinched. “You know what I mean…Festive.” Loki would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t sure they were frozen. He released a snort of fogged air from his nose instead. “Open the door lest we both expire in this winterous wasteland,” he said, and Thor’s face brightened.

“That’s more like it.”

The church was warmer than he’d expected. He stood at the threshold and brushed a dusting of snow from his cuffs as Thor lumbered down the aisle and made a cartoonish, indelicate attempt to sidle his bulk into a row; a boisterous whispering of apologies clashing with the turn of the organ.

“When, like stars, His children crowned All in white, shall wait around…”

Loki flinched as the voices tapered and the organist released a crescendo of bone-shuddering notes. And then, he stumbled.

“Norns,” he growled, a little too loudly in the incense-heavy silence.

He regained his balance and looked down at the small child looking up at him with wide, shining eyes. They were holding out a booklet with curled, yellowed edges. Shoddy workmanship, Loki thought as he took it with a curt nod and turned it over.

St Barnabas Church Carol Concert, it read, accompanied by a garish cartoon holly faded to a light beige. The years below it, beginning at 2002, had been scored out until whomever was in charge gave up in 2014. He sniffed, observing the child with suspicion. "I don't have any coin, if that is what you seek.”

The child’s hand was touching his hand; her small fingers like matchsticks curled around his own. She wore a sheepskin jacket that was a size too big. Not tailored, clearly, and the collar hid her mouth—yet he could tell she was smiling. He glanced to the side, noticing for the first time that every member of the audience was staring.

Natasha hung out of a row halfway down, a black fur hat low on her brow, and beckoned to the little girl. “He’s with us,” she hissed. The organ burst to life with some other musical hokum in defiance of the interruption.

Loki looked back to the little mortal. She said nothing, just led him at a glacial, imperious pace down the aisle and stopped at the correct row. Her auburn curls shimmered in the low light, bouncing.

“Oh, guess there’s no room at the inn…” Natasha winked. “Go behind.”

Loki met his brother’s smug grin one row back. He knew that smile: the plotting smile.

The small pocket of warmth that had been growing in his belly extinguished. And then, he noticed who stood beside him at the end of the row. Loki swallowed.

Thor had all but climbed over you in order to ensure it would be he, Loki of Asgard, standing beside you like a stiff, tuneless, merryless fool. His eyes slid back to his brother, sucking in his cheeks, wondering if punching out a sibling’s teeth was considered ‘festive’.

“There’s room, don’t worry…” you whispered, shuffling your gloves further along the scratched, wooden pew. The smile playing on your lips made Loki want to carve out his own heart in longing.

He edged gingerly into place, staring at the booklet in his hands. And then, your fingers were touching his, moving the pages, your woody perfume thick in his nostrils. He closed his eyes, willing the stir in his groin to cease. His brother would perish for this.

“Your hands are cold,” you whispered, giving his knuckle a brief rub with one, elegant finger. Like my heart. Loki swallowed again, observing the attendees and trying to ignore the unmistakeable correlation of your hot breath skating his neck to the twitch beneath his trousers.

The church was packed. Families, lovers, white-haired humans swaying and their creaking voices tumbling with the rest; the booklets resting unopened. They knew every word.

He fixated on the stone altar, the golden casket behind it glittering in the light. It reminded him of the Tesseract, and with that memory came a familiar twinge of guilt like the slip of a knife between his ribs.

“Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie... "

He moved his lips out of time, faintly recognising the music. As much as he’d tried to avoid it this year and last, the songs playing from your room in the Tower come December 1 were hard to ignore. And perhaps, if he were honest, he hadn’t tried very hard.

You always sang along to them when your mind wandered. It was the only part of Christmas he’d come to favour. And the candles: those too.

“Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by…”

Your finger traced along the lines of the book you shared as if he were a child. He should be insulted; and yet there was something about the tender movement, and your shoulder pressed to his that made him want to nest in this moment and never leave. Your voice was different here. It had a meeker cadence, as though you were stifling the volume and its capabilities to as not to embarrass the quality of those around you.

I’ve heard how she really sounds, he thought smugly as he cast a quick glance at his brother. Perhaps I’m the only one who has.

Thor held the booklet at arm’s length, a millimetre from the back of Stark's head, the baritone of his singing rivalling the organ. His neck swivelled slowly towards Loki. He winked.

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light…” Loki inhaled sharply, before fitting the words into the repetitive notes with a whisper. “The hopes and fears of all the years,” he sang quietly, voice hoarse. “Are met in thee tonight.”

You squeezed his bicep, the heel of your palm resting on his forearm. Loki stiffened, missing the start of the following verse. He turned fractionally, meeting your eyes glittering in the light of a hundred candles flickering. Gods, you were so beautiful.

He tore away.

Stop it, he chided, letting his eyes focus and refocus on a thick, white candle dripping rivulets near the altar.

He couldn’t afford the weakness that sentiment brought. One had to be wary of sentiment at this Christmastime of theirs. It was too easy to be tricked by the lure of cinnamon and the twinkle of lights like stars; drunk on new beginnings and the gluttony of temporary happiness. Loki knew what came of such things for him. He didn’t intend to make the same mistakes. Not here.

The carols began, and ended. And with each one, Loki felt the itch of sweat grow beneath his armpits, seeping into the fine cotton shirt. Five carols ago, the god had to ban himself from touching his hair like a senseless virgin. It was intolerable; to have you so close, to smell the linger of spiced gingerbread latte on your breath as your tongue shaped across each lyric, and do nothing. And what would you do? Kiss her? Force yourself upon her like an animal? He stilled the fidget of the hand hanging at his side.

You were kind, that was all. Pleasantries. Courtesies. You wanted him no more than he wanted to be at this godsforsaken carol concert.

The hand balancing the booklet began to tremble as intrusive thoughts formed in his mind of you and he curled under a blanket, barely watching those Muppet creatures he’d seen in passing, your soft whimpers as he sank inside you and rocked your curves gently against him. If the spiced wine grew cold then, he would not mind so much, perhaps.

His grip tightened on the booklet. “O’ Come, all ye faithful…” “I can’t do this,” he whispered, his brow scrunched. Your grip on his arm loosened. “Joyful and triumphant…” “Are you okay?” The journey of his gaze to your face seemed to take an age. Half of your skin was bathed in a soft, orange glow; the other shadowed as the chorus of voices grew louder; happier. A line had formed across your forehead. Concern? Maybe. Fear? Most likely.

Most of your hair was tucked under a hat, and yet he knew every strand beneath it. He’d envisioned the texture beneath his fingers more times than he had admitted to anyone. Even his Judas of a ham-fisted, scheming brother.

“I have to go." The flap of his overcoat hit the pew in a swirl and his boots were clicked on the bare stone floor towards the doorway. Eyes followed him, but he paid them no heed. They were better off without him. Within the small vestibule at the exit, a stout old man arranged a tray of mince pies. He turned just as Loki thundered past. “Oi,” the man hissed in a broad, Yorkshire accent. “Don’t forget yer pie.”

A foil-bedded pastry was thrust up towards Loki’s face as he fumbled with the door.

Loki paused, looked at it, and then the man. He had ragged, grey hair and a face carved with a thousand frowns. A worthy adversary.

Loki briefly considered making the pastry explode in a shrapnel of raisons, sighed, and thought better of it. As though they were not his own, his fingers plucked the small comestible from the old man’s hand.

“Wife made ‘em,” he said proudly, searching Loki’s face before his lips stretched in a smile over crooked, tombstone teeth. “Merry Christmas.” Loki mumbled something, twisted the knocker and fell out into the cold, crisp air. The god’s pulse pounded in his throat as he crunched down the path towards the crumbling gateposts; wind playing at the sides of his coat with delicate hands. At the boundary, he stopped. Loki steadied on a gatepost, head drooping. Hair fell around his face, fluttering against his flushed skin. “Are you going to eat that?”

He jumped, twisting around. There you stood, resplendent in moonlight from above and the glow of fresh fallen snow below. Your jaw worked; half a mince pie clutched in the hand not buried in your pocket. “They’re really good actually,” you said, pastry scattering from your lips before covering your mouth with a shy eye roll.

Loki’s lips tweaked. “Clearly. I wasn’t going to but now…I’m not so sure. It seems a valuable boon after all.”

At that, you nodded, crunching closer as you popped the remainder of the mince pie into your mouth. He spun around, gazing up to the sky, rolling his lips. She loves Christmas. Do not destroy it for her.

And then, you were at his shoulder. “So, about that mince pie…” There was a slyness in your voice that made him want to pin you against the gatepost and kiss you until you felt faint; until you couldn’t remember your own name, only his. He cupped a hand protectively over the pie, looking at you beneath his lashes.

“And what if I won’t part with it?” You shrugged. “Then perhaps I’ll rethink my gift.” His heart sank, ill-gotten confidence fading. Loki had made it very clear last Christmas that he would not partake in the Avengers gifting foolishness. Had you forgotten? His stomach joined his heart somewhere around his boots.

“I…was not expecting a gift,” he said, curling a wedge of hair behind his ear. As he did so, the pie lost balance and fell with a pathetic plop to the snow. The two of you stared at it. “Norns,” Loki said, bereft. You burst out laughing as he began rooting in the hole. “I thought gods were supposed to be nimble, suave—all that stuff.” “Have you met my brother?” “I thought you were different.” The strange slyness was back in your voice. “I thought you were a bit more…” Loki looked up, breath evaporating from his lungs as moonlight bounced off the fake jewels woven into your hat. She deserves every jewel in the nine realms. And then, you shrugged.

In a move he was sure he would later haunt him as he failed to fall asleep, Loki held the small, snow-laden mince pie aloft. An offering of contrition. Your lips flickered, and to his surprise, you took it. “My sincere apologies,” he mumbled. “It’s just a mince pie, Lokes.” “Not for that…” He sighed. “Were you speaking true about a gift? Because I…” You flapped a hand. “Everyone knows you don’t do gifts, you don’t like Christmas, yadda-yadda. But that’s not the point of gifts. I just…it belonged to you. For when you’re ready. Just…promise you won’t make it explode.”

Before Loki could think of a response, you’d produced a small box wrapped in brown paper from the depths of your jacket. His gaze lingered on it for longer than it should have before he said, “Ah.” Your eyebrows rose. “Are you going to open it?” “Should I?” He turned it over in his hands and your eyebrow rose. “It’s not a trick.” At that, his lips drew to the side. If it was a trick, he wasn’t sure if he was in the right frame of mind to deduce it. Loki’s heart pounded between his ribs, a sharp tang nestling in the back of his throat as he stared at the tightly curled ribbon hanging from the box. He wondered if you’d wrapped it here, or in the Tower, with him next door, lying in bed to the sound of your sporadic singing over Nat King Cole.

Your fingers covered his and tugged the ribbon gently. Loki’s breath hitched, eyes meeting. “Open it,” you ordered, and a hot shiver ran down Loki’s spine.

He pulled the ribbon free, then paused. “You should know…I don’t hate Christmas.” He searched your face. “It’s everything I love, you see. Or at least, I used to. Family, closeness, warmth, the feeling of hope for Spring, sprouting under the joy of light and feasting, the music…”

A lump grew in his throat, and he bit the inside of his lip to stifle it. “I find it easier to forswear, you see. It’s better for everyone that way. It seems that what I love has a habit of turning to ash.”

He didn’t realise he’d been fixated on the box under a gentle touch landed on his arm. When he looked up, you were waiting with glossy eyes, lips parted. “You don’t need to be apart from it, Loki. You deserve it…the same as any of us do.” “But—”

Your finger pressed to his lips, silencing it. “Open the box,” you said again, and the finger slid away. He did as he was bid. Inside was a Christmas bauble, polished to such a sheen he could see the sharp outline of his jaw reflected.

The base was a deep forest green, and on it, gold threads traced runes like frost clinging to spiderweb. “For when you’re ready,” you repeated, softer, as liquid heat flooded his chest. “You belong with us, Loki. I…we, love you.”

“It’s beautiful…I…” He licked his lips, making them tingle in the chill. A grin spread across your face.

“You really like it?” “I love it,” he said, not breaking eye contact. Boldness swelled inside him, lighting up the dusty corners of his frigid heart. You looked away, pulling your jacket tighter. Inside the church, the final flourish of 'O’ Come all Ye Faithful' blared. He reached out, brushing his knuckles down your puffy bicep.

“You mean it? If you don’t, I can return it…” “I really do.” “Good, because it’s custom, and I can’t return it.” Loki laughed at the same time you did, noting the sparkle of your eyes. He drew you into his arms, memorising the way your bodies slotted together despite the layers, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I fear I must buy you a gift after all…” he said quietly. You pulled back, looking up at him with absolute sincerity. “What I want doesn’t come from a shop, Loki,” you said, breathless. Your eyes dropped to his lips as you cupped his face, the warmth of your skin sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. “I just want you to be happy, and I want…I want…”

Your words grew faint as flecks of snow began to fall. And with that, his resolve exploded.

The first kiss was tentative, skin brushing over skin as he waited for you to pull away. But your arms were thrown around his shoulders, clawing at the back of his Armani coat, pulling his mouth to yours with the ferocity of a winter sea.

Hot breath seared his throat, desire and adoration so thick it held weight bursting from the secret places he had boarded up and forgotten. All he wanted was you, and this, and Yule—wherever it was, and however it was celebrated. As long as he had you.

Eager lips slid together as one kiss broke and launched into the next. Something sharp and iron was poking into his back from the gatepost, but he didn’t care. It could rip a hole in the coat for all he cared.

As your delicate moans heightened, and your fingers knotted tighter into his hair, the applause started.

The two of you broke, twisting as one towards the band of a dozen Avengers making their way down the path. Natasha had her arms spread; eyes wide. Thor was frozen in place, mittens pressed to his cheeks with a soundless scream of glee. Scott was passing money to Sam, and then Tony, too. “It’s a Christmas…miracle,” Thor screeched.

"Sweet baby Jesus..." Stark muttered, fingers jammed in his ears as Loki drew you tighter to his chest, not caring if you felt the leap of his heart through thick wool. Your hand slipped through a gap, drinking the warmth of him, and when your eyes met; Loki couldn’t breathe. “When we return to New York, I shall need a Christmas tree to hang my gift,” he whispered, placing a kiss above your ear. You giggled into his snow dusted collar. “You can always start next year- no pressure.”

Loki cast a glance over the smiling figures bundled in bobble hats and thick scarves, to the amber-lit windows, to the snow stretching over hills and faintly glowing homes scattered across them.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured. And then, to the sound of cheers louder than the organ, he kissed you again.

Tags in comments 🎄✨

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki fanfiction #loki marvel #loki christmas #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki fluff #loki oneshot #loki x female reader #loki odinson #marvel christmas #loki x yn #loki x reader fluff

700 notes · View notes

noredemptionhere · 3 months ago

Text

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃

pair: 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚔𝚊 𝚡 𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

tags: fluff. so much fluff, mention of blood, reader is shorter than sevika—neither of them has a specified height.

life was a pain in the ass.

not always—but most of the time. and this week? this week seemed determined to chew her up and spit her out.

as if getting her ass handed to her by a dead, pink-haired brat wasn’t humiliating enough, an enforcer had to go and bust the shimmer tank in her prosthetic.

now here she was—one arm barely functioning, the other gripping a screwdriver so tightly she might snap it in half.

sevika wasn’t the kind of woman who whined. she didn’t believe in asking for help—asking for anything, really. taking matters into her own hands always got the job done. it took time, sure, but it spared her the headache of relying on anyone else.

but—

this little piece of shit wasn’t fixing itself.

no matter how hard she studied the intricate network of screws and gears, no matter how carefully she pressed the screwdriver against the bolts, no matter how many hours she wasted at her desk trying to crack the goddamn riddle of it all…

nothing. nothing.

the prosthetic arm remained sluggish, unresponsive—mocking her.

and sevika? sevika could not afford that.

she was the right hand of a man who held zaun in his palm. silco’s enforcer, his blade. when he gave an order, she was expected to execute it—swiftly, cleanly, with all the force necessary. she was his shield in the undercity’s shadows, his muscle behind closed-door negotiations.

and she was ‘useless’ without this arm.

the anger coiled in her gut wasn’t the kind she could drown in liquor—not tonight. it wasn’t the sharp, cutting kind that had her picking fights just to bleed out her frustration. no, this was the slow-burning kind. the kind that settled deep in her chest, thick and suffocating, turning over and over.

silco noticed—took him long enough.

“you’re getting too pissy.”

his voice was as smooth as ever, carrying that infuriating calm as he stood near the window of his office, gaze set on the city below.

sevika didn’t look up. instead, she rolled her jaw, pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek, and traced idle circles against the rim of her glass.

“i’m fine,” she muttered.

a tired excuse. a lie neither of them bothered to acknowledge.

“you have more important things to handle than some ludicrous gadget.”

his voice was flat—nearly bored. but there was something else beneath it.

disappointment, maybe. or amusement.

she wasn’t sure which one pissed her off more.

“you could’ve just asked.”

sevika exhaled sharply through her nose, gaze flicking up to him at last.

she didn’t ask. she never asked.

and yet, she waited—silent, expectant—for him to finally say something useful.

silco sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair before finally giving her what she was waiting for.

“sugar & sparks.”

sevika squinted. “you’re fucking with me.”

he didn’t even smirk. “i wouldn’t waste my breath.”

sevika rolled her eyes, tossing back the last of her drink. sugar & sparks. what kind of mechanic named their workshop like it was a damn bakery?

she scoffed, setting her glass down with an audible clink.

“what even is that?” she crossed her arms, unimpressed.

silco didn’t turn from the window. “the place where your prosthetic was made.”

for a moment, sevika just stared.

the workshop that built this—the metal monstrosity fused to her shoulder, the thing that made her more machine than woman—was called sugar & sparks?

her fingers tightened around the ruined prosthetic.

“sir.”

the word was flat, edged with a cut the bullshit tone.

“get ran to set up a meeting with her. she knows her.”

her.

sevika didn’t react, but the detail lodged itself in her mind. if silco was involved, this wasn’t just help anymore—this was an order.

𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓈒𓏸

the city pulsed around her, a mess of flickering neon and distant shouts. deckard’s directions had been clear enough, leading her to a quieter part of zaun—quiet by its standards, anyway.

she found it easily.

and she really needed this done.

the entrance to the workshop was… tidy. almost out of place.

sevika stepped inside.

a bell chimed overhead.

cute.

adorable, even.

the thought hit before she could stop it, an uninvited flicker of pink in an ink-black world.

her gaze swept across the shop. everything was too neat, too soft. tools hung in perfect rows, the air smelled faintly of metal and something sweet, and the workbench was cluttered—but not in the usual, careless way. this was rather a careful, lived-in kind of mess.

it was the kind of place that didn’t belong in zaun.

and there you were—the pink dot.

sevika nearly whistled, watching as you swept the floor, head twitching just slightly at the sound of the door. a quick glance, a flicker of recognition—just a girl in her little shop, unaware she was about to fix more than just a prosthetic.

the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t think much of it at first. another customer, another repair—same as always.

then you looked up.

sevika.

you almost dropped the broom.

sevika, the sevika, was standing in the doorway of your workshop, broad, scowling, much taller and bigger than you imagined. her sharp eyes flicked over the space, unimpressed, before landing on you.

you knew her. not just knew her—you made that. that poor, disfigured work of art clamped to her shoulder. it was one of—if not the best—pieces of your opus.

you could recall the entire day silco—the silco—sent one of his gang members to your workshop. you still remembered your conversation with ran, her reaction to your shocked face when she informed you about sevika’s incident. how your eyes almost spilled a few tears from the intensity.

you had also seen sevika in real life once—at the last drop, when you went out for drinks with your friends. she hadn’t acknowledged you that night. too busy getting her dopamine fix from poker, collecting chips under the whining of grown-ass men.

were you fangirling? fuck yeah. your eyes had practically sparkled with red hearts like a lovesick idiot when you first saw her.

were you intimidated? still fuck yeah.

and now? now she was standing here. in your shop. with you.

who knew—maybe she was here to tell you how much of a shit job you did on her metal limb. except you knew you were a pro at your job and she already had that arm for years now, so… maybe there was still hope she wouldn’t get your workshop shut down.

you forced yourself to blink, to breathe, to not stare at the way the dim light caught on the sharp angles of her jaw or how her arms—one flesh, one metal—looked like they could snap your spine in half. not that you would complain.

your voice wobbled when you spoke. “uh… hi?”

brilliant. amazing. that was definitely the way to greet a terrifying crime lord’s right-hand woman.

she didn’t react, just strode further in like she owned the place.

up close, she was even worse.

her presence practically swallowed the room, bringing with it the scent of smoke and metal and something vaguely like whiskey. the prosthetic—the one you built—was in bad shape, the shimmer tank cracked and gears struggling to turn.

your mind screamed at you to focus.

this is a job. you’re a professional. get it together.

“what happened to it?” you forced your hands to stay steady as you gestured toward her arm.

“got into a fight.” she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

‘i’d pay to see that.’ the words almost slipped out of your mouth.

“right.” you nodded, as if this was normal. as if your stomach wasn’t flipping over itself like an idiot. “i, um, i can fix it. just—sit?”

she gave you a long look before sighing and dropping into the chair beside your workbench. the metal groaned under her weight.

you got this. you’ve literally made this arm. you sure as hell can fix it.

but the moment you reached for her prosthetic, her gaze flicked up—sharp, calculating.

and suddenly, touching her felt like a very big deal.

your fingers hovered over the damaged plates. “i, uh… is it okay if i…?”

sevika raised an eyebrow.

you wanted to melt into the floor.

“i mean—you came here for this, so obviously it’s okay, just umm—” you shut up immediately when you saw the corner of her mouth curl up.

she knew.

she knew how flustered you were, and she was amused.

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the task instead of the heat creeping up your neck. carefully, you pressed your fingers against the damaged joint, testing its movement. sevika barely reacted, but you could feel her watching you.

you were going to die. this was it. cause of death: overwhelming gay panic.

you kept scolding yourself. fix the arm. stop thinking about how ridiculously attractive she is.

sevika rolled her shoulder, exhaling as the weight of the prosthetic lifted. she was used to the process—clamps unlatching, metal shifting, the familiar dull ache left behind. what she wasn’t used to was this.

the girl—you—were practically vibrating with nervous energy.

she didn’t miss the way your breath hitched when you looked up at her. how your fingers stilled for just a second too long before you yanked your gaze away, gripping the prosthetic like it was a lifeline.

pretty.

so damn pretty.

she leaned back in the chair, stretching out her flesh arm as you turned your back to her, moving to your workstation like a skittish little thing trying to escape a predator’s gaze.

sevika smirked.

she wasn’t trying to intimidate you. but she wasn’t exactly trying not to, either.

her eyes trailed over the workshop—cleaner than she expected, with little tools and scrap parts neatly lined up. it smelled like metal, like oil and faint traces of something sweet. there was a little lamp flickering beside the workbench, casting warm light over your hunched shoulders.

there was nothing remarkable about the place. but somehow, it felt different from the usual grime of zaun. quieter. softer.

sevika rolled her jaw, exhaling through her nose.

what a weird fucking day.

she should’ve been more annoyed about coming here at all— but she wasn’t.

not really.

her gaze flicked back to you.

you were already at work, delicate hands moving with practiced ease, eyes sharp and focused. the nervous stammering was gone now, replaced by quiet concentration.

sevika tilted her head slightly, watching.

maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

she watched as you turned the prosthetic over in your hands, lips pressed together in quiet focus. a muttered string of words slipped past them—barely loud enough to catch.

“…some of the glass shards fell into the gears…”

your voice was soft, almost thoughtful, but sevika caught the way you winced slightly, shaking your head like you were scolding yourself.

she still found you so fucking cute.

she didn’t bother responding—just watched as you worked, fingers quick but careful. you were so damn delicate with it, like the thing wasn’t a weapon built for splitting skulls open.

the silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, before sevika finally broke it.

“this your place?”

you flinched, just barely, before nodding. “mhm. my father started it. i, uh… took over after he passed.”

sevika hummed, gaze dragging over the workshop again.

that explained the neatness. the warmth in the way things were arranged. it wasn’t just a place for work—it was yours.

didn’t quite fit in zaun.

didn’t quite fit her.

she leaned forward, resting her forearm on the workbench, the sheer size of her making the space feel even smaller. “and you fix up scum like me for a living?”

your breath hitched.

she smirked.

“i… i don’t see it like that,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your work. “i just… fix things.”

sevika chuckled lowly, the sound deep and full of something unreadable.

fix things.

interesting.

you were squirming now—so easy to unravel. so easy to toy with.

she tilted her head, voice smooth, mocking. “what, you got some soft spot for criminals?”

you didn’t answer right away. probably too busy trying to figure out whether she was fucking with you or testing you.

smart girl.

“i don’t pick sides,” you finally said, tweezers plucking a small sliver of glass from the prosthetic’s inner mechanisms. “i just… i like helping people.”

sevika watched the way your fingers trembled, just slightly. the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

you liked helping people.

and yet, you looked like a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

“a thing like you won’t last long with that mindset.”

you swallowed again, shoulders tensing.

sevika leaned in a little more, voice dropping.

“…and you look like you don’t last long.”

you swore your heart stopped—maybe it had, maybe you were already floating.

her presence was suffocating in the softest, most deliberate way. the knot coiled in your stomach from the moment she walked in wasn’t enough. the heat rising in your cheeks wasn’t enough either.

the faint prickle behind your eyes—the humiliating threat of tears—had to be the cherry on top.

you dropped your gaze, fingers tightening around the plucker in your hand, grasping at whatever was left of your composure. anything to ground yourself—to not crumble under the weight pressing against you.

you weren’t crying. not really. you just… wanted to melt. to fold in on yourself, small and soft, and disappear into the floorboards before she could see what she was doing to you.

the worst part was—

she saw.

every. damn. thing.

and she was quiet about it. not a chuckle, not a hum—just stillness, watching, waiting. then she saw your eyes.

glistening. soft.

her smirk widened, eyes dark with something far too pleased. this was going to be so good.

“are you fucking crying?”

your breath hitched. your eyes widened. stupid—so ridiculously stupid—because now she had a perfect view of your ruined, trembling self.

ignore her. just ignore her. you were about to finish—her arm. just say it.

“th-the glass is out…”

“yeah?” she cooed, pushing up from her seat.

she got up.

fuck. fuck. abort.

your body moved before your mind—bolting upright, searching for an escape route.

sevika followed.

slow. deliberate. a predator, savoring the chase.

“what… are you doing?” you whispered, as if she’d answer with mercy.

she didn’t.

your back met the corner.

and she was still coming.

amused. patient. towering.

trapping you in this unbearable, suffocating heat—until there was nothing left of you but shivers and surrender.

melting.

sevika watched you for a second longer, amused, before lifting her hand—slow, deliberate—until her fingers brushed your cheek.

you froze.

rough fingertips swiped just beneath your eye, catching the heat of your skin, the lingering dampness that betrayed you. and her smirk—god, her smirk—only deepened.

“didn’t know you were this soft.”

the words curled around you, thick and mocking, a lazy amusement laced beneath them like she was enjoying this. like she was studying you—memorizing the way you squirmed under her touch.

and you did. you squirmed.

a sharp inhale, a panicked jerk away from the warmth of her palm—your back hit the wall first, then you shoved off it, slipping past her as quickly as your legs would allow.

she let you go.

didn’t move. didn’t chase.

just turned, leaning back onto the table with her usual lazy confidence as she watched you scramble to finish the job.

you could feel her gaze on you the entire time—steady, knowing, hungry.

and if your hands shook while working, well…

she definitely noticed.

you worked faster than ever, fingers fumbling over metal, tightening bolts, securing plates—all under the weight of her gaze.

finally, you stepped back. done.

your lips parted, the price tumbling out before you could think—before you could breathe.

“seven brasses.”

it was embarrassingly low.

sevika noticed.

but more than that, she noticed something else.

the quiet. the ease.

for the first time in what felt like years, there were no gnawing thoughts, no simmering rage pressing at the back of her skull. just this—this small, quiet space, the hum of old machinery, the scent of oil and metal, and you moving carefully around her, buckling the joints against her shoulder with hands that still trembled slightly.

it felt almost… nice.

like stepping into a warm room after a cold night. like that first slow inhale of a cigarette after a long fight.

she flexed her fingers, rolled her wrist, tested the weight.

perfect.

her lips twitched as she snapped the glowing red knife out of her palm, watching the way your breath hitched ever so slightly at the sound.

she pushed off the table, clenched her metal digits for the last time, and tossed ten brasses onto your desk.

three more than you asked for. just because she could.

then, as if the moment had never settled in her chest, she strode for the door.

no teasing remark. no parting words.

but before stepping out, she did pause—just briefly—to glance back at you, eyes flickering over your form, before disappearing into the night.

after she left, everything felt quiet—except for the little pumping piece of shit caged between your ribs, refusing to let you pretend this was just a normal interaction.

it wasn’t. the ‘piece of shit’ was right.

you could still feel her hand lingering on your cheek, the warmth of it sinking into your skin like an ember refusing to die out. it felt even better than it looked, so soft, so warm. almost like a hug to your heart after the enervating events of the day.

you exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together as if you could somehow trap the feeling inside you before it disappeared completely. but it was already fading, slipping through your fingers like smoke, leaving behind only the ghost of her touch and the mess she made of your head.

her presence lingered in your workshop even after she was gone, in the air, in the heavy silence, in the spaces she had occupied without effort. you felt her in the rest of your body even when she hadn’t touched it. felt her in the places she looked at. like she left something behind, something you couldn’t name but couldn’t shake off, either.

but it was gone now.

and you really shouldn’t get your hopes high—especially when it came to people.

so when she returned, the first time, then the second, then the third, you told yourself it meant nothing. that it was just a coincidence. that she was only here for the repairs, for convenience, because you knew her arm better than anyone else and didn’t ask too many questions.

and yet—she always came back too soon.

the first time, her excuse was simple: a bad fight, a rough night, nothing out of the ordinary. you believed her.

the second time, she grumbled something about a shitty enforcer nearly breaking her wrist. you weren’t sure if it was true, but you let it go.

by the third, the fourth, the fifth—you knew better.

the damage was never anything catastrophic. a loosened joint, rusted gears, wiring that had been fine the last time you saw her. always just enough to warrant another visit, to keep her in your orbit a little longer.

and she lingered.

at first, she would hover by the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you worked in silence. but then she started staying longer. sitting on your workbench, exhaling cigarette smoke into the warm air of the workshop, commenting on things that had nothing to do with her arm. you ever sleep? she’d asked once, her gaze flicking to the dark circles under your eyes.

you had laughed—soft, surprised. “you ever take care of this thing properly?” you had shot back, tapping the side of her prosthetic.

she had only smirked. “that’s your job, isn’t it?”

you should’ve known then.

but it wasn’t until her latest visit—when you unscrewed the panel on her forearm, pushed back the plating, and saw the state of her gears—that it really hit you.

they were rusted. neglected on purpose.

your fingers stilled, eyes narrowing slightly as you studied the damage. not enough to completely disable her arm, but enough to slow her down, to make sure she had to return before it got worse.

slowly, your gaze lifted to her.

sevika was already watching you, unreadable, jaw tight.

“shut your mouth,” she muttered.

you didn’t say anything. just smiled—warm, understanding. the kind of smile that softened the edges of the moment, made it something else entirely.

sevika felt something lurch in her chest.

the workshop, the heat, the scent of oil and metal—it all faded into the background. the only thing left was you.

and that damn smile.

she had been coming back for the repairs.

that was what she told herself.

but now, she wasn’t so sure.

you leaned in slightly, still holding her arm in your hands, and whispered—so gently it nearly undid her:

“i didn’t say anything.”

the ache in her chest settled deep, smoldering. for a split second, she considered what it would mean to have you… not just as someone who fixed her, but as something unchangeable, something always with her. the thought curled through her like smoke, slow and insidious, sinking into her bones.

sevika’s gaze never left you, her eyes darkening as they followed the smooth, practiced movements of your hands. you weren’t asking for anything. you weren’t pleading, weren’t demanding. no, you were just there. with her.

she wanted you. god, she wanted you in a way that shook her, made her pulse race with the raw need to have you.

but wanting meant needing. and needing meant surrendering control.

so she did—but in her own damn way.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

a slow week wasn’t unusual, and business in the lanes had always been unpredictable. maybe people found a cheaper place. maybe they were just busy.

but then the silence stretched. days passed. the usual faces—the old man with his busted radio, the kids with their broken toys, the regulars who came in just to tinker with their own gear under your watch—never showed.

the only person who did?

sevika.

she came in like nothing was different, like she hadn’t bled your business dry with nothing but presence and intimidation. and worse? she acted like she was doing you a favor for keeping you occupied.

and for some reason—you knew exactly why—customers stopped coming.

men, women, kids with their tiny gadgets, elderly folks with their busted radios. all of them. gone.

now, you just sat there, waiting. working. for one customer who paid too much for fixes that took too little time.

you weren’t sure what to feel about it. stay neutral? drill her eye with your screwdriver? wipe that ridiculous—gorgeous—smirk off her stupid, gorgeous face?

…fuck.

“you seriously need to start oiling these… i’m so done with you”

you growled, hands greasy and covered in rust. at this point, you were starting to believe she’d cursed the damn thing—like some kind of spell that kept her prosthetic in a constant state of disrepair.

“how did you even do that?” you scowled, digging into the mess of loosened joints and worn-out gears.

the funniest part? she didn’t even bother hiding it anymore.

sevika was shamelessly, blatantly fucking up her own arm just to have an excuse to see you.

you don’t know how long it’s been since the first time she walked in—two months, maybe three.

and yet, those months had been full. oddly full, despite your shop being emptier than ever.

she had made something here. filled a gap you didn’t even know existed.

she made your stomach knot, your heart dance, your fists clench in frustration.

and somehow, all of it felt good.

“you’ll do it for me,” she murmured, smug.

you shot her a deadpan glare. “i will kill you in your sleep.”

“bet.”

fuck this woman. for real.

despite all your grumbling, you never actually told her to leave. never kicked her out, never set any real boundaries—not when she lingered in your workshop long after her arm had been fixed, not when she started treating the space like her own. at some point, she stopped hovering near the door and just stayed. sat on the worn-out couch like it belonged to her, took slow drags of her cigarette, let herself be comfortable.

and maybe you should’ve minded. maybe you should’ve told her to take her arrogance, her constant smirking, her ridiculous way of worming herself into your life, and get the hell out.

but then there were moments like this.

where the rain drummed against the window, where the scent of warm tea curled in the air, where she was settled deep into the cushions, her prosthetic resting on the armrest, her real hand gesturing lazily as she ranted about something that had pissed her off today.

and you? you sat on the floor in front of her, legs crossed, fingers curled around your mug, watching her talk like she wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the room.

“fucking nightmare of a day,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

you hummed, amused, taking a slow sip of your tea. “that bad?”

she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “you have no idea.”

you stretched your legs out, letting the heat from the mug seep into your fingers. “alright, let’s hear it. what ruined your day this time?”

sevika exhaled a long, irritated breath, tilting her head back against the couch. “some idiot decided to run his mouth at the bar. you’d think grown men would know when to shut the fuck up.”

you raised a brow. “and you, of course, handled the situation with patience and restraint.”

she snorted. “obviously.”

you gave her a look.

“…okay, i might’ve broken a chair over his head.”

you nearly choked on your tea. “sevika!”

she grinned, shameless. “it wasn’t that bad. he hit the ground before the chair even fully broke.”

you groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “damn.”

sevika just shrugged, like yeah, and? before propping her prosthetic up on the armrest. “what about you? your day any less of a shitshow?”

you huffed, blowing at the steam curling from your mug. “dunno, my only customer is an impossible woman who keeps ruining her own arm on purpose.”

her lips twitched. “sounds like a real pain in the ass.”

“oh, you have no idea.”

there was a beat of silence. the kind that wasn’t heavy or thick, just… easy.

then—

“you ever think about getting out of here?” she asked, voice quieter, more thoughtful.

you blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “what, the shop?”

she nodded, gaze unreadable. “zaun. this whole… life.”

your fingers tightened slightly around your mug. “…i don’t know,” you admitted. “maybe.”

sevika hummed, studying you for a long moment. then, just as smoothly as she’d brought it up, she let the conversation drift again.

“so, this tea any good?”

you rolled your eyes, grateful for the change in subject. “it’s amazing, actually.”

she held out her hand. “lemme try.”

you narrowed your eyes, lifting the mug just out of reach. “no.”

“why?”

“because you don’t appreciate flavored tea.”

sevika scoffed. “the hell does that mean?”

“it means i saw you down three shots of double whiskey earlier. you’ve lost all credibility.”

she actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that settled deep in your chest.

and for some reason, despite all the trouble she caused, despite the way she took up more space in your life than she probably should have—

you let her stay a little longer.

on an unremarkable wednesday, you were lost in the kind of mindless routine that existed only to fill the time. you didn’t care much for what you were doing—shuffling through old tools, wiping nonexistent dust off the counter—but it was something.

something to keep your mind occupied until she showed up.

you were expecting her soon. it had been a few days since she last dropped by, and she never stayed away for long.

the bell above the door jingled, breaking the quiet.

without looking up, you exhaled through your nose, amused. “you want some tea? i’ve been begging for anything to distract me these days, thanks to yo—”

you glanced up—

and wished you hadn’t.

sevika was bloody.

not just scraped-up, not just roughed-up—bloody. her shirt was torn in places, her knuckles cracked and caked with dried red, her cheekbone split open just beneath her eye.

but still, she moved like nothing had happened.

already half-sunken into the couch, she wrestled with the lighter in her back pocket, hand trembling with the effort.

your stomach dropped. “sevika!”

her fingers twitched—like she was deciding whether or not to wave you off—but she didn’t look at you. just kept digging for that damn lighter.

you were at her side in an instant, hands hovering uselessly. you wanted to touch her, check her, do something, but she was so tense, so unreadable, you weren’t sure if she’d let you.

“what happened?” your voice was quieter now, tight with concern.

she exhaled sharply through her nose, head tilting back against the couch. “shit night.”

“that’s not an answer.”

she finally looked at you then, lips twitching up in something almost like her usual smirk—but it didn’t reach her eyes. “it’s the only one i got.”

your heart twisted.

for all her arrogance, her sharp-tongued bravado, this wasn’t the first time she’d shown up like this. but something about tonight—about the silence, the barely-there tremor in her fingers—felt different.

felt worse.

wordlessly, you moved. crossed the room to grab some water from the sink in the back room, dampened a clean cloth with the warm water.

when you came back, you knelt in front of her, settling onto the floor between her legs, legs crossed beneath you.

sevika watched you, unreadable, as you reached out. your fingers barely ghosted over her jaw before she closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.

not a word.

just… acceptance.

you swallowed thickly, then pressed the cloth to her cheek, wiping away the blood.

“i don’t have anything to help you with…” you whispered, your tone almost scolding yourself.

the cloth in your hand felt useless. like no amount of warm water could fix this. like you were just wiping away evidence instead of easing the pain.

your fingers trembled against her skin. maybe from nerves, maybe from something deeper. either way, sevika noticed.

she reached out—not with metal, not with something cold and unfeeling, but with her real hand.

rough fingers found your cheek, thumb brushing over the skin in slow, absentminded strokes. like she was memorizing the feeling. like she was claiming it.

your breath hitched, your body going soft before you could stop it. without thinking, you leaned forward, resting your head against her knee.

and then—she smiled.

not a smirk. not something sharp and teasing. just… real.

the warmth of it settled in her voice as she spoke.

“you help.”

simple. certain. like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

sevika exhaled, slow. her hand stayed where it was, cradling your cheek like she needed it there. like she was grounding herself.

“i never had anything of my own—never.”

“no one belonged to me. i never held feelings in my grasp.”

she exhaled softly, something like a chuckle slipping out, but it held no real humor. more of an exhausted amusement, like she was laughing at herself.

“not even my arm.”

she let the silence stretch for a moment, let the weight of her words settle. and then, softer—more certain.

“but you…”

“something about you—something about you is mine.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to say anything at all.

so you let it be. let it settle. let it breathe.

let her have it.

𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓈒𓏸

it was an ordinary day.

a quiet one.

not wintry, not summery—just soft. the kind of day where the air smelled like something in between, where the breeze carried warmth but the sun wasn’t overbearing, where the light filtered in through the windows just enough to make the dust motes dance.

the kind of day that should’ve gone unnoticed.

you sat at your workbench, tools scattered around you, hands busy with the kind of mindless repair work that didn’t require much thought. the shop was empty, save for the hum of your favorite song spilling from the radio, filling the space with a low, dreamy melody.

“𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕪—𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥”

your fingers tapped against the desk absently, matching the rhythm.

“𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕖 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕖𝕕— 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖”

it was one of those songs—the kind you didn’t just hear, but felt, settling into your bones, sinking beneath your skin. you swayed in your seat slightly, shimmying your shoulders to the beat, lost in the music.

so lost, in fact, that you didn’t notice the door creak open.

didn’t notice her step inside.

didn’t notice the way she stopped—just for a second—to watch you.

sevika leaned against the frame, arms crossed, lips twitching in quiet amusement as she took in the sight of you, completely oblivious to her presence.

she had gotten used to this.

but she still smiled, just because she saw you.

she smiled whenever she saw you.

“didn’t know you danced for an audience, mechanic.”

the sound of her voice startled you so hard you nearly knocked over your drink.

you whirled around, heat already creeping up your neck. “sevika!”

she smirked, pushing off the doorframe. “go on, don’t let me stop you.”

you shot her a glare, heart still hammering. “how long were you standing there?”

“long enough,” she said, walking over to your workbench.

your lips parted, ready to fire back something deeply unflattering, but—

then she did it.

that thing.

that fucking thing she always did—where she got too close, where she took up too much space, where she looked at you with that knowing glint in her eye, like she was waiting to see how long it would take before you went putty in her hands.

you clenched your jaw. “you’re impossible.”

she grinned. “i know.”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, shoving your tools aside. “alright, are you coming in here just to bother me, or do you actually want me to fix your gears for the—what is it now? god knows how many times?”

sevika hummed, as if considering. “depends. what do i get out of it?”

you scoffed, shaking your head. “unbelievable.”

but still, you didn’t push her away.

instead, you let her linger.

let her steal your space, let her smirk, let her lean against your workbench like she belonged there.

like she belonged here.

the song shifted. a softer one.

the kind that wrapped around you, quiet and warm, settling between the spaces left unspoken.

“𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ…”

your fingers curled against the wood.

“𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ, 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ, 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ, 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ…”

without thinking, you moved.

got up, stepped toward her, reached out.

and she let you.

your hand wrapped around her waist, fingertips brushing over the hem of her cloak, barely there. you tilted your chin up, resting it lightly against the pulse point of her neck, the steady thrum beneath your skin.

and she—

sevika almost growled.

not loud. not harsh. just a low, barely-there sound in the back of her throat, as if caught off guard by the touch, by the warmth, by you.

slowly, she took your wrists.

slid her fingers over your skin, guiding them behind your back—so deliberate, so slow.

your breath hitched.

you squirmed slightly. “oh come on,” you muttered, playful, pressing against her just a little more.

her grip tightened.

you exhaled, heart hammering.

then, with a quiet chuckle, you let your hands slip behind her neck instead, fingers tangling in the short strands at her nape. “dance with me a little,” you whispered, barely audible. your face burned, but you still tried, still wanted.

you needed this moment.

she was silent.

drinking you in.

slowly, intensely—like she was trying to memorize you.

and then—

without a word, she pulled you closer.

wrapped both arms around you. flesh and metal. warm and cold. human and not.

but she let you see both.

by choice.

for once, without hesitation.

for once, without regret.

you two moved.

let the music fill the air, let the rhythm guide you, let the moment stretch.

“𝓃ℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒷ℯ𝓁ℴ𝓃ℊ𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓂ℯ… 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ..”

sevika exhaled, slow and deliberate, before her hand—her real hand—drifted up.

fingers grazing your throat.

pointer finger brushing against your jaw.

“…𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ, 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓃ℯ.”

her voice, when she finally spoke, was low, deliberate.

“be mine.”

her eyes poured into yours.

your eyes, already hazy, already melting, flickered up to hers.

she was looking at you like you were something to be kept.

to be always there.

to be the only thing she ever wanted to have. the only and the last.

and when you nodded—

when your lips parted—when you finally dared to move—

she kissed you.

everything else faded away.

the world came back to her in pieces.

first, the feeling—warmth, unfamiliar but real, sinking into her bones. the weight of blankets tangled around her waist. the scent of something soft, something clean.

then, the quiet—no city noise, no distant shouts, no clanking gears or drunken brawls. just the steady hush of breathing.

and then—

the sight of you.

sevika blinked once, slow, letting the haze of sleep clear from her vision.

you sat in front of her, perched on your knees at the edge of the bed, watching her with a quiet sort of focus. you didn’t fidget, didn’t look away, just smiled.

soft. like morning light. like something easy and untouched.

something hers.

sevika didn’t move right away.

didn’t speak, either.

she just let herself have this. let herself wake up to something other than aching joints and an empty bed. let herself feel the way her chest tightened—not with panic, not with grief, but with something terrifying in its own right.

something she didn’t name.

you tilted your head, amusement flickering in your gaze. “you’re awake.”

sevika exhaled through her nose, slow, measured. “you were watching me.”

a quiet laugh, barely there. “maybe.”

she should’ve made some sharp remark—should’ve teased, should’ve scoffed, should’ve pulled the moment apart before it had the chance to settle.

but she didn’t.

instead, she reached out.

didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—just moved.

fingers curling around your wrist, tracing absently over your pulse. feeling the proof of you, steady and real.

she kissed the soft skin of your wrist, slowly dragging her tongue over your pulse.

you didn’t pull away.

didn’t shift, didn’t falter. just let sevika hold you.

and for the first time in a long time, sevika let herself believe. believe that this—this warmth, this weight, this having—wasn’t something she’d wake from.

warmth was a thing.

and it was all hers now.

#sevika #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane

622 notes · View notes

onecheerfulmoron · 6 months ago

Text

🔥🥵 Sex Appeal 🔥🥵

Powerful/Hypnotic/Magnetic

(These are based on my personal experience/observation)

* I differentiate sex appeal and god/goddess appeal (which I will make another post of :)*

*The following aspects are what I have & seen from other's charts and was able to witness their little superpower lol*

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Lilith

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Pluto

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus conjunct Mars

Sun/Rising/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury conjunct Uranus

Sun/Rising/Moon/MC/Venus/Mars/Mercury/Saturn/Uranus/Pluto/Lilith/in the 1st, 8th, & 10th house

Any of those planets in Scorpio/Capricorn/or Leo

Trines/Opposition/Square/Sextile also apply. Conjunctions are the most powerful and/or tighter the orbs of the aspect. Orbs (0-3), the more prominent it plays out in your life. Orbs (4-7) is somewhat in the middle.

The way the sex appeal of the planets is emphasized by (Lilith, Pluto, & Mars) can be better understood by applying the planet's role to it.

Sun: Who you are. So your personality without a filter. *you can naturally get someone interested by being yourself. No masks are needed for you!

Ascendant/Rising: literally how you look anywhere anytime. Through your appearance, mannerism, & fashion sense. *You don’t have to do shit or try and people be like👼🏾 😳 🥵

Moon: the way you think is what you act upon. Whatever sign your moon falls under, you would execute the energy of that sign when people get to know you. I feel that whatever planet your moon is aspects by is how your mindset would operate. The house placement of the moon would show where your emotions run. *personally i think the placement/sign of the moon contributes more to sex appeal than the aspect itself.

Mercury: your voice and communication style. *It’s those people that can make anyone fall for them just by talking. They have this aura where people want to listen to them and find their sense of communication interesting & funny. Also, they are the treasure box of others dark secrets. People love telling them shit. Gossip holders plus sharp tongue ☕️.

Mars: your expression, enthusiasm, or when you display dominance/leadership. *At this point act manly or motivated whenever lol. Whether it's through a form of hobby to being authoritative, you will catch someone’s eye.

Venus: beauty, fashion style, the way you care for others, how you are in love, etc. Most people with these sex appeal aspects above involving Venus are highly desired to be in a relationship with by others. They can get someone wrapped around their fingers if they are naughty lol 😈.

MC: similar to Asc, but it’s like reputation matters so they make sure to play their part. So it's like dressing up or behaving a certain way in public to get the reaction they want which will be attained. Lowkey a chameleon. *I have noticed that MC is a more refined/mature type, probably bc the MC has to do with career as well.

Uranus: Being unique like an alien. Shocking, Magnetic, & Unique are how I would describe individuals with Uranus aspects. People will remember you 100% in someway, which depends on what it’s aspected by.

Pluto/Lilith: they both are powerful when it comes to intimidating others as well as getting others obsessed. Drawing jealousy also is relevant, unfortunately.

Examples:

I have a male friend who is a Scorpio with Lilith conjunct to his Sun & Mars. Man, he gets ladies of all ages flirting with him. They tell him their darkest secrets they don’t tell anybody else. I and my friend worked in the same office together. Ladies are walking past his cubicle like “Heyyyyy…*Name*. Why don’t you stop by my cubicle no more…..don’t you miss me lol”. Random ladies, he doesn’t even talk to on the other side of the office know his name, like what!

A girlfriend of mine has Venus conjunct Pluto. The girl be getting men left and right. She was on a bus one day and told me that a stranger kept looking at her and told her when they got off the bus if he got a chance. Mind you he was in his 40's. Even in high school, people were looking at her from afar and would try to hit on her eventually. She attracted men and females.

I have Mars conjunct Pluto and when I'm active or energetic, men are interested in me. So when I'm in a good mood and I have excessive energy whether at the gym or being a crazy girl in school they find me interesting and funny. Celebrities with these aspects are always known for their roles and the character they display versus too much of their real personality. Ex: Bella Thorne, James Corden, Jared Padalecki (supernatural show), etc.

Scorpio Sun with Moon in the 8th house. There was this guy I was interested in with this aspect. Man, I was digging through his entire past trying to know "the real him". Searched his name online to asking him multiple questions about himself to put the pieces together. I knew more about him than he knew about me. Yes, he was adopted and his dad was some sort of instructor lol, and No, I don't do that anymore. Don't have the next victim yet lol.

Uranus conjunct Sun individuals can get someone hooked unto them for their personality and energy. People are just fascinated by them and actually enjoy being with them. My friend’s cousin has this aspect and man she found herself in a relationship so quick. The guy didn’t give two shit about how she dressed or looked, but fell for her quirkiness. She has a unique sense of fashion too. My friend told me how she was jealous of her cousin because she can get random men’s attention so fast like love at first sight. Yes, she married quick too. That relationship was like 3 month long and are expecting a child!

I have Uranus trine my Mercury and yes people remember whatever I say. I went to the gym with my friend before and the front desk guys asked me a question and I guess I said some funny. Everytime I went to that gym, they remembered that one conversation. Even after I switched over to another gym, I saw one of the front desk guy from my last gym and he would tell me what I said from before. Like I gotta make sure I don’t say none stupid especially to someone important lol.

Scorpio moon individuals would be extra secretive than the sun. Our mind is where we hold our opinions/thoughts/secrets…and if it’s under the sign Scorpio then all shit is preplanned of what can and can’t be spoken to others. No matter what the sun sign may be, Scorpio moon individuals will limit what they tell others, therefore making them magnetic. People want to figure out what they’re hiding.

Do you have any stories with these aspects?

P.S.: Don't be judgy about my color coordination for MC. I don't have any other colorful buckets to choose from lol.

#astro observations #astrology #astrology observations #astrology notes #astrology blog #sex appeal #8th house #sun conjunct pluto #venus conjunct pluto #lilith in astrology #mars conjunct pluto #sun conjunct lilith #astrology posts #astrology placements

831 notes · View notes

sashaisready · 9 months ago

Text

Starting Over: Chapter 4 - Build

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Me again! We’re back. Sorry I know I keep adding new parts but I’ve broken up the final chapter into two as it just keep going and this is a huge bumper one (sorry). I promise there genuinely will only be one more looool. Thanks again for all of your reblogs/comments/love for this story, it means a lot!!

💔

Lou had welcomed you back with open arms, fixing you up with a waitress job at the diner. Of course he had. Lou was like the father you’d never had. His love was one of the few constants in your life.

Mercifully, he didn’t ask you much about Bucky, didn’t chastise you for making a bad choice and getting involved with a mob boss. That wasn’t what Lou was about. He knew that ‘I told you so’ served no purpose, he knew that you were a big girl and there was nothing he could tell you that you didn’t already know yourself. So why bother? All that mattered was that you were here, and you needed him. He would always catch you when you fell.

Going back to waitressing didn’t feel like you’d taken a step back or that you’d somehow failed, if anything it was quite nice to see this former version of your life once more. And you’d missed chatting with the regulars, helping Lou with the accounts, occasionally fighting small fires (both metaphorical and very occasionally, literal). With Bucky you didn’t need to work, which was nice in one way, but you’d missed the structure and purpose your old job had given you. You previously had no interest in daily gossipy lunches with the other mob wives, and there was only so much shopping you could do.

“How did we ever cope without you?” Lou had asked one morning after you’d successfully chased and caught a dine and dasher, and saved hundreds of dollars on the power bill after negotiating a new contract. All before 10am.

You grinned, “I feel the same way about this place”.

You had moved in with Wanda, she had insisted - despite your protests. She and her boyfriend, Vis, gave you the spare room and said you could stay until you got back on your feet. It was small and full of all the extra stuff they couldn’t fit elsewhere in their apartment, but you didn’t care. You would’ve been happy with the couch, or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Nat was equally helpful, sorting you out by buying new clothes and shoes in your size and giving you some of the toiletries and make-up she didn’t use. She even cut and restyled your hair (‘because hair holds memories’, she told you) and took on whichever role you needed. Sometimes that was nights on her couch crying as she held you, other times it was hitting up the bars and trying to forget. She did it all. She had come and got you that morning at the hotel, after you sent her a frantic message from the rickety computer explaining what had happened. She told you she’d be there in 30 minutes…but ended up doing the trip in 20.

One afternoon a week or so later, Bucky’s men radioed him to let them know that there was a redhead in a Mercedes at the front gates demanding to speak to him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sighed as he saw her familiar face on the security monitor and told them to let her in. He knew this day would come. He dismissed them, they didn’t need to be here for this.

Nat had parked up and casually exited the car, strolling across the patio as Bucky stood in the doorway and waited for the inevitable. She didn’t keep him waiting long, slugging him across the jaw with a sharp ‘thwack’ causing him to stagger back against the doorframe.

“Got it. Anything else to say?” he groaned.

She nodded and then kneed him hard in the groin, turning on her heel as she left him in a crumpled heap and ambled back to her car.

“I warned you this would happen if you hurt her”, she called out calmly without looking back.

“Always good to see you, Nat”, Bucky managed to eke out as she slammed the car door.

The generosity of them all was overwhelming, you knew how lucky you were. It’s often said that you don’t know who your true friends are until you fall on hard times, and your friends had proved themselves tenfold. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to repay their kindness.

💔

It had been about six weeks since the night at the hotel when he started coming to the diner. No goons or hangers-on, just him. Which was almost unheard of, given his position.

The first time was a Friday morning, around 9am. He sat in the corner booth, head buried in the menu.

“I can kick him out, hon’, I’m not scared of him”, Lou had snarled as he glared over at the man in the booth.

“It’s okay, Lou. I can handle him,” you told him gently, giving his arm a reassuring stroke.

You took a deep breath as you approached his table. You couldn’t see his face, just his hands, an eerie mirror of the first time you’d met.

“What can I get you?” you asked as you readied your pad and pen, your voice surprisingly even, in spite your stomach’s somersaults.

He lowered the menu slowly and you couldn’t deny it was good to see him again. His blue eyes shone, the former dusting of stubble over his chin and jawline now a fuller beard - just as tantalising as it had always been. A few strands of his hair had come away from the carefully styled gel, framing his face perfectly. Some of your former anger towards him bubbled away beneath the surface, but you couldn’t deny you had also missed him. You had loved him, after all.

The two of you shared a knowing smile.

“You know there are like…hundreds of other breakfast places in this city, right?” you teased, but half-serious.

“I do…but this is the only one that gets my eggs just right,” he grinned back.

“Mmm. I’ll pass your compliments onto the chef. You still want the usual?”

“Please”.

You scribbled down the familiar order onto the page. It felt strange to write it down again, it had been a long time since you’d done that for him.

“Are you going to behave?” you questioned, arms folded.

“Mostly”.

“You’d better. Lou will have your ass if you don’t” you scoffed.

“I don’t doubt it”.

“And Bucky, if you’re here to-” you began, your face betraying the pain that still lurked within you.

“I’m not”, he cut you off. “Just breakfast. I promise”.

You nodded, pressing your lips together with trepidation. The two of you watched the other for a few seconds.

“Well, okay, that’ll be right out”.

You turned and put his order into the kitchen. You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

“Here you go”.

You returned to the booth a little later, laying out the plates and re-filling his coffee, he thanked you and pulled a napkin from the dispenser.

“I like your new hair”, he said as he began to cut up his food, his eyes not leaving the table.

“Thanks. I like your new beard”.

“Thanks. Business going okay here?”

“Doing well. Yours?”

“Same old, same old…”

“And…Rumlow?” you asked, your throat catching a little as you said his name.

“Terminated” he replied coldly as he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes…I presumed so. HYDRA?”

“I finally cut off all of those heads”.

“I hope you mean metaphorically”.

“Mostly. The girls good? Vis?”

“All good. Steve? Sam?”

“Also good”.

“Good”.

“Well…good to catch up. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy”.

“Thanks”.

You waited for some big trick or reveal, but it never came. He ate his meal, drank another coffee refill, paid the bill, tipped, and left within the hour. Like any other customer. Lou was sceptical, and so were you – but there nothing to suggest it was anything else but breakfast…like he said.

And that’s how it was every Friday after that. He’d come in at 9am on the dot, sit in the same booth. Order the usual. You were always his waitress. Everything was the same, every week. The other regulars knew to avoid sitting at his table at that time. The other servers would barely bat an eyelid as he strolled in, taking for granted that you’d be along shortly to put his order in – even if he wasn’t in your section that morning. And it was…fine. He didn’t try and do anything more, didn’t ask you to meet anywhere or for a chance to talk. You initially thought it would be hard to see him again, but it was okay. Maybe a future where the two of you just pleasantly co-existed was possible.

The two of you would chat. Just small talk at first. Occasionally a joke. Even Lou would chat to him sometimes, he was still wary of Bucky but more open to him than he was previously. He certainly didn’t mind him spending money in his restaurant.

Weeks soon became months. Seasons changed. Still, he came in every week, rain or shine. Plates and plates of eggs eaten; endless coffee mugs refilled. He didn’t ever skip it, he was never sick, never seemed to take vacations. He showed up every time. Even if you weren’t there.

The small talk eventually evolved, so slowly you barely noticed it happen. You chatted more about the old times, memories started to feel fonder rather than sad reminders of what was lost. He told you anecdotes about Steve and Sam. You told him about Wanda and Vis, about Nat. You laughed uproariously one morning over the story of Sam’s disastrous vacation involving a mistaken suitcase and an overzealous TSA agent. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, just be with him. No expectations or obligations. You hadn’t forgiven him. You weren’t sure you ever could. But you had missed him. And seeing him for an hour every week, on your turf, just shooting the breeze – that was nice.

“So, you seeing anyone?” you asked one morning as you sat across from him in the booth and sipped your drink, your break coinciding with the end of his meal. You weren’t sure where it came from, but it popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. The curiosity was eating you alive. You seemed to talk about everything apart from his love life.

He firmly shook his head, “nope”.

You frowned. “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“With you,” he replied in that no-nonsense tone of his.

You cocked your head, peering over at him in disbelief.

“But Bucky…”

“What? I’m not interested in anyone else”.

“But we’re not together. And it’s been months”.

“I know”, he replied stoically as he sipped his coffee. His eyes seemed to be studying you.

“And we’re not getting back together…”

“I know”.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, but I-I don’t like this. It feels like a ploy, somehow. To push me into taking you back” you stammered, your finger dancing on the rim of your mug.

“It’s not. It’s just a fact. I didn’t even bring it up, you did”.

He was frustratingly calm and unperturbed, finishing his breakfast like this was just some casual conversation about the weather or a movie he’d seen.

“So…what, you’re never gonna date anyone again? Is that it?” you scowled.

He shrugged, “I never said that. It’s just not something I’m looking to do right now. Work is taking up most of my time. Plus, I’m in therapy, working through a few things. I’d rather be in a better place before I start dating again. Learn from my past mistakes”.

“Oh…” you responded in surprise, “well…that’s very mature of you. And is it…helpful?”

“Mmm, pretty eye opening,” he nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, “I’d recommend it to anyone,” he looked at you pointedly.

You felt the heat at your cheeks, perfectly aware that he was suggesting you do the same. And he was probably right. But you didn’t like the potential to appear vulnerable in front of him, so you merely shrugged and went back to rubbing your coffee cup. You were genuinely pleased for him…it was just unfortunate that your break-up was the catalyst. You felt a wave of grief roll through you.

You paused for just a beat, again unable to stop your word vomit.

“Are you gonna ask if I’m seeing anyone?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. You can date whoever you want”, he shrugged, keeping his attention on his plate.

You frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. I just want you to be happy, doll”.

“Bullshit!” you scoffed, “you once picked a man up by his ankles and dipped his head in the toilet because he grabbed my ass at that party…”

“Well, that was deserved. And I didn’t flush it on him, so he got off easy…”

You pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table. “Buck…I know you. What’s your game, here?”

He sighed heavily, taking a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. His eyes finally moved up from his plate to meet yours. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being with you? In whatever form I can? That maybe I’m happy just getting this time with you every week, no matter what happens between us?”

“And that’s enough for you?” you asked incredulously.

He shifted in his seat, his tone suddenly very serious.

“Look, doll. I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to be honest with you. If you turned around tomorrow and you told me you wanted to give things another shot – sure, I’d bite your hand off to accept. But I live in the real world. And I know you aren’t likely to forgive me for what I did, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. I’m just happy to have you in my life in some way, even if that’s just talking to you every Friday while I have my breakfast”.

You blinked back at him, unsure whether to take him at his word or if this was some manipulation tactic. The word ‘love’ echoed in your ears, and you had to shake it off that he said he still felt that way about you. Maybe this was all some trick. You knew you couldn’t trust him anymore.

But as you looked into his eyes, for a moment his sentiment felt…genuine. Real. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Fine”, you sighed as you took a sip from your cup, “I get paid to be here either way…”

💔

A few more months passed, it had been nearly a year since the break-up. Bucky remained a weekly customer but nothing else. You’d finally moved out of Wanda’s into your own place – a shitty, cramped studio apartment was the best you could do on a waitress wage and tips – but it was yours. It had been such a long time since you’d had your own space, you loved every meagre inch.

You'd also started therapy, to help get your head around your childhood and abandonment issues - to help understand why you were always ready to run and expect everything to collapse. Bucky was right, it was valuable - if not hard going. But you knew it was helping, even though nothing could be 'fixed' overnight.

You still visited Wanda and Vis regularly. In fact, you were over there laughing with Wanda and making an early dinner when you got the call that Friday evening. She knew something terrible had happened from the way your face fell, your eyes widening with shock as you listened to the voice on the other end telling you whatever horror story it was. Seconds later you were rushing out of the front door and trying to wrangle on your coat and grab your bag, as she called out to you in a panic just steps behind.

“It was a massive heart attack,” the doctor had said as she eyed the clipboard in front of her. “He was lucky that a passerby on the street called an ambulance, if he’d been alone…he may not have been able to call himself, and if it had been too late…”

You had not been at the hospital long, sweating and panting in your rush to get down there. Your head fuzzy, unable to fully take in what you’d been told. The doctor was still talking, her voice an unidentifiable drone in your ears as you concentrated all your efforts on staying upright. You tugged off your coat, suddenly far too hot. The hospital felt like a furnace, suffocating and stifling. You were dizzy, everything felt blurred.

A couple of chairs sat a few feet away along the sterile-looking hallway, you plopped down into one and put your head in your hands.

“Can she see him?” Wanda asked the doctor, her hands patting your shoulders supportively.

“He’s stable, but the team are just doing some observations on him. Plus, he needs to rest, and might be feeling groggy after the meds. He’ll be out for a good while. It might take some time to be conscious and lucid again, so-”

“I’ll wait,” you said defiantly, the first time you’d spoken since you got there. “However long it takes”.

“Yes, I understand. And you’re his…friend?”

“Daughter,” you corrected. “I’m Lou’s daughter. Well…good as. He doesn’t have any other family. Neither of us do…”

The doctor nodded kindly, pointing out the coffee machine across the hall and leaving you to it.

💔

Wanda waited with you for a while, but she had a work event that night. She insisted she’d stay but you waved her off, telling her you’d check in with her later. She’d been planning that event for months. Lou would be mad at her for missing it, let alone over him. And you meant it, you didn’t want her missing it because of you.

So, she left. Leaving you by yourself in the hard chair with the plastic cup of lukewarm motor oil masquerading as coffee. Nat was out in the Bahamas with some hottie for the week, and you didn’t really want to bother Vis, so you sat quietly alone. You kept sane by reminding yourself that Lou was stable, and his prognosis looked good. He would be okay. He would. He’s made of strong stuff.

Another hour went by, and you couldn’t help your tears from falling as you began to work yourself up worrying, exacerbated by the fact you hadn’t eaten and had nobody around to stop you from spiralling. Wanda had sent a few texts, but you knew she was busy and didn’t need you distracting her. You just wished you had someone to talk to. Or not even talk to, just be with. You squeezed your phone in your hands as if willing the idea that someone would suddenly call you out of the blue. A friend you’d forgotten, a long-lost family member. But there was nobody.

Well, almost nobody.

You pulled your purse onto your lap and dug through, retrieving your wallet at the bottom. You opened it up and checked each card holder until you found what you were searching for, slightly worn and torn tucked behind the library card you barely used, but the details still clear as day.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Director of 107 Inc.

You had scooped up the card after he left it in the hotel room. It was a bit of a split decision, you’d nearly tossed it in the trash but changed your mind at the last second and jammed it into your wallet, not really thinking about why. You hadn’t looked at it since, you’d never transferred his number into your phone, or even spoken to him outside of Fridays at the diner. But he had become something of a friend over the last few months, and you were surprised to find yourself looking forward to seeing him every week. It was as if you’d gotten to know each other again from scratch, a slow-burn friendship grown over time – the complete opposite of your initial whirlwind relationship, where heat had won out over foundations. But now, you felt you knew him differently. It was funny how you get to know somebody without the chemistry and physical attraction fogging up your brain.

Was this stupid? Were you asking for trouble? But…it would be nice to talk to someone. Just a phone call, nothing more. You took a deep breath and punched the numbers into the keypad before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hello?” came his gruff voice in your year after two rings.

You sat upright, surprised he had even answered at all – let alone so fast. You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say.

“Hey, Buck, I…” you squeaked, unable to mask the emotion in your voice.

“Doll?” his voice immediately softened, “what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, no, actually. I’m at Mount Sinai…uh…Lou-uh, Lou had a big heart attack and I’m at the hospital and hesreallysickandI-I…”

You sobbed, your words melting into one as the pain of saying them out loud hit home, “I’m sorry I…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take a moment for me, alright? Take a deep breath doll…”

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the air out of your lips like he said. You did it a few times, feeling slightly better afterwards,

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky told you. “Are you by yourself? Are Wanda and Nat there with you?”

“No…Wanda is working, Nat’s away. It’s fine…I just…”

“I’m so sorry about Lou, doll”, he said tenderly. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“No…no…it’s okay…I just. I just wanna talk,” you replied, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Yeah…yeah, we can do that. What shall we talk about?”

You sighed, “I don’t know. Anything. Anything that isn’t hospitals or heart attacks…or food. Because I haven’t eaten and I’m starving.”

“Alright. Hmm. Well…I had to break up a fight between Thor and Scott today, if that helps distract you…”

“What? But Thor is twice Scott’s size. That was mean of him…”

“No…Scott started it. Said Thor was mouthing off about something or other and it all blew up. Scott swung for him”.

“What?? Is he insane?” you practically shrieked, the beginnings of a giggle forming in your throat as you tried to imagine Scott trying to land a punch as Thor towered above him.

“I guess so. But they worked it out. Last time I saw them they were laughing, and Thor was swinging him from his shoulders”.

You laughed. A proper, deep belly laugh. It felt good. Cathartic. You could practically see some of the tension leave your body.

“Well, I’m glad they figured it out. What else did you do today, Buck?”

“Hm. Not a lot. Mostly work. I went to the park. Just to get some air. Went to that duck pond you like and sat on the bench for a while”.

You smiled, “I love that pond”.

“I know. Remember that time you nearly fell in trying to help that duckling trapped in the weeds?”

“I do. I remember that you had to catch me and I accidentally splashed pondwater on your suit as I stumbled…” you laughed fondly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had my dry cleaner remove for me. And we got the duckling back to its mom, even if she was furious at us”.

“She tried to bite you…”

“She succeeded”.

You both chuckled for a moment as you reminisced, then it suddenly went quiet between you both. You held the phone tightly to your ear, unsure and a little lost for words. It felt odd to feel tongue-tied around Bucky, it had always been so easy to know what to say to him. Despite how easy it was to slip back into nostalgia just now, and your newfound friendship, there was still something of a gulf between the two of you. You had been apart for so long now.

“…thanks, Buck,” you whispered.

“Anytime, doll”.

💔

After you hung up with Bucky, a nurse came over and you shot up out of your chair with anticipation. She told you that Lou was doing well but was slowly coming around after a heavy sedative. He should be ready for visitors in another hour or so. You sighed heavily but nodded grimly, as long as Lou was alright – that was all that mattered.

You sank back into your faithful chair, pulling out your rapidly dying phone again and wishing you had the foresight to bring a charger when you left Wanda’s. Or some food, at least.

You continued your vigil in the unfeeling hospital hallway, a place that seemed to exist outside of time. But you had to admit, speaking to Bucky had raised your spirits a little. It reminded you of the old days, when he was an anchor in a storm, a calming presence when things were tough. Part of you had missed that.

You’d just closed your eyes a little while later when you heard someone call your name.

“Still hungry?”

Your eyes filled with tears as your head snapped to see who it was.

There stood Bucky dressed in his off-duty grey sweats, his unstyled hair flopping across his forehead. In his hand was a brown bag, you instantly recognised the brand of your favourite take-out place printed across the front. It smelled heavenly.

“Buck…?” you mumbled in shock, not quite believing he was there, “what…what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “you said you were alone and hadn’t eaten. I know how you get when you’re anxious. Figured you could use this”.

It wasn’t clear if he meant the food or the company, but in that moment, you were grateful for both.

He sat in the chair next to yours and began to methodically remove the food tubs, placing them on your lap and opening the lids as he pulled out a fork and napkins.

“Hope you still like this one,” he said as he revealed your usual order.

“I do”, you replied, your voice small.

“Good. Dig in.”

You began to eat slowly, feeling strangely self-conscious about your audience. Fortunately, he pulled out a tub of his own which took the focus off you. The two of you sat side by side and ate in silence.

“Thanks for this, Bucky,” you mumbled between mouthfuls.

“Anytime. Any news on Lou?”

“Should be ready for visitors soon”.

“Well, that’s good. He’s a tough old bastard.”

You both finished your meals and Bucky got to work tidying up the empty containers and old napkins and depositing them in the trash. You thanked him as he sat back down.

“Hey…thanks again, that was really thoughtful - but really, you don’t have to stay,” you shrugged, “you probably have a busy night”.

He shook his head, “nope. I’m wide open”.

He stared straight ahead and leaned back, his bulk squeezing up against the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean when you said, ‘I know how you get when you’re anxious?’” you asked him tentatively.

“Just…I know how you can spiral when you’re stressed. Figured you could use some company is all,” he casually as he moved his hair away from his face.

“T-thanks,” you responded, your throat dry, “I’m not really up to chatting much right now, though”.

He was nonchalant, “that’s fine”.

The two of you sat side by side, nothing said.

It was awkward at first, sharing this cold and sterile space with your ex, worries about Lou weighing you down. But then after some time…it was sort of…okay? He didn’t try to initiate any conversation; he didn’t show any signs of boredom – even though he must’ve been feeling it. Didn’t complain. Didn’t check his watch. He just sat and waited with you, his arms propped up casually on the armrests and his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. You were grateful that he’d heeded your request not to speak as you didn’t have the brain power to labour a conversation. You didn’t fully understand why, but him just physically being there was strangely comforting - as odd as that was to admit to yourself.

Eventually the nurse returned, her smile warm as she greeted you.

“Oh, you have a friend. Right on time, Lou is ready to see you now”.

You quickly got to your feet and dashed after her as she led you to Lou’s room. Bucky followed close behind.

Your heart sank when you finally saw him, covered in wires and tubes, his face suddenly much older than his years. You gasped, rushing over to his bedside.

“Hey, kiddo” he wheezed, a smile creeping over his face despite the obvious effort it required, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh God, Lou, I was so scared…I thought you’d…” you took his hand in yours, unable to say the words out loud as the tears started again.

You felt like you’d cave in on yourself from the anguish, but a steadying hand found its way to your shoulder from behind you. Bucky squeezed once, a small reminder of his presence, then pulled his hand away. It was grounding, helpful.

“Hey there hon, I’m doin’ okay”, Lou rasped as he weakly tried to grip your hand in return. “But I guess this is a good reminder to lay off the bacon, huh?” he chuckled before the effort caused him to wheeze.

You smiled faintly and patted his hand, careful to mind the IV by his fingers, “you gotta start taking better care of yourself, okay? No more greasy breakfasts at work…”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky behind you, “you brought company…”

“Oh, yeah”, you turned to gesture to Bucky, “he sat with me and brought me dinner while I waited”.

Lou nodded, a flash of something in his eyes you couldn’t place. “You takin’ care of her?”

Bucky nodded in return, “of course”.

Lou inhaled deeply, “well…alright, I’m glad she’s not been by herself”, he begrudgingly offered. “I wouldn’t want her out in the cold…so to speak” he said pointedly, a clear reference to that awful night one year before.

“Rest assured…that would never happen,” Bucky responded coolly. “But I understand your concern”.

You watched as the two men stared at each other, something resembling an understanding seemed to lay between them.

💔

You sat with Lou for as long as you could before the doctor shooed you and Bucky out, explaining Lou needed to rest. You promised you’d be back tomorrow.

“Oh hon…no. Don’t waste your time on an old man like me,” he teased playfully.

“Oh, stop that. You know I’m going to be here with balloons and grapes, the whole shebang…” you grinned, putting your coat on.

“Good to see you, Lou” Bucky chimed in as he shook Lou’s hand, “you’ll be fighting fit in no time”.

Unbeknownst to you as you were busy with your bag and coat, Lou used a finger to beckon Bucky to move closer. Bucky obliged, leaning forward so that Lou could speak to him. His words were hushed but clear.

“Hurt her again and I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Bad ticker or not. And I don’t care how many of your goons you set on me…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his expression betrayed no emotion, “understood”.

You turned, smiling obliviously at Lou just as Bucky stood back up to full height and cleared his throat. They both smiled back.

“See you tomorrow, Lou”.

“See you, kiddo”.

You left the room with Bucky trailing behind. As a small sob escaped your throat, his hand pressed firmly against your back. A small reminder that he’d shown up for you. He was there.

💔

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic

547 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 1 year ago

Text

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, bottom!reader, top!sukuna, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.”

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.

–

Ding.

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free.

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached.

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.”

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.”

“Probably not.”

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.”

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you.

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely.

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts.

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know.

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling.

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him.

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it.

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.”

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?”

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–”

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.”

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.”

“Don't blame this on me.”

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.”

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose.

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?”

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.”

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.”

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.”

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass.

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked.

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.”

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door.

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?”

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack.

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–”

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack.

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched.

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did.

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better.

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better.

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.”

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him.

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.”

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior.

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.”

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his–

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings.

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.”

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands.

“Found it, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.”

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“My pocket.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you.

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured.

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?”

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.”

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall.

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew.

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes.

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow.

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.”

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too.

“Raincheck,” you murmured.

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–”

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck.

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.”

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there.

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?”

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee.

“Come sit.”

Sukuna complied.

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say.

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.”

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.”

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.”

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote.

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.”

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer.

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around.

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite.

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet.

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth?

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again?

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply.

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.”

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony.

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being.

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–”

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.”

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.”

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock.

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood.

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.”

“Tch.” You've said that before.

“I mean it.”

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–”

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide.

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance.

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed.

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings.

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed.

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness.

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–”

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him.

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear.

I do.

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body.

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding.

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment.

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.”

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole.

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.”

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it.

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?”

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.”

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement.

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.”

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours.

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.”

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…”

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening.

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside.

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa.

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry?

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!”

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues.

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again.

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.”

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?”

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!”

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back.

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child.

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?”

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster.

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–”

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice.

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

“Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you.

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head.

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand.

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant.

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm.

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!”

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!”

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?”

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment.

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.”

“That's generous.”

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever.

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–”

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!”

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

1K notes · View notes

eyebawll · 8 days ago

Text

⦻ JEFFREY WOODS ⦻

⦻ interp and headcanons⦻

art by unpanzito here on tumblr — warning for mentions of abuse, mental illness, SH, obsession, and overall dark topics.

Because of how important Jeff's original story was (and still is) to me as a child, I have many things from the original creator's "canon". While his original story is being fleshed out with my personal ideas, I've mocked up what else I worked out for him. This is pretty long, and some grammar might be messy since I've been working on this all night and morning, and some things might be a bit redundant because my brain slipped a lot, but I hope y'all like my interp!!

PSYCHOLOGY

From the outside point of view, he could be seen as "edgy" or the classic "insane and unhinged"—although there is a perfectly logical and psychological reason as to why.

This is where the term "joker reject" comes into play. But he isn't a copycat or "rip off" of anything. He was just a boy (now man) full of anguish and trauma. His mind is a sheer maelstrom of chaos and pain.

His memory, while useful on occasion, is often full of re-runs of his past, his kills, or straight up blacked out. This affects his daily life, but unfortunately, it's a way for his damaged brain to protect itself—even if there isn't anything to protect itself from.

He never saw a professional, but if he were to see one, he would be diagnosed with the following:

Pseudobulbar Affect (PBA), Schizoaffective Disorder, C-PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), BPD, Erotomania, Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder, and possibly Antisocial Personality Disorder.

PBA is the condition is a neurological disorder causing uncontrollable outbursts of laughing or crying unrelated to actual emotions, much like Arthur Fleck from the 2019 Joker.

He laughs, and sometimes cries, at random periods of time. In the middle of conversations (good or bad), while mouthing off to somebody, or even when he's just on his own. It often contradicts his own emotions, which is the entire point of the condition. It is often caused by chronic illnesses, but also traumatic brain injury—which is similar to his case.

His conditions are influenced by years of abuse (neglect, verbal, psychological, physical) and the untreated aftermath of such abuse. His full backstory is not fully fleshed out in my Slenderverse, not yet, but it does heavily involve the original theme of his story—although with harsher tones.

His severe mental decline is what led to his classic appearance now. He doesn't care about his own personal hygiene or how he appears to others. It's likely that the reason for his self-mutilation was because of a manic or dissociative episode. He became an image of his self hatred and rage and has lived in it ever since. This also includes the bleach.

The pain from the knife mutilating his face was nothing compared to the emotional and psychological distress he suffered. The taste of his own blood, the sharpness of the blade, the burn from the bleach—it all gave him a thrill.

“They love me. They just don’t know how to say it yet. But I can help them.”

His erotomania is another condition formed by his severe trauma, a defense mechanism twisted into delusion. When real affection was absent—when his touches were met with flinching, his words ignored, and his presence treated like a stain—his mind began to fill in the blanks. He started mistaking glances for desire, kindness for intimacy, and silence for hidden longing. To him, love isn’t a mutual experience. It’s a story he tells himself to survive.

And when that fantasy is threatened—when the person doesn’t “play along”—he doesn’t understand. He thinks they’re being manipulated, or scared, or punished by the world for loving him. So he acts. Possessively. Violently.

He believes obsession is love. That hurting someone else for them proves his devotion. That keeping them close—even if they scream—is mercy. Because he remembers what it felt like to be alone. And he swore he’d never go back there.

He's fascinated by death. Not just as a killer, but as an observer. Will sit by a corpse and talk to it. Will ask questions.

He mocks or intimidates people just to feel in control, especially those who remind him of authority figures, or bullies.

He lives compulsively, even when he doesn’t need to. It’s a defense. A game.

Alexithymia traits. He struggles to identify his own emotions, often expressing them as rage or laughter instead.

Auditory hallucinations. Not just voices, but noises. Static, dripping, heartbeats, or echoing footsteps.

Visual hallucinations. Faces in the mirror, eyes in the dark. Possibly tied to guilt or past victims.

Time distortion. Doesn’t always register days passing; he gets “stuck” in loops, especially after kills.

Somatic flashbacks. Physical responses (like nausea, chest tightness) triggered by smells, words, certain lighting.

Delusions of grandeur. Believes he’s a “chosen” figure, a monster with a divine or mythical purpose.

Body dysmorphia. Terrible dysmorphia. Sees himself as monstrous even in normal moments. May think his face is still burning.

Paranoia. This is already obvious, but it can be its own section as well. Thinks he’s being watched or followed, even by allies. Hates mirrors partly because of this.

HABITS

Growing up, there were strict lines Jeff wasn’t allowed to cross—whether by fear, by rules, or by emotional suffocation. He was told what to wear, what to listen to, how to act, and what kind of boy he should be. He wasn’t allowed to feel angry, only quiet. Not to cry. Not to talk back. He obeyed, until he couldn’t anymore.

Now everything he wasn’t allowed to do has become part of him—an act of rebellion and freedom.

He smokes like his lungs don’t matter. Sometimes cigarettes, sometimes weed—anything that dulls the noise or turns it into a slow static. He never used to inhale properly. Now he lets it burn.

He drinks until it stings his teeth and settles in his stomach like acid. He likes the feeling of spinning—it reminds him of losing control without the violence. He is a hardcore alcoholic because of this.

He blasts music—abrasive, bass-heavy, industrial or screeching metal. It’s noise that mirrors his insides. The lyrics don’t always make sense, but the rage does.

He breaks things for fun—mirrors, phones, whatever’s close. The crashing sound is almost comforting.

He watches violent horror movies obsessively. Not because he enjoys the gore—but because it feels familiar. The silence before the screams. The tension. Okay, maybe a little bit of gore.

Even the clothes he wears—bloodstained, scorched, too tight or too big—are a rejection of the boy he used to be. He's a mess on purpose. No one tells him what to be anymore.

He self-harms in multiple ways; carving symbols, biting his fingers, digging nails into skin. His pain is his power source.

Starves or binges randomly. Food control as self-punishment or reward. Often forgets to eat at all. He may have an eating disorder.

Lets grime build up. Refuses to shower unless it’s for symbolic reasons. Greasy hair, dirty hands, sweat-soaked clothes.

Destroys mirrors. He can’t stand his reflection. They’re either broken or turned to face the wall.

They said he was too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too broken.

So he became all of it, Loud and disgusting. Impossible to ignore.

Graffiti and vandalism. Leaves behind messages, symbols, his own name. Wants to be remembered and feared.

Sleeps in random places. Rooftops, train stations, abandoned houses, closets. Never the same place twice or for too long.

Walks barefoot in unsafe places. Glass, concrete, mud. Pain equals reality and control.

Watches disturbing content. Autopsies, crime scene footage, true crime interviews.

Studies old medical books or anatomy charts for fun or for precision. He likes knowing what everything does… and how to ruin it.

Keeps items that meant something once; a burned-out lighter, a charm bracelet, a cracked CD player. He can’t let go, even if he forgets why.

Talks to people who aren’t there; past victims, old versions of himself, imaginary lovers.

Acts out scenes he wishes happened; arguments, apologies, fantasies of someone choosing him. Over and over until it’s “right.”

Makes himself bleed on purpose during full moons, storms, or birthdays, personal holidays. Dates that meant something.

Whispers “go to sleep” to himself when he wants to disappear—not from others, but from himself.

Keeps trophies from victims, jewelry, phones, bloody photos, torn clothing. Sometimes he talks to them.

Writes obsessively in old notebooks, walls, or on his skin. Sometimes poetry, sometimes nonsense. Sometimes he writes love letters never sent.

Keeps fingernails uneven on purpose. One hand jagged, the other trimmed. For scratching vs. control.

Picks at scabs and scars. Compulsive, self-soothing. Doesn’t care if they bleed.

Eats raw things. Sometimes uncooked meat, sometimes just out of lack of care. It’s about texture and instinct.

Talks to knives. Names them. Ascribes personalities. The one he used “the first time” is the only one he won't let anyone else touch.

Sleeps with music playing. Usually violent or distorted. Silence is terrifying. He needs noise to feel real.

Steals clothes from his victims. Wears them over his own, sometimes sleeps in them.

Has a favorite victim type. Not by appearance, but by emotional pattern: kind, lonely, easily flustered.

Draws childish or surreal things. Stick figures, spirals, things with too many teeth. Sometimes cute animals crossed out violently.

Carries around odd tokens. Buttons, a cracked watch, a piece of stained lace. He doesn’t know why anymore.

Talks about himself in third person when dissociating.

Smiles at corpses, tries to force their mouths into smiles too, sometimes.

Breaks his own fingers during panic attacks—has to snap something.

Scratches walls while walking, especially in tight spaces.

Doesn’t like being touched on the neck, will react instantly and violently.

Has a favorite knife and a backup. The backup is duller on purpose.

Breath-holding when stressed; He’ll unconsciously hold his breath for too long. Has passed out before.

Chronic insomnia. Sleeps in 2-3 hour bursts if at all. Wakes up mid-scream or mid-laughter.

Uses broken glass as tools. Doesn’t always rely on knives. Glass, rusted metal, and even his own nails are tools.

Hoarding behavior. Keeps random trash with sentimental weight. Broken headphones. Gum wrappers. A single shoelace.

Blood letting “calendars”. Scratches tally marks in the wall or on himself to count something. Sometimes doesn’t remember what.

Animal mimicry; Growls. Snarls. Clicks his teeth. Especially when cornered or overstimulated.

Echolalia. Repeats the last word or phrase others say, mockingly or mechanically, like a broken tape recorder.

Burn fetishes. Lights fire just to watch it, sometimes burns his fingertips to feel something.

Writes coded messages, in spirals, backwards writing, or made-up alphabets. Claims it’s just “something pretty.”

Scent-based memory; Smells like bleach, rust, cigarettes. Associates smells with people or events. Uses that to “track” feelings.

Talks to corpses like they’re roommates. May leave them posed, put things near them, even apologize to them before sleeping nearby.

Jeff is, in clinical terms, a mission-oriented disorganized serial killer with strong psychosis and delusional fixations. He doesn’t just snap—he builds. He stalks, imagines, crumbles, and strikes. His kills aren’t random, but the reason why he kills can shift depending on his mental state that day.

Stalking habits: He doesn’t stalk in a traditional way. He lurks. Observes. Sometimes from outside a window, sometimes for weeks. He might leave cryptic things behind—dead animals, broken belongings, a stolen shirt returned with cuts in it. To him, it’s flirting.

Rituals before killing: Might clean a knife obsessively, recite phrases, smear something on himself (blood, ash, paint). It's compulsive and grounding.

After kills: May fall into a depressive or manic state, laugh uncontrollably, or whisper apologies. May not remember the kill. May treat the body like it’s still alive.

Treats each kill like a “love letter”; Often leaves behind messages, drawings, or carefully posed bodies.

Places fingers over victims’ mouths before killing. “Shhh. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Has to be seen by the victim before killing. Needs their recognition. Their fear.

Will sometimes spare people who “remind him” of someone lost. Not out of mercy. More like confusion.

Will speak to the victim as if they’re already dead during stalking. “You don’t even know you’re gone yet.”

Seeks out intimate spaces. Bedrooms, bathrooms. Places people are vulnerable. It’s a form of control.

Triggers (Things that may drive him to violence)

Mockery. Being laughed at, especially about his voice, appearance, or mental health.

Perceived betrayal. Someone lying, ghosting, or “leaving” him in any way.

Authority or control. Someone trying to dominate him or talk down to him.

Romantic rejection. Especially if erotomania is involved. Even just brushing him off gently can snap the wire.

Touch without consent. Unexpected or forceful touch can bring flashbacks and instant violence.

Seeing someone cry because of him. It enrages him, but also deeply confuses him.

Being ignored mid-sentence. Makes him spiral. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”

Clean, well-lit rooms. Reminds him of hospitals or places where he was “fixed.” Hates them.

Hearing certain songs. Especially childhood ones. Will freeze or start panicking if one comes on.

People pretending not to be afraid. He knows when someone’s faking. He’ll punish them for it.

Voice + Speech Patterns

Raspy yet deep—possibly due to damage from bleach, smoke, and screaming.

His laugh cuts into conversations like a glitch—high-pitched, breathy, or gasping.

May talk to himself mid-conversation, like correcting his own thoughts.

Speaks in second-person sometimes ("You told me you'd stay...but you lied, didn’t you?")

Mumbles or hums under his breath when anxious.

When in a “killing state,” he becomes dramatic—mocking, sing-songy, calm in a way that should be comforting, but isn't. Other times he's just plain erratic and unpredictable.

Jumps timelines mid-sentence: “You said you wouldn’t—no. You’re not her. You’re not her but you’re wearing her eyes.”

Mixes reality and delusion seamlessly: “You looked at me the same way she did. You remember her, right? The woman in the red coat. You have to remember her.”

(There was no woman in a red coat. Or maybe there was.)

Sudden volume shifts—whispers a sentence, then yells a word, or vice versa. Completely unpredictable.

Rambles to himself when no one’s listening. Mostly muttered reflections, self-corrections, or dissociation-induced thoughts: “Don’t twitch. She twitched. That’s how I knew she was lying. Liars twitch.”

Repeats phrases until they lose meaning: “Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep—” (tone changes from soothing to aggressive to frantic.)

Uses sickly-sweet tones while threatening: “Awww, don’t cry now. We were just starting to have fun.”

“You’ll be alright. Just pretend it’s love.”

Imitates other people mockingly–especially therapists, police, family: “’He just needs help.’ Yeah? Funny how they never helped, just shoved pills in my mouth and called me better.”

Laughs inappropriately mid-sentence or during emotional dialogue: “I didn’t mean to—heh—but you should’ve seen her face.”

Talks to his “love interests” like they’re already together even if they’re strangers: “You don’t need to talk. I know what you’re trying to say. I always do.”

Uses possessive pet names no matter how long he’s known the person: “Sweetheart,” “doll,” “my little angel,” “mine.”

Talks about love like a threat.

Talks in second or third person when distressed: “Jeff doesn’t like this.” / “You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re not even real right now.”

Shifts between sounding adult and sounding like a kid – sometimes mid-thought: “I said don’t touch me—!…sorry. Sorry. That just...reminded me.”

Counts under his breath when overstimulated or trying not to kill: “One, two, three, four…breathe. Breathe. Smile.”

He also has a number of repetitive phrases.

“Go to sleep.” (Of course.)

“Don’t flinch.” (Usually said to others. He hates flinching—it’s rejection.)

“Smile wider. No, wider.” (Sometimes said in the mirror. Or to victims.)

“She saw me. She saw me.”

“What was her name again?” (Said with disturbing fondness. Probably about someone he probably killed.)

Hiccuping or stammering under stress, especially when confronted with authority or a love interest.

Misuses idioms or metaphors. Says them wrong and gets angry when corrected: “Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. I did.”

Deliberate misnaming. Calls people by the wrong name or a nickname to confuse or belittle them.

“Triggered scripts”: Has memorized lines he repeats during certain emotional states, as if reading from a script.

Shifts into childish speech under high stress. Uses baby talk or whiny tones that abruptly cut back into his normal voice.

Refers to his knife as “his voice”: “She talks louder than I ever could.” Might even say it “sings.”

Repetition of traumatic phrases: “Why’d you make me do it?” or “Am I still beautiful, mommy?" Common during breakdowns.

THE SLENDERMANSION

Jeff’s presence in the mansion is like having a stray dog with rabies. Slenderman may tolerate him—not because he’s loyal, but because he’s useful.

He sees Slender as a god or fucked up father figure he both resents and depends on.

May get jealous of other proxies or feel replaced easily.

Doesn’t like being referred to as a pet or proxy, even if he acts like one.

Wanders in and out of the mansion, sleeps in the basement or roof. Often found where no one else dares to be.

Has no official room. His presence is found through blood trails, cigarette burns, or distant laughter.

Yes, smile dog is a companion in this interp.

Unspoken truce with other proxies. He has codes with them. Small gestures mean “stay away” or “help.”

Keeps bones or bones fragments in his corner of the Mansion. He may even “name” them.

Feral behavior if cornered inside the mansion. Will lash out and act like an animal until left alone.

Genuinely afraid of Slenderman when he’s in a “bad mood”. Thinks he can “hear” his thoughts sometimes.

Tolerates Sally. Hates being reminded of what he used to be. Might act like a big brother one day and violently distant the next.

Fights with Masky often. Projects authority figures onto him. Believes he’s a “wannabe cop.”

Jeff wanders like a feral dog. Nobody really knows when he’s there or not unless he makes his presence known.

Eats food others brought in, even if it’s half-eaten or obviously not his. Drinks cold coffee left out too long. Sometimes leaves his own blood in mugs and laughs about it.

Occasionally sits at the kitchen table at 3AM, talking to no one. If you acknowledge him, he won’t respond. But he knows you saw him.

He hoards stolen things from others in the mansion—Clockwork’s hoodies string, Toby's goggles, BEN’s broken controller. Not out of malice. Just because.

He carves names into the walls—sometimes of people in the house, sometimes unknown ones. Crosses out the ones who “left.”

Has a hiding spot only Smile Dog knows. If anyone finds it, he destroys it and relocates.

Despite his instability, he occasionally “trains” younger proxies in brutal, unorthodox ways—he’ll throw them into fear scenarios just to “toughen them up.” It’s a twisted sense of mentorship.

Slenderman keeps him on a long leash, metaphorically. He doesn’t follow orders unless he feels like it, but when he does, it’s with disturbing overkill.

BEN and Jeff have a rivalry, like siblings forced to share a room. BEN trolls him, Jeff responds physically—ripping cords, smashing keyboards, etc. They don't hate each other, though.

Jeff is obsessed with Kate, but not in a healthy way. It's a mixture of fixation, possessiveness, projection, and twisted admiration, although the genuine craving for affection is there.

Calls her things like "ghost-girl", "chaser-baby", "my shadow twin"—weird pet names only he thinks are cute.

He follows her silently, watching her on hunts. Never interferes unless he thinks she’s in danger. Then he snaps.

Leaves little "gifts" in her room: wilted flowers, knives shaped like crescent moons, locks of his own hair, bloody notes that read “you’re the only one who understands.” and other corny shit.

Gets extremely jealous if Kate is seen talking to someone else too long. Especially if it’s Masky, Hoodie, or another male proxy.

Once flipped a table during dinner when Kate ignored him. Then calmly picked up the plates and placed them back down, still seething.

Tells people they’re “soul twins” because they both “chase what they’ll never catch.” Kate finds this annoying and disturbing.

Sometimes Kate humors him because she feels bad for him…other times, she threatens him outright.

He once carved her name into his arm in front of her. She didn’t speak to him for weeks afterward.

In his eyes, Kate is the only real person in the mansion. The rest are noise.

Sally is weirdly fond of him—thinks he’s funny like a scary cartoon. He plays along, softens slightly with her, but also says incredibly inappropriate things sometimes. (Not sexual, of course not, but things like “if I died, would you haunt me?”)

Clockwork hates him. Finds him unstable and dangerous. They've gotten into brutal fights that almost left one or both unconscious.

Toby is intimidated, but fascinated. Jeff sees Toby as a “baby rage-machine” and mocks him for his tics until he gets punched.

Eyeless Jack and Jeff have an agreement—Jack patches him up if he shuts up. Jeff doesn’t. Jack still patches him up, usually annoyed.

Slenderman occasionally “reins him in” telepathically, or sends proxies to drag him back when he’s gone rogue for too long.

His scent lingers in places he’s been—blood, smoke, rot. Proxies know not to enter rooms with that smell.

His “nest” is full of torn fabrics, bones, stolen pillows, and old Polaroids. There’s barely enough room for him to curl up inside it.

Sleeps in cold spots—the attic, crawlspaces, or with the windows wide open even in the dead of winter.

The basement walls have claw marks, some say they’re his, others say it’s something else he brought back with him.

He will occasionally talk to his reflection in a mirror, despite his hatred for it. He usually ends up punching it, though.

Refers to the Slender Mansion as “home” but never says it like it’s comforting. Says it like a threat.

Keeps chalk drawings under the staircase—outlines of bodies, smiley faces with fangs, Kate’s silhouette.

Sometimes dances alone in the hallway. No music. Just dancing to something in his head.

“Feeds” Smile Dog scraps of something that isn’t meat. No one asks.

Occasionally writes notes and tapes them to people’s doors, always in red pen. They say things like:

“I watched you last night. You flinch in your sleep.”

“You smell different today. New shampoo?”

“She’s not yours.”

More to be added! If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I love my burnt sausage so much. <3

183 notes · View notes

poisonlove · 9 months ago

Text

You² | w.a

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X reader

Wednesday hated Thornhill.

After that encounter in the library, she had done everything to avoid Y/N. Yet, fate seemed to take pleasure in her misfortune: a group activity paired her with the one person who made her feel the most out of place at Nevermore, making her realize just how unlucky she truly was.

After all, she was an Addams; she knew very well that luck was not on their side.

The activity involved collecting the Nightshade Bloom, better known as the Dreamshade Flower. It was an extremely rare plant found only in the Crackstone Forest. She had no idea where in the forest it grew, but she knew it preferred humid spots: probably near the waterfalls or in the Misty Glade.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Y/N asked, looking around with awe.

Wednesday stopped and turned to her partner, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. The question irritated her but when she saw the terror on the girl’s face, she decided to let it go.

"Of course, I'm sure," Wednesday replied in her characteristic monotone voice. She blinked and observed Y/N using her hand like a flashlight to navigate the darkness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Y/N justified, her Y/C eyes scanning the surroundings before turning back to Wednesday.

A strange flutter gripped Wednesday's stomach, forcing her to break eye contact. She didn’t like this feeling at all. Experimenting with new emotions, especially ones she didn’t understand, was not her style.

Without saying a word, Wednesday resumed walking, her right hand holding the makeshift torch while her left brushed aside branches that slowed their progress. An unsettling silence enveloped the woods, and Wednesday was oddly grateful for it.

But, of course, Y/N had to break it.

"So... I haven't seen you in the library lately," Y/N began, trying to spark a conversation, a way to distract herself and learn more about the gothic Addams. She had done some research about Wednesday, but her name didn’t appear on any social media, which honestly disappointed her.

Wednesday made a strange sound in her throat.

"I was busy," she replied coldly. It wasn't a lie. She had indeed been occupied writing her story and avoiding the person standing in front of her. She had nothing against Y/N; rather, it was the absence of disdain that bothered her.

"I understand... Enid told me you write a lot... and that you're not exactly a social person" Y/N confessed with a hint of sadness.

Wednesday stopped, noticing how Y/N hesitated to push aside a branch, suddenly halting. Enid? Why were they talking about me? Y/N looked at Wednesday, confusion evident on her face.

"Why were you talking about me?" Wednesday asked, her voice sharp.

Y/N's cheeks flushed.

"Um... I'm participating in the Poe Cup and she mentioned you... the only member I don't know," she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her tone. The flames in her hand illuminated her Y/C eyes, and Wednesday couldn’t help but think how strikingly attractive she looked in that light.

Quickly, Wednesday averted her gaze and turned away.

Y/N let out a sigh she didn't realize she'd been holding, falling back into step behind Wednesday. Addams pondered Y/N's words, especially the fact that she would be competing in the Poe Cup with them. Honestly, she didn’t want to participate in the tournament again, but the prospect of competing alongside Y/N intrigued her.

"Have you finished reading the book?" Wednesday asked coldly.

She enjoyed the interaction they were having, and a part of her desperately wanted to keep talking to Y/N. Yes, Wednesday Addams, the most antisocial girl at Nevermore, found herself wanting to engage with Y/N.

A huge smile spread across Y/N's face.

"Yes, it was really interesting and helpful for my research," she confessed excitedly, glancing at Wednesday, who observed her from the corner of her eye. The moonlight highlighted Addams' pale skin, and her perfectly arranged braids gave her an air of authority and glamour.

Y/N had developed a small crush on Addams.

"Good," Wednesday murmured in a sharp tone, diverting her gaze from Y/N.

A strange flush crept onto her cheeks, and her heartbeat quickened at the sight of Y/N’s radiant smile. Something was definitely off within her.

She unconsciously rubbed her cheeks.

"Have we arrived?" Y/N asked nervously, her fear growing. She had heard a couple of howls during their trek that made her skin crawl, but seeing Wednesday's calm demeanor made her decide—no, force herself—that everything was under control.

"Yes." Wednesday pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a smile.

It was the third time that night that her lips had inexplicably wanted to stretch into a smile, and each time she held back. She had to maintain her reputation as the gothic weirdo of Nevermore.

The fog enveloped their path, and Wednesday felt relieved to finally reach the Misty Glade. If they were lucky, they might find the damn flower in this area; otherwise, she would have to cross to the other side of Crackstone Forest toward the waterfalls.

Wednesday took off her backpack and pulled a small basket from inside.

"Can you recognize the Nightshade Bloom?" she asked, looking at Y/N. The latter nodded decisively.

Y/N walked opposite Wednesday, scanning the ground for any signs of light, hoping to spot the flower.

Meanwhile, Wednesday delved deeper into the mist, focusing on finding the blooms.

(...)

Wednesday crouched down and carefully picked the flower, trying not to damage its luminescent petals. She placed it in the basket alongside the others and walked toward another damp area. Half an hour had passed since the search began, and Wednesday felt increasingly uncomfortable in the oppressive silence.

Where on earth were you?

"Y/N?" she called loudly.

All she received in response was a howl. What if you were in danger? Wednesday gripped the basket tightly and scanned the surroundings, determined to spot you, abandoning her task of collecting more flowers.

Her feet moved westward as she squinted, trying to extend her field of vision, but the damned fog was too thick. A strange sensation settled in her chest, something that edged on fear. But she wasn't scared; she was... uncomfortable due to your silence?

"Y/N, if this is a joke, it’s not funny!" Wednesday exclaimed loudly, looking around with heightened vigilance. Her heartbeat quickened.

The worst scenarios flashed in her mind, prompting her to quicken her pace.

"Ahhhhh!" you screamed.

Wednesday's eyes widened, and she raced toward the sound of your cry. Something had gone wrong. The brunette increased her running speed, breathing heavily, a strange light contrasting with the darkness of the forest.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly upon arrival.

Y/N was sitting on the ground, an enormous smile plastered across her face as she held the Nightshade Bloom in her hands. Her Y/C eyes met Wednesday's, shining with pure happiness.

"I found my first flower!" she exclaimed, beaming.

Wednesday let out an exasperated sigh, and at that moment, she wanted to strangle Y/N with her bare hands. Had she run for nothing? Was it merely a scream of joy? Her expression softened as she watched you approach, curiosity written all over your face, your eyes sparkling as they scanned her basket.

"What? You’ve already found six?!" Y/N exclaimed in surprise.

Wednesday couldn't help but smile, a spontaneous and genuine smile that made Y/N's heart skip a beat. The dimples were evident as her lips curved, making Y/N wonder how something so beautiful could be so rarely seen.

Just like the Nightshade Bloom.

Wednesday felt relieved to see Y/N safe, and despite a part of her wanting to kill her for making her think the worst, another part couldn’t shake the memory of the enthusiasm radiating from her for finding the flower.

She would let this incident slide, simply because it was you.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x you #wednesday fanfic #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday #fluffy

571 notes · View notes

aomiiine · 10 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

jujutsu kaisen w SAMURAI!TOJI FUSHIGURO. format. fic. warnings. fluff + hurt/comfort + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. beating mention. spanking mention. pretty domestic and vanilla ngl. lots of praise(good girl, etc). a bit of dirty talk. fingering. endearments. wife!reader. toji in denial that he’s stupidly in love. summary. samurai!toji w his pretty wife + non-sorcerer au so he’s just miserable here

author’s note. gcbuiawbf got this idea out of nowhere. a bit inspired by hell’s paradise.

toji zenin. His birth name given by his parents along with all the responsibilities he never knew he was obliged to carry. If his soul while a fetus was informed that he was about to be born in a family where prowess reigned supreme and the right to be treated as a human had be fought for, perhaps he would have never wished to be born at all.

Against his will, he was birthed by his mother anyway, having to be scowled at and ostracised by his own clan which was said to be family. Growing up as a child, he learned what he had wasn’t family by the sight he was greeted with when he went out to the capital—children his age, running around with colourful toys in hand instead of a sword. And most importantly, they laughed. Smiled even.

It was something so mundane—a smile—yet something so foreign to him. The only smile he knew of at that age was the smile his relatives had when they kicked him on the ground, using the wooden sword he was given to train to hit him instead. The only smile he knew, was one full of sadism.

The older he got, the stronger he became, the more he realised he was slowly starting to pick up that same trait from them.

Very so often, he’d accept challenges from his peers or outsiders that wanted to humiliate him and his skills, looking down at him despite his bloodline of the Zenin clan.

He’d unsheathe his the katana he had resting on his hip, lazily taking stance and staring the arrogant man dead in the eyes with his own void eyes.

Such duels would end with the same outcome—toji having them laid on the ground, the sharp edge of his long katana dangerously close to the opponent’s neck. Sometimes—just sometimes, he’d smile. Just sometimes, he’d unintentionally make a thin cut to the neck just enough to draw blood.

He would be lying if he said the view from above wasn’t satisfying, the feeling of finally being the one looking down on someone as pathetic as the ones that humiliated him for years. The sneer he’d make with his lifeless eyes under the thin shadow that masked his face from his muscular and tall physique would make anyone think their life was about to be taken in a blink of an eye. But he wouldn’t. Toji would spare himself the trouble of having to face his elders for making a scene out of nothing.

Toji’s lived at the isolated quarters of the zenin estate for years—and that wasn’t about to change. It was where his mother birthed him and died—and so it would be where he would live and die.

The very least he would expect or care about was having a wife to continue his bloodline despite his progressing age. He knew better than to be greedy and trap a lady to the hell he lived in. Besides, he had absolutely no intentions of taking the ladies he’d frequently meet at the brothels out in town as his lover, let alone as his wife.

So the news of the elders arranging him a wife from another samurai clan shocked him. It was early morning when he was informed of such news, he had almost spat out his sake. The only thing he could utter in response was a loud, deep, huh?

Toji finally met you face to face after hearing your name being repeated by his elders when he had a meeting with them. Your family name rang a bell, though he never thought much of them since they weren’t politically involved in anything other than war.

He’s sat beside you, his hair slightly better groomed and yukata straightened compared to the sloppy way he wore it before. Making an effort in his appearance was the least he could do—since he was convinced he wouldn’t bother changing a thing about himself just for your sake.

“Your wedding ceremony will be held five days from now. End of discussion,” one of his elders concluded, the leader of your clan bearing witness and agreeing. Toji merely stared head on to his peers, moving a hand to lift his cup of sake and chugging it down without a hint of respect.

After a few more minutes of discussing the details about the ceremony, he finally turned his head to look at you—his future wife. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, your figure considerably insignificant to his. From what he thought would be an average woman being wed to him, his eyes lingered on you quite some while before he glanced elsewhere, his expression unreadable still.

You two parted ways for the day and he returned to his quarters, cup of sake in hand and his arm rested on the knee of his leg that propped up while sitting on the floor, his other leg bent towards himself. Toji stared out the courtyard of the estate, trying to peel the image of you out of his head. He internally cursed himself and his elders for suddenly arranging a wife for him just because they didn’t want their reputation to be tarnished by having an unmarried man. What was he supposed to do with a woman he’s never met before anyway? Regardless, he refused to be like the men within the zenin clan that lacked sympathy towards women and children.

The wedding ceremony was brief but complete. He was the best dressed he ever was in years, with you by his side. Just some family member from your families and a brief dinner, and the ceremony was complete. You didn’t seem to say a word about it either. Deep down he wondered if you loathed him, or your parents, for setting you up the low life of the zenin clan instead of his cousins. He would never know, he didn’t want to anyway. Ignorance was bliss, he thought.

You were lead back to his quarters after the ceremony ended, the sight of the somewhat empty and undecorated room not giving you much of a shocking reaction as he had hoped. Toji didn’t know what exactly he hoped, maybe a look of horror, sorrow, or pity. Yet he looked at you only to see you nod and acknowledge him, your expression remaining calm as if saying ‘I can work with this’.

Your first night together was mostly silent, perhaps a bit awkward whenever he tried offering you a blanket and separate futon to sleep in. While you thought that he didn’t like you, he was worried (albeit in denial) that you’d be uncomfortable sleeping with him.

To his and your surprise, you ended up having a brief yet meaningful talk that same night while you were both in your respective futons, about to sleep. He liked that you didn’t have expectations, understanding of his situation and yours now that you’re his legal wife. Maybe you weren’t so bad.

Months had passed since your wedding. And he’s become increasingly close to you—he’s fond of you, is what he would say in his own words. Though in the eyes of servants, others that weren’t blind, could see just how infatuated he was with you.

With how he’s stopped going to the brothel he so frequents in the capital, with how he’s become more hostile to those who insult you, it was quite clear how he cared for you, at least. Though what they didn’t know was how flirty he is with you behind closed doors, how he it was simply impossible for him to keep his hands to himself whenever he was in close proximity with you. He was insatiable. Not that you’d tell that to anyone. Unless you wanted a good spanking in the privacy of your quarters.

“What’d I tell you about gossiping with the maids, hm?” He’d murmur against the skin of your neck from behind you, his hard body pressing up against your soft one. His hands were all over you, the curve of your hip and the soft flesh of your breast that he had cupped over your loosening kimono, his calloused fingers circling your nipple making you shiver and squirm.

“I wasn’t gossiping, you fool,” you mumbled, your breath shaky and your body writhing in vain attempts to rid yourself of his touch.

“Then what were you doing? Bragging? Complaining?” You heard from the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin and the sound of his breathy laugh making you groan in frustration in embarrassment.

“Neither,” you huffed, settling yourself down on the futon with his arm under you still, holding you close to him.

“Liar,” he quickly refuted, his lips grazing the skin behind your ear and slipping his hand under your robe, searching to cup one of your tits and fondling it the second he captured it. His other hand moved down to your thighs, hooking his fingers under the slit of your robe and pulling it away to reveal your bare thighs, and exposing a hint of your dampening heat.

“There’s my beauty,” he whispered, his eyes flickering down your body from your shoulder to see the present he unwrapped for himself, your pretty cunt. He’s reminded you so many unneeded times before that he owned it, you. His calloused fingers slid to the apex of your legs, parting your puffy folds since your legs remained insistent on keep closed.

“Toji—” you started only to quickly be silenced with a deliberate stroke of his finger up your slit, the pad of said finger resting on your clit. The sudden touch made your lips part to exhale a shaky moan, your eyes looking down between your legs to see the movement of his hand.

“Yeah? Need something, sweetheart?” He hummed by your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feast on your skin. While his teeth nibbled and marked you up, his finger on your clit began rubbing deliberate circles, feeling you up until he felt it twitching against the pad of his digit. Before you knew it, he had parted your folds further, slipping his thick middle fingers into your entrance, revelling in the way it made you squirm against him, your ass rubbing against his hip. You could only answer him with pathetic mewls that were only music to his ears, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be giving you much time to catch your breath to utter coherent words.

“Thought so, baby,” he scoffed triumphantly at your soft moans, his fingers curling inside you as he thrusted it in and out of your slowly, making sure to leave brief harsh kisses on your g-spot to keep you wanting, to keep you clenching around his digit in need but not enough to make you cum.

“You’re so tight around my finger, darling, can’t imagine how much tighter you’d get when I have my cock buried inside you. Think you’d like that? Feelin’ stuffed?” Was what he kept on whispering to you while he bottomed his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, making sure you’re feeling it as much as he was—and fuck was he feeling it. Even if he had you drunk on his finger, you weren’t exactly oblivious to prodding of his cock on your lower back. You just didn’t have the capacity to focus on it, not when he was turning you on with the mere thought and descriptions of him fucking you.

Toji felt you beginning to spams around him, your voice getting more and more high-pitched and whiny along with your nipples hardened to peaks between his cruel fingers. Signs of you being close to cumming was everywhere and he noticed them all, though he led you on to brink just to pull away when you needed him most.

“Yeah, not on my finger baby. You know where I want you most—where I want you best,” he grinned, his voice gravelly and hoarse as his breath brushed against your already warm skin.

Toji slid his finger out of you with slowly, savouring the way your juices coated him. The mere sight of his slick finger assured him that you were ready for—so fuckin’ ready.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, his free hand now slipping under your thigh, lifting your leg up to forcefully part your legs knowing you’d cramp yourself while trying to keep it up for him. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he assured from behind you when he finally took notice how you kept calling out his name, your voice all whiny and shaky in desperation. He positioned himself from behind you, shifting his hips and snuggling closer to you to lose whatever distance you still had left between each other.

“Feel that? ‘M all hard and ready for you, baby. Just like how ready you are for me,” he cooed, tugging on his own yukata to free his raging hard on, letting the thick girth slick with precum prod your ass, earning a needy whimper from you. He couldn’t help but stare at your side profile, taking in the sight of his wife making such expressions you’d never make for anyone but him.

His arm under your body curled your body suffocating close to him, making sure you could feel his chest against your back and his chin buried on the top of your head, alternating the choice of preying on the skin of your neck or ear.

After a moment of teasing, he finally slid his cock over to your wet folds, letting the tip mingle his precum with your slick juices before he pushed upwards, slowly penetrating your entrance that fluttered around him already, making it hard for him to go further.

“Fuck, princess—you gotta relax. I know you can take me in like a good girl,” he groaned, his jaw clenching at the feeling your soft flesh against his tip before you finally relax, letting him push further into you. He kept on uttering filthy encouragements by your ear while he made you take him in inch by inch until the hilt, his head tilting to kiss down your neck. He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to his size, not letting that moment go on for too long until he started bottoming in and out of you with you slow, deliberate thrusts, your leg trembling in his hand.

“All mine—this tight cunt’s all mine.” The foul words that reached your ears would have normally had you recoiling in disgust but now, knowing those words came from him, it only made you moan shamelessly in his arms, your insides churning with pleasure and need to chase that high that he so often gave you. His need for you was palpable, almost equivalent to yours with how his hand kept alternating between your tits while he fucked you, his pace quickening now that the knot in his loins was tightening.

Your shared bedroom room was filled with nothing was the scent of your arousals, the lewd squelching sounds of his thrusts into you and loud shared moans. Toji’s hips didn’t stop for even a moment to let any of you rest, not when he was so close, you were so close. His grip on your breast tightened along with his grasp that help your thigh up, his hips bucking into your until he felt his balls tighten, his cock eventually spurting ropes of his thick semen into your canal, his movements jerky until he stopped. He nestled his cock into you until the hilt, unloading himself and letting you clench all around him.

He savoured the feeling with heavy pants, deep growls on satisfaction leaving him when he realised you came with him. Toji kept himself inside you for a while, not showing any signs of pulling out as you both basked in the afterglow.

He’d finally lower your leg down, humping against you lazily now that you’ve both came down from your high. Toji cradle you close to him, his hand slipping out of your robe to move his hand to your stomach instead, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled your natural scent and the musk of your mixed fluids that had began to ooze out you.

“Think you’d be up for another round after this, darling?” His low voice breathless voice met your ears, earning himself an annoyed frown which he merely chuckle at in response.

#Toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #jjk toji #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #toji x you smut #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #toji x y/n smut #toji fushigro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji x reader

462 notes · View notes

exquisink · 3 months ago

Text

don't let all this be a letdown (polysatosugu x reader)

cw. no curses au, breaking up with one of them and then getting back together, there are no warnings really other than suggestive scenarios and teasing of smut but there's no smut this time, gasp!, poly satosugu x reader, they literally come as a package it's an unspoken rule, this is basically fluff so sweet it'll give you diabetes even though it's also lowkey messy btwn mainly you and sugu b/c you felt underappreciated, i am pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere b/c this was supposed to be TOXIC EX BF SUGURU with you getting back at him but it's somehow weirdly wholesome, never mind some things like the two of them cornering you in public spaces b/c personal space is a foreign concept to these men

wc. 11K... and if i choose to tack on the smut later as a bonus snippet/post then it'll be more

Stop this nonsense, that small, sharp, squabbling voice in the back of your mind scolds you. That little voice of reason bubbles up every time you try to set yourself free from the commitments of a relationship you have ended, all on your own accord, giggling too hard at some random guy’s jokes, or allowing them to brush their hands up their waist. Just a bit too close for comfort should Suguru be near, but he isn’t. Right now it’s just you and Satoru Gojo, mingling with each other and pretending like you’re still involved.

You have tossed away any cautions, any questionings or doubts or asking yourself why anymore. Satoru Gojo may be Suguru’s best friend but he’s yours too, and each little flirtatious glance he tosses your way is just another ticket toward sweet payback. It’s what he gets for not appreciating what he’s had right in front of him. Of course this is all a charade, because Gojo understands more than anyone what bro code means and he’s only doing this as a favor to you, and in a way to Suguru too.

Get him to open his damn eyes. To read it all, soak it completely in, let the realization of what he lost dawn on him, and weep waterfalls upon waterfalls of tears.

Gojo may have gotten a little too into the charade but so have you. Those little late night texts, which he may have sent screenshots to Suguru ‘on accident’ but he definitely wants him to know. Let him simmer and stew in sheer anger over the fact that you’re just over being an afterthought.

Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been anything other than playing the role of the understanding, kind girlfriend. But all he’s ever done is taken your character and your time for granted, and you’re just finally cutting loose after everything you’ve done to try to make that fucking relationship work.

Oh, but it’s like you already said, you may have gotten a little too into this. Soaking up all of this attention Satoru is happy to fabricate for you all in favor of the drama, but also you have been actually actively responding to other suitors who have flooded your phone with messages since you have set yourself free.

That much you can admit to, but who can blame you when your ex’s best friend can be just as petty if not more so than you? Suggesting to send snapshots of your outings together in some of the most suggestive situations. Gojo has been nice enough to go run errands with you and while shopping for clothes, joins you in the dressing rooms for a quick way to set your ex off. Nothing too scandalous–just a snapshot of you two undressed in a few questionable positions but it’s not like you two really did much of anything. You don’t see how, not completely, because your goal is just to drive that point home–he fucking missed out and now he has to deal with the consequences of missing out on someone like you. After a certain point, you have to put your foot down. You can’t remember at what point when you checked out of the relationship in your mind, because by the time you cut things off, it was too late for him to try to change his ways because you know how it always goes. They change for maybe a few weeks and then revert back to their typical behavior. No one can actually ever change overnight; you definitely didn’t.

Getting into the relationship and basically all throughout the relationship, you have always put your best foot forward for Suguru. Giving him moral support before huge exams. Hearing him out when he’s venting to you instead of spewing solutions. Giving him space when he needs it. Planning dates. Remembering birthdays. Remembering his big events and attending them. Obviously it’s all the basic stuff but they matter. Of course they all matter. And in the beginning, he’s just as supportive, but then maybe he’s gotten too comfortable with a girl like you.

And that’s his biggest fucking mistake.

“You know,” Gojo comments as he hops back into his slacks and smooths out his hair, scrolling through his text thread with Suguru while waiting for you to get dressed. “There are ways we can amp this up but I don’t know if you’d be game to try it out. Even while you were dating him, you seemed so innocent.”

“Well, obviously, I proved you wrong,” you huff as you straighten yourself out, glancing at yourself in the mirror for a moment before your gaze flits back to Gojo. “It’s not like I’m getting into any of his friends’ pants. I just have to make him think I am.”

“And you’re doing a swell job with that,” he laughs with a wide grin brightening his features. He flashes his phone screen with Geto’s reply, and now you find yourself grinning.

Geto: what the fuck is wrong with you actually

Geto: she hasn’t been responding to any of my calls or messages. So this is what she’s been up to?

You wish you could see his face, but all you can imagine is him attempting to remain calm and collected, suffering in silence like he always does. You always kind of loathe how he acts like nothing bothered him, and that’s another reason why you broke it off. Besides getting too comfortable and not trying anymore. There’s actually a whole textbook you can write at this point on all of the reasons why you two were better off not together.

Your stomach twists a little at the idea of actually not being with him, but you have to be stronger than your feelings sometimes and you know that all too well since that’s something you had to do far too early in your life. You deserve better, all you’re asking for is some reciprocity for fuck’s sake, and he probably knows that and is threatened by the idea of you actually leveling up your life. And that’s why he’s fighting a time where you doubt you can change your mind.

“So what was your suggestion? About upping the ante, I mean,” you ask as Gojo thinks of a way to respond to Geto’s messages.

“Well, I mean, I can ring up some of our friends and they can get in on it. It’s not like they don’t like you too, you know. For as much of an idiot Suguru can be, he’s not wrong about people and we all like you.”

You sigh, flashing him your phone screen with a few threads from Toji, Sukuna, and Shoko. Toji keeps spamming your photos with fire emoji comments and Sukuna has sent you not so vanilla messages that you have no idea how to respond to, since you’re not that into the guy, even as a friend. A shiver dances up your spine as you glance at one of the raunchy messages he’s sent you upon the other couple hundred, frowning until your forehead creases and Satoru catches onto your discomfort, sneaking a glance at the thread. Even he grimaces, swiping the thread out of your line of sight.

You breathe out in relief. Satoru really is a good friend, isn’t he?

“No kiddin’. I mean, Toji and Sukuna are kind of expected, but Shoko? That’s something I would have never considered because she likes you guys so much,” you reply, but your eyes roll upward as you ponder over the situation you have found yourself in, wondering what to make of it. “Though, she is my type…”

Gojo whistles at that. “Okay, damn. I didn’t expect that from you, either.”

You beam at him with your eyes twinkling like little gemstones, standing on your tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks, Satoru. You’re a great friend,” you tell him, and he’s grinning wider while dreamily sighing. “To me and to Suguru. He’s lucky, you know? To have someone like you who reminds him what’s important. I just think it might be too late this time, but who knows?”

“I’d really hate to see the two of you not work things out in the end,” he remarks, as another stream of notifications clutters his lock screen from Suguru. “Sheesh. He’s not a happy camper, but it’s one thing to say it and another thing to do something, right?”

You nod. “Right. Sometimes it feels like that’s all he is.”

“All talk, right?” he replies, sighing as his shoulders sag a bit. “Yeah, I get that. I really do. He’s a bit too wrapped up in his own bullshit sometimes to understand what’s going on around him. And sometimes, the best thing you can do in these situations is just let ‘im figure things out for himself. I mean, you can’t force someone to change, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, glancing at the time on your phone. “Should we get out of here? I think the store’s closing up in like an hour.”

“Sure. But you should still get that dress. With legs like yours, you’d kill it,” Gojo suggests, swiping the dress for you. “And it’s on me, as a token of apology for dealing with someone as dense as Suguru.”

“My hero,” you tease, exiting the fitting room with Gojo following suit. He catches onto the little skip in your step and there’s a hint of a small smile. That’s the happiest you’ve been since you broke it off with him. He can’t help shaking his head to himself before paying for your dress and leaving the store with you. Now you’re practically frolicking like you’re in a fairy world. Glow any brighter and maybe you can hear a choir of angels singing.

Suguru is an even bigger idiot than he is, and that’s saying something.

Geto does confront Gojo later.

Shoving him into the wall after showing up at his penthouse (unprompted but that’s essentially routine for them at this point), indigo eyes practically oozing rage and gritting his teeth like he may pummel him six feet under. Gojo knows he’s not going to, of course, out of everyone Geto knows Gojo’s still the one he can’t say no to who isn’t his girlfriend, but Gojo digresses.

“What the fuck, Satoru?” he growls, and Gojo merely picks at his cuticles, avoiding his eyes. Geto knows Gojo is stronger than he is but he lets him get his way. Sometimes. Sometimes. “Why are you fooling around with my girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he corrects, pushing him off with slight force, catching Geto off guard for a moment but he bounces back, shooting a death glare as Gojo goes on. “And she’s been your ex longer than when she finally dumped your crusty ass.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Geto mumbles, “And my ass isn’t crusty.”

“She’s been over you for months before she broke up with you,” Gojo explains, “What, you really haven’t noticed her distancing herself?”

“Of course I have,” Geto shoots back, his posture relaxing. “I just didn’t think it’d get to this point.”

“Aha! And you admit it, you don’t think! That’s your problem,” Gojo counters, matching his glare now. “Just because you get the girl doesn’t mean you don’t stop trying. You have to show up for her, you know, like she’s always been.”

Something flashes in Geto’s eyes. Realization, perhaps? Or regret?

No, maybe Gojo’s giving him too much credit there.

“Suguru,” he starts, taking a step forward. “You can’t just stop trying. She never did until the last few months.”

“Well, what the hell do I do? She’s not responding to any of my messages or calls,” he shouts back, “Do I just show up at her doorstep or…what?”

“You’re going to have to go a little beyond that to make up for all of the things you missed,” Gojo shouts back, “And disregard anything performative. She can sniff you out like a drug hound, so don’t bother.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, you know!” Geto retaliates, folding his arms as he tries to collect himself. Rounded grounding breaths and whatever else. Gojo has no idea how that’s supposed to keep him centered, but what the hell does he know about mindfulness anyway? He’s just as clueless as Geto is in that regard, if not more so.

Gojo sighs, exasperated, just seconds away from punching the lights out of him. Yeah, mindfulness and whatever, but he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about that stuff when both of his best friends are being fucking idiots.

And if that’s coming from the likes of him? Well, clearly there’s an issue. He’s not even saying this to be self-deprecating or whatever; he’s not that kind of guy and everyone who knows him knows that a little too well, but this whole charade is just appalling.

Gojo wants to see both his friends happy again, but they have to motherfriggin’ cooperate.

“I am, but I’m not going to solve your BS for you!” Gojo shouts back after a beat of tense silence. The air suddenly feels staticky and stiff, and he wonders if his judgment is clouded concerning this whole ordeal.

“Yet you’re fooling around with her to what, piss me off?!” Geto questions, pinching the bridge of nis nose as he struggles to control his emotions. He is many things, but violent he isn’t, and Geto doesn’t want anything to escalate around here for absolutely absurd reasons.

“Well yeah,” he scoffs, glowering at him like somehow he’s lost more brain cells. “She wants to have fun a little, and wanted to have fun with just me this time around. You can’t fault her for wanting a piece of this.”

“You’re part of the package when we are together, Satoru,” Geto grumbles.

“It’s almost like I’m well aware of that, Suguru.”

Geto’s eyebrows furrow; that tone Satoru tacks on is… curious.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geto quizzes, wary. Like he shouldn’t hope for more, but if Gojo is on his side like he claims he is…

“I don’t know, man. Figure it out, or do you truly have no brain and that noggin of yours is just hollow?” Gojo mocks while playfully knocking the crown of Geto’s head. Geto swats his hand away, appalled.

“I just fail to see what you hoped to achieve, fooling around with her without me present,” he says, “I can’t imagine the kind of trouble she’s getting herself in just to cut loose. Has she done this with anyone else?”

Gojo shakes his head. “Not as far as I know. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she wants you to reach out.”

“You say that and yet she leaves me on delivered,” he mutters, more to himself as he whips out his phone and opens your shared thread.

“Well, like I said, you have to go a little harder than what you have been doing. Spamming her is so three decades ago. But it’s also like I said, don’t do anything too out there or performative because she definitely won’t buy it.”

“Sometimes I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you,” Geto mumbles, “And you swear she hasn’t fooled around with anyone else? It’s just been you? Which doesn’t bother me for obvious reasons…”

“Of course not, I still have my rights to her!” Gojo laughs, “But in all seriousness, you should act or something before things really begin to escalate. She’s already deleted some photos off of her phone and has warred with herself about straight up blocking you, so…”

“You’re telling me this now?” Geto rubs his temples as a headache comes on from all of this unproductiveness between the two of them. “Since you clearly want me to make amends, what do you suggest should be my first move?”

Gojo whacks his shoulder. “I told you countless times in this one conversation alone: I can’t do the work for you. This is something you have to figure out for yourself. I’m just here to support you, whatever it is you decide to do, alright? That’s what friends are for… even friends with certain additional benefits.”

Gojo winks at him, with that fucking look on his face that he always sports when he has something up his sleeve and Geto can’t even decipher it himself.

Geto scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“So nothing performative, nothing over the top… that doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for anything too creative if you ask me,” Geto muses out loud as he racks his mind for some kind of solution because this has gone on long enough for his tastes. He wants you back. He wants you, period. The idea of any other man touching you is completely out of the question; just entertaining the idea has Geto seeing pure firetruck red, clenching his fists at his sides as the impulse to punch something out wash over him. He’s not violent. Not really. He doesn’t want to resort to violence. Not even if it can be argued it’s warranted, like if another man touched you in ways you weren’t okay with, for instance…

Oh no. No no. Get those images out of his head NOW! That’s just adding fuel to the fire unnecessarily!

Gojo rests his hands on Geto’s shoulders, and all of the tension suddenly melts away. Gojo, as infuriating as he often is, has a way of being his calm, tranquility, and peace, too… you know, It’s actually quite perplexing, but that is the beauty of love, isn’t it? In all its nuances and complexities and mysteries.

“Come on, you’re doing so well. You’re just a whirlwind of emotions in just nanoseconds,” Gojo teases with a grin playing on his features. Somehow even in these moments, Gojo seems to glow, radiant, snow white hair shimmering and those electric blue eyes boring into the very essence of Geto’s being.

Geto kind of hates how much he loves this guy too.

But it’s also the most thrilling thing in the world, simultaneously.

“Okay, okay but can we stop dicking around and figure this out?” Geto sighs, “The more we stall, the further away she is from me. And I don’t like that I let it get this far already. I mean, for fuck’s sake… she can’t be having that much fun without me.”

Gojo flashes back to the way you had a little skip to your step finally having a chance to fool around and be a little silly for the sake of it besides just proving a point. As much as he wants to tell Geto a harmless little white lie, he’s not known to sugarcoat things…

“Eh… well, actually… this is the most relaxed she’s ever felt in a long time. So you really have to act fast, buddy!”

Geto’s eyes widen, perplexity shining in them as he grumbles out loud once again in sheer annoyance at Gojo’s ‘impeccable’ timing. “And again, you’re telling me this now?”

“Sorry, Suguru,” he quips with a shrug. “I can’t exactly go against either of you in this scenario. I can’t offer any bias toward either of you and as much as I love you both, I’m trying to stay objective here. This is something you have to settle between the two of you, and I”m just here to be of any kind of assistance. Anywhere feasible, I mean.”

“Duly noted,” Geto snarks back, as his mind wanders, swimming through a sea of clashing thoughts and ideas that don’t seem all that fitting for what he hopes to achieve, and that’s you back into his arms, safe and sound, loved and cherished and spoiled, something he should have still been doing even months and months into the relationship and he can’t believe he’s been so blind to see you haven’t been all that happy with him for that long. Come to think of it…

“Suguru, what do you think of this dress for our anniversary date?” you ask as you twirl around in a flattering LBD, with a sultry, darker makeup look. Geto barely looks up from the papers he’s too busy scribbling on to acknowledge it or appreciate the view. Even if he does see her every damn day, he should still take a moment to show he appreciates the effort she puts into everything with them.

“You always look lovely, pretty girl, but I’m in the middle of something…”

He can’t believe he missed the way your voice cracks, or your wistful expression. “Okay…”

Geto’s gaze flits down at his hands, these negligent hands which have failed to grab you by the waist and pull you in for affectionate kisses while he’s doting on you about how good you look in that dress. He’s wincing at his own negligent behavior… how has he been that blind? He knows that’s not the only incident, either; more and more recent memories flash before his eyes and he clenches both fists, groaning at his own idiocy.

“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m actually the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends.”

“Actually I can argue you’re a step up from the majority of men but you’re still right,” Gojo wisecracks.

Geto glowers at him but he just grins back; he keeps grinning like that and it’s going to be permanent.

Oh wait. Too late.

“Sooo, now that you actually acknowledge how much of a piece of shit you truly are, how are you going to change it? Or at least begin to? Because once you start, you can’t stop. You can’t let things go again like you did the first time. Your shot at a second chance with her is already slipping from your grimy fingers so hurry the fuck up and think of something.”

“Satoru, I swear to God if you don’t shut up so I can hear myself fucking think, I’ll shut you up myself.”

“How? With your lips? Because that’s not the productive route we’re aiming for right now, though under any other circumstances, I’d have not hesitated to take you up on that offer–!”

Suguru bites back a groan.

“--Satoru, are you absolutely shitting me right now!?--”

“--hey, I’m just saying sometimes talking your head off can help you come up with ideas on the spot so I’m just trying to get your creative juices flowing here!–”

“--by annoying me half to death in the classic Satoru Gojo fashion?–”

“--Exactly! So did you come up with anything yet?”

Geto scowls, but a lightbulb does click on in his head as actually, by some amazing miracle, Satoru annoying him to death does help him think of some viable solution to the mess he’s created for him and the girl he’s so madly in love with but didn’t express such emotions well enough, Because he may as well be so emotionally constipated you’d need to shove a stick up his ass to get him to squeal!

“Satoru, does anyone ever tell you that you’re actually a genius, never mind the image you often set yourself up as?”

“Not routinely,” Gojo admits, his voice trailing off. “But it’s a refreshing change of pace to hear that every once in a while. So, what’s brewing in that puny noggin of yours?”

“That I’ll keep to myself,” Geto remarks, his eyes flitting to Gojo’s phone stuffed in his back pocket, buzzing with notifications. “But I can assure you it’s… a start, which is better than what I had before.”

“Ah, so you are catching on,” Gojo replies with a nod as he whips out his phone, typing away at a message thread with you. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised her I was going to meet up with her as a plus one at some party her roommates are dragging her to.”

“That’s usually my job,” Geto points out, shooting Gojo another glare but to that Gojo raises his hands in defense.

“Yeah, well, you can easily get that position back, if you just act now. So get dressed and go there with me. If she sees you with me then she’ll have no choice but to confront you.”

“Dressing up to the nines is certain to sweeten up the deal, don’t you think?” Geto murmurs while pondering over what could make you fold immediately as soon as you see him again since the breakup. He’s still not convinced you want to completely move on if you’re still messing around with Satoru, so that must mean there really is hope that things can still work out between the two of you, right?

…Right?

“Don’t ask me, you figure it out!” Gojo retorts with a huff. “Now if you’ll excuse me I have to freshen up for a lovely girl waiting for me that you so stupidly let go!”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Geto exclaims and Gojo mock sympathetically pats him on the shoulder again.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo dismisses, making an incessant yapping gesture with his free hand. “Thank goodness I'm not in my designer clothes or you would have owed me thousands right now.”

Geto’s jaw hangs open. “I’m in a crisis right now and that’s what you’re more worried about, wrinkles on designer clothes? God, that really is some nepo baby shit…”

“No, nepo baby shit is worrying about someone suing you for a car wreck just to scam you out of some money. This is just wanting to look fresh and clean, man!”

“Whatever, fucking nepo baby,” Geto counters with a little smirk playing on his lips now, which means at the very least, he’s feeling something other than mental turmoil at the idea of you slipping away from him.

Gojo straightens his posture, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You love me anyway.”

As per Gojo’s request, Geto doesn’t pick you up with him. Not unless he wants to be stuck in the car the entire time there, avoiding looking each other in the eyes, talking over the other because they don’t want to discuss anything around Satoru and not being involved in conversations involving the other. Gojo knows better than to put either of you on the spot like that; he has more class than he ever cares to let on (because he’d much rather be a show off and not let people know he has much depth to him at all).

Still, though. It’s not exactly becoming of a man like Geto who’s sitting somewhere at some secluded corner of the bar, dressed in a sapphire button up and black slacks, his black gauges accompanied with other piercings (some of which he’s still borrowing from your collection of diamond studs, just to sweeten the deal a little more). He’s set his obnoxiously thick hair free, cascading around his sharp face, accentuating his unique features. He’s definitely attracted potential rebounds but he’s not interested in rebounds. He’s only interested in winning you over again, whatever it takes. And he really means whatever it takes, because here he is, reapplying the cologne you love on him the most, hiding the necklace you’ve given him earlier on in your relationship beneath his skin tight v-neck top that usually gets you going because it still leaves just enough room for the imagination (as if you don’t already know and adore what’s underneath)…

This is just the bare bones of how far he’s willing to go just to drive the point home: he’s not going to lose you over the fact that he’s just a fucking idiot. Sometimes he doesn’t realize what’s in front of him. Good God, how long has it taken him to realize he’s fallen so hard in love with Satoru that he practically smacked his head onto the pavement when it dawned on him?

It’s not your fault he’s so fucking dense. He’s just as slow as Satoru, sometimes if not worse than he is when it comes to acknowledging anything because of how one-track minded he can be, and he’s willing to admit that to himself but never out loud. He and Satoru are far too alike than they ever even realize.

He breathes out through his nose, burying his head into his hands as he bounces his leg against his stool, waiting for the next course of action in whatever Satoru has planned with you tonight other than just being your plus one.

He has caught onto some of your roommates conversing with one another and trying to pick up some men who are too engrossed in some sports game on the televisions hanging above the bar, but he doesn’t bother going out of his way to exchange pleasantries. If any of them acknowledge him first, he does flash them a smile, at the very least, because even if he’s not that kind of guy he’s not going to be outright rude. If he’s going to win you back, he may as well try to win your friends over too. Their approval matters just as much as yours… he understands all too well how much what your circle of friends believe may influence your own and that’s precisely why he keeps his so small. (Aside from the fact that he is a firm believer in quality over quantity…)

His phone dings. A text.

Satoru: we’re going to be there in like 10 minutes or so, how’re you holding up?

Geto: that’s up for debate

Satoru: always so cryptic and ominous… you might as well be a member of the addams family

Geto: don’t text and drive

Satoru: awwwww someone’s worried about me ;)

Geto: satoru i WILL punch the lights out of you when you get here.

Satoru: you’re going to punch your face with my face? :D

Geto, having no way to respond to that, sets his phone down and signals the bartender for something stronger than a Screwdriver. Whatever they make him, it’s all going to be on Gojo’s tab anyway. He’s going to need that liquid courage for what he’s about to do tonight just for the sake of a girl.

But you’re not just any girl–you may as well be the love of his fucking life and he doesn’t use such language lightly.

No matter what, he’s winning you back. It is an inevitability in his life that you belong in it, and he knows better than to make the same mistake twice. What is it that they say? One time is a mistake. Twice is a conscious decision. Any more than twice, then there’s no chance of things ever being the same again and that’s the last thing he ever wants for someone like you, who is one in a billion, in his eyes.

But it’s one thing to say it and another thing to show it. And that’s where he fucked up.

He won’t ever again.

And as if the universe wants to toy with his feelings just a little more, someone shouting your name catches his attention and he twirls around on the bar stool he’s sitting on, jaw agape as he watches you strut into the bar with the sexiest LBD… is that the very LBD he’s ignored you putting on for him with that slit showing off your gorgeous legs? With that subtle shimmer and you’re even sporting that darker, sultry makeup look that’s excellent for a night out where you want to forget the fact that you’ve just called it off with your deadbeat boyfriend.

And he REFUSES to be the deadbeat boyfriend. Glancing at the drink the bartender so generously mixed for him, he dismisses it, adjusting his suit and tie as he hoists himself up from his seat and strides over toward you and Gojo who is lagging just behind you as your plus one like he promised with a kind of confidence and swagger he’s always been known to carry. Because for fuck’s sake, Gojo’s his best friend and maybe some of his behaviors have rubbed off on him a little.

The worst part is throughout the entire time he’s spent building the courage to do something about what’s become of the two of you, you haven’t even spared him a glance. From the moment you enter, you are soaking up the attention you get from your friends, some he doesn’t know, and your mutual friends, practically glowing so bright it might rival the full moon tonight. You have never looked happier, more at peace, and it’s because you kicked him out of your life.

His eyes bulge out of his sockets when he watches you saunter up to Ryomen Sukuna, of all the people in the world you are choosing to talk to, with a little flounce to those luscious hips of yours Geto is dying to sink his fingertips into while kissing you like he never wants to let you out of his grasp again… and he genuinely doesn’t, he understands his mistakes now, he wants to change himself, change for you, as long as he can make you happy and no one else.

Call him selfish, but the only person he’s ever going to allow sharing you is with Satoru Gojo. He’s never had an issue with sharing anything with his best friend and that includes you, but with Sukuna? That prick with that hard stare that looks like he’s undressing you with his eyes every second he gets and this time, for some reason, you aren’t quivering and are instead leaning into it? Do you know he’s standing there, completely dumbfounded as your hand slides up Sukuna’s chest, your shoulders shaking as you laugh at one of his super unfunny and probably downright creepy jokes? Haven’t you told him on several occasions Ryomen Sukuna does nothing but give you the fucking creeps? And not only that, but even Toji Fushiguro has shown up to your side, greeting you with a bear hug that you don’t shy away from for reasons that are utterly lost to him. He’s drinking in the sight and hating every flavor he’s being introduced to and he doesn’t know what to do to cease all of this nonsense. He has to make a move though and fucking sooner than too late.

He inhales sharply, adjusting his posture and continues to weave through all of these sweaty dancers who are holding their drinks up in the air while singing along to some cheesy pop song but none of that is even important to him right now. His eye is on his prize but your eyes are on everyone else but him.

He stops as someone zooms past him, almost wanting to cuss the person out but he decides that’s a battle not worth fighting because he’s only focused on you and how you seem to be so keen on feeling up Toji’s pecs now! God! Doesn’t that guy ever skip a workout? It might do everyone around him a lot of favors–like having a shot at winning their beautiful girlfriend back!

He stops, wetting his fingers and smoothing back his slick back bun of any flyaways before rubbing that hand on his slacks and using his dry hand to rest his hand on your back. He tries to put on that picture perfect smile but he can feel himself seething so much behind this smile of his that his teeth may crack from the pressure.

And then he catches it: the way your shoulders lock up, the way your eyes dull ever so slightly under the cycling LED disco lights flashing everywhere around the bar. Toji gives him a look but says nothing; he and Sukuna know what type of person not to cross and Suguru Geto definitely isn’t one of those people they should mess with at all.

You finally whip around, and his breath catches as he takes in your ethereal beauty, unmatched, no one in the world other than him can properly make it known just how much of a beauty you are to him. And he’s never going to make you feel anything other than beautiful and wanted.

He’s never going to let you slip from his grasp ever again.

This is the moment of truth.

“Hey,” he greets with a low purr, as his fingers spread across your back. You shiver under his touch. Ah. He still has an effect on you whether you choose to acknowledge it out loud or to yourself or not; that’s reassurance in a way. That means there is still a chance for the two of you to live a happily ever after together, frolicking in the sunset as the credits begin to roll in the film or whatever it is people these days find to be the pinnacle of romance.

“Um,” you blink, eyes flitting from one area to another–perhaps in search of Gojo? “Hi.”

“Stop giving me the cold shoulder, pretty girl,” he drawls with that classic smoldering look on his face which may as well rival James Dean himself, as he draws you closer into his body. He’s impressed you don’t openly protest–perhaps your conviction in the breakup isn’t as strong as you made him believe it is? Or is he just clinging onto false hope? Either way, he’s good with either option because there’s something he can shape and mold from it. “Why don’t you let me dance with you?”

“Because you’re not my date tonight,” you retort while sticking your nose in the air. “Satoru is.”

And speak of the fucking devil, he slides into the scene with a club soda in his hand because he’s not much of a drinker, casting Geto a look as if he hasn’t been plotting with him about winning you back just hours before all of this.

“Yeah, and I don’t exactly appreciate you trying to hog her attention, Suguru~” Gojo chides as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you toward him, or attempts to, anyway. Because Suguru’s grip isn’t budging. Not one bit. Even if Suguru has no problem sharing with Satoru, the whole point is that they share you. That’s the agreement. That’s the arrangement. He cannot let you go; he’s been dragged to the water and now he’s going to fucking take a sip.

“Fuck off, Satoru. For once,” he sneers, keeping his grip secure around your waist like you’re some consolation prize and he has a feeling this isn’t helping his case at all but what the hell else can he do right now if he wants to get you alone to talk? “I need to exchange a few words with her if you don’t fucking mind. YOu can have your fix of her later, but you remember what the rules are, don’t you?”

“Rules schmules,” Gojo quips, pecking your ear and making you giggle, which makes Geto’s blood sizzle beneath his skin. Gojo really is trying to stir the pot just because he has such a fucking appetite for the drama and not because he actually wants to help him out, huh? “All I can say is you snooze, you lose, Suguru, and I can’t believe you slept on a beauty like this lovely lady who I get to spoil all night. Isn’t that right, gorgeous?”

That look of disgust immediately melds into one of adoration when you look at Gojo and Geto’s heart sinks into his stomach at the mere sight of you like this. That look should be toward him, not just with Gojo.

His grip tightens around your waist and you yelp a bit from the sudden pressure of Geto’s fingertips digging into the areas of your dress which expose your skin. His breath fans against the crook of your neck, and suddenly you’re covered in goosebumps. This position they put you in is definitely …

“Ummm…” you trail off, your face flustered as you try to wiggle between the two men who are acting more like grade schoolers on a playground right now… which is 100% your fault. You put yourself into this mess all because you wanted to feel more seen and this is not exactly what you had in mind… “Guys, don’t I get a say in this? You know I adore the both of you–!”

“--then why did you break up with me? You know by extension, that means breaking up with Satoru too, right?” Geto challenges, yanking you closer toward him but Gojo doesn’t lose his grip on you either, stopping him and now the two of them are closing in on you to the point where you can feel their pelvises grind on either side of your hips.

Oh for fuck’s sake…

Gojo’s breath fans against your face; your eyes fall to his face before flitting up to meet his electric blue eyes which are full of heat like blue stars.

“Did you know he was going to show up tonight and you conveniently left out that little detail, Satoru?” you ask in a demanding tone, and Gojo returns with a noncommittal hum while Geto doesn’t waste his time, feathering his lips along the crook of your neck like he’s reclaiming his territory.

“We’re in the middle of a fucking bar,” you point out with a growl and both men laugh.

“Come on, Princess, have a sense of adventure,” Gojo chuckles with a little twinkle in his eyes which can only mean trouble is brewing in that noggin of his. “Besides, we both really miss you, you know.”

“And just whose side are you on!?” you cry, exasperated as Gojo mirrors Geto’s movements, peppering kisses on the opposite side of your neck.

“Ours, by that I mean all three of us,” Gojo mumbles into your skin. “I want us to work out.”

“Ugh,” you groan, smacking your head. “This isn’t the most appropriate way to go about it when I just wanted a carefree night.”

“A carefree night when you look this good and I can’t be the one to sing praises to you like I’m part of a church choir?” Geto snarks as he bites onto your shoulder, making you jolt in place but they keep you secure. Arms snaking around your waist like chains. They’re not tugging and pulling you toward their direction and instead opting to share like they always do.

“And did you really think, even if you broke up with me and ended up going out with Satoru, it meant you lost me? We come together whether you expect it or not.”

“In more ways than one,” Gojo adds with a playful wink, but Geto shoots him a glare.

“While I appreciate the comedic timing, this isn’t the time, Satoru. Can you give us some time so we can talk about this for real? Go annoy Shoko or something. Or kick Toji in the dick for getting too close to her.”

“Toji would never have a shot with her and you know it,” Gojo replies easily and you can’t help but nod in agreement.

“I’m not attracted to bums,” you state, your stare boring into Suguru’s. “Clearly.”

Fucking ouch. You don’t need to read him to filth like this but Geto knows he definitely is deserving of all that and probably more and he’s just being let off a little easy with a few blows to his ego…

But he’s willing to swallow that along with his pride right fucking now!

“Baby,” he purrs, “I’m only here to take back what clearly belongs to me.”

“I’m not an object,” you sneer while narrowing your eyes into slits at him. The corners of his mouth twitch. So that game isn’t going to work on you either, huh? You’ve always been a tough nut to crack and that’s what he admires so much about you, and clearly he’s making an insult of that trait of yours now so he may as well backtrack and come up with an alternate plan on the spot!

His eyes roll up to meet Gojo’s, which are still occupied on you (and who can blame him? You’re a shining star amidst all of these duller ones).

“But seriously, Satoru,” Geto begins, as his hands slide slowly down your hips. You stiffen in their shared hold over you. “If you still want access to her you have to be fighting for her back with me, don’t you?”

“I mean,” Gojo retorts with his voice going up an octave. “I see your point and I raise you: I can’t fight all of your battles. You’re on your own here. I wasn’t the one who was neglecting her!”

Geto glances at you, then back at Gojo, and then at Gojo’s hands still around your hips, tangled with his. Something hitches in his throat. This is not the most ideal situation to put you in, he can see you attempting to wriggle your way out but with both him and Gojo keeping you in place that doesn’t make it easy for you at all.

“So will you let me take this elsewhere with her?” He meets your eyes. “Are you willing to hear me out?”

You mirror his actions before turning over to Gojo, nodding at him and with a little scowl (which you quickly remedy with a smooch on the corner of his lips), he separates from the two of you.

“Go kiss and make up with each other and hurry back. In the meantime, cheap bar food is waiting for me and I think I’m going to go annoy Shoko to death–”

“--I already pity her,” Geto snarks while scooping you into his arms practically and some brave soul whistles at his action while he whisks you away.

To the fucking restrooms. How fucking glamorous and romantic. Holy shit, is that some dried piss on one of the stall doors? Gross!

You glance around, fluffing your hair as you catch your reflection in the mirror. Geto peers at all the stalls ensuring there’s no one there to listen in (not that it matters, this should end as soon as it begins). If he thinks he’s going to get any just because he’s making an effort now then he’s got another think coming.

As well as more blows to that swollen, oversized pride of his.

Tapping your foot against the cold tiles in an impatient kind of rhythm, you wait for him to break the ice. You think you have done enough talking yourself, and you are a woman of your word, about hearing him out. See where that leads him. Maybe a black eye? A kick to the groin? That’s still letting him off easy because for fuck’s sake, you know how much you’re worth, and it’s not whatever he’s been giving you, for fucking sure.

Chewing on his bottom lip, he wrings his hands together as he meets your eyes. Those beautiful glittering eyes of yours that may only rival Satoru’s. Your eyes and your heart are like an atlas in his world. Such a cliche line but it’s true.

He addresses your name. You quirk an eyebrow, beckoning him to get a move on with this before you decide to walk out instead.

“Listen, I…” he starts, racking his mind for some form of a coherent argument as to why he hasn’t been as attentive as a partner as he should have been all of this time. “I don’t have an excuse, okay? You have every right to be upset with me, but what was with all of that before?”

“Shifting the blame onto me? Is that where we’re starting with this?” you shoot back with another narrowing of your eyes. Oh he’s never felt more judged in his life but he deserves every bit of it.

He takes a grounding breath. Here he goes again fucking up everything even more. Dragging his hand down his face, pulling down on his lower lip, he is still pondering over his words. If he’s not careful he’s going to dig himself into a six foot deep hole for you to kick him into and bury him alive. And maybe he’s not going to protest, because he almost would rather that than you moving on from him.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Geto finally says after a beat of silence. He takes a step forward toward you. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I get it–I was inattentive. I know I was. I wasn’t making you feel seen or appreciated and I’m in pain just thinking about how much I neglected you without realizing it before it was too late. This can’t be the point of no return for us if I’m trying to reach out, right? I’m not asking you to give me any credit because I don’t need you to. What I want is for things to be better between you and me, and you know I’ll do everything to make that happen.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, biting back a groan. “Suguru, I’ve said it a million times: it’s one thing to say it and another thing to act on it. Love by itself isn’t enough, you know. It’s a choice. You have to make it work. Otherwise there’s no spark here.”

“Don’t say that,” Geto protests, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I want things to work.”

“Trapping me in the middle of a bar and pinning me against you and your best friend isn’t exactly the best way to go about it! I felt completely objectified!” you counter, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Sometimes I just don’t know who the hell you and Satoru think you are! Like what, you think I’m your property, or something? You have rights to everything about me as if I’m not my own goddamn person?”

“Of course not!” Geto retorts, appalled that you would even consider such distasteful things about him among all of the other distasteful things you have accused him of since you broke up with him. “Of course you’re your own damn person! Satoru and I got a little ahead of ourselves, sure, but only because we find you irresistible and perfect. Goddamn it, I”m sorry I wasn’t attentive enough, but you have no idea how much I adore you and need you with me. I love the way your eyes sparkle whenever you talk about something that happened on your favorite drama series or how engrossed you get when you’re in the middle of something that means something to you. I love that when your favorite song plays you have to act as if you’re in a music video or a play with that song and you drag me along to do your silly little skits. I love that you call people out on their bullshit and don’t pull your damn punches when you do. I love–!”

–your eyes soften as your voice drops to a whisper. “Suguru…”

“--I’m not finished, dammit. I love that I spend most of my days knowing I can come home to you. I get through my days knowing that you’re who I get to come home to and I fucked that up. I fucked that up royally and I get it, words are cheap and actions are louder. But goddammit, if it’ll take me until my dying breath to get a smile on that stupidly gorgeous face of yours, then I mean it when I say that I will do everything to make that happen.”

You’re rendered a speechless, blundering mess, face flushed a deep yet flattering shade of red for your complexion. Maybe you have taken this a few steps too far yourself, but all you wanted was to be seen and you suppose you are after all.

If you don’t know any better steam might be blowing out of your ears out of sheer embarrassment over how far you’ve blown this entire thing out of proportion. Now you’re the one feeling like a total ninny, certain your body is going to melt into a puddle of goop because there’s a part of you that can’t resist Suguru Geto like some shriveling school girl who keeps tripping over herself.

Suguru calls your name again, gets your attention. Ugh you hate that his voice pulls you in even when you’re frustrated as fuck with him and with yourself.

“S-sorry, that was just, um, a lot to take in at once,” you stutter, trying to compose yourself and find some kind of footing again in this conversation. Aren’t you supposed to be having a screaming match with each other? Instead he’s going on listing off all the things he loved about you which means yes while he has been negligent he still has paid attention to you.

“Take your time,” Geto tells you, which makes your heart sink to your stomach this time. He’s always so goddamn patient with you, even when you don’t deserve his grace! “I’m not going anywhere. Not any time soon.”

He glides closer to you, cupping your face. You sniffle a little, feeling far more than just a little silly for everything that’s happened all because you let your feelings get the better of you. It’s human to err, but this is a royal fuck up on your part, too.

So you begin to apologize.

“I–!”

–yet he silences you with a tender kiss, which that action alone speaks for itself, speaks louder than any words he’s going to pull right out of his ass but you still feel like you need to address your own shortcomings…

He pulls away for a moment, staring down into your eyes with that soft look he reserves only for you or Satoru. It’s maddening how easily he forgives you compared to how easily you forgive him. His thumbs stroke your cheeks and your mouth is suddenly void of moisture.

No words left in you right then, either. So if you’re going to get onto him about not acting, you may as well follow up on your side of the argument. Grabbing a fistful of his fancy dress shirt (he’s not vain like Satoru), and pulling him in for another desperate kiss.

Soon you find your back hitting the edge of the sinks behind you, and Geto takes the liberty of hoisting you up by your bottom and helping you perch on there while he deepens the kiss, humming in approval. He doesn’t seem all that angry with you… but somehow you find that maddening because he should show more emotion sometimes! He is always so… reserved and collected like nothing touches him when you know for a fact that isn’t true. He thinks he’s above feeling anything other than completely alright with the status quo which is another thing you have to address but one day at a time.

You find yourself swinging your legs while wrapping your arms around his neck, nipping onto his lips and playfully pulling on his bottom lip. He stares down at you with that trademark wolfish grin on him that makes him so unbelievably irresistible in that moment. You’re about to lean in for another kiss, but then the door swings open with Gojo holding a few plates of food and the background noise of some of the bar music seeming kind of distant where you are.

“Did you two make up and fuck yet? Ohoho, I guess I checked in on you two right on time before someone else waltzed in here!” Gojo laughs, “Seriously guys, as brilliant as it is that you’ve made some progress here I don’t think it’s sanitary to fuck in a public restroom. We should save that for after we stuff our holes and then stuff someone’s gorgeous holes later.”

”Satoru!” Geto yells at him, exasperated and unimpressed. You can’t help but cackle, never mind how crass Gojo is (that’s basically ingrained in his DNA).

You sneak a kiss while Geto’s caught up in reprimanding Gojo on the corner of his lips, and Geto gasps while he glances at you, this time his face flushing a beautiful crimson and that’s not the only place that’s going to be red later if you have anything to say about it.

”We can talk more about this later,” you tell him, “This might not have been your greatest plan but thank you for reminding me of something important.”

”Oh? What’s that?”

”That you and Satoru really do see me,” you answer as your lips quirk into a small grin. Geto’s heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, and he rests his hand over it to ground himself.

“I never meant to make you feel anything less than.”

”Huh? Less than what?” you beckon, tilting your head.

“That’s it. Less than. Less than what you’re worth, which is everything.”

Ugh.

“You’re going to make me lose all feelings in my legs,” you mutter, but you’re not angry, just frustrated because how can someone be so poetic without meaning to be?

Geto grins wide, so wide it eerily resembles Gojo’s when he is scheming something.

”Not yet,” he promises.

You smack your head as you follow him out sometime after Gojo leaves.

Oh no… now he even has a little skip to his step as he takes your hand in his, leading you toward one of the more spacious areas in the bar. Your roommates acknowledge you and one of them is pumping her fist, cheering for you, and you try not to read too much into it but you’re glad you have a good circle of folks around you. One of your roommates who has never felt any kind of way toward Geto does give him a bit of the stink eye but that’s only because she’s more on the protective side; she harbors similar feelings toward Gojo. The rest of the night moves faster than you can blink, and you exit the bar with your arms hooked around one of Gojo’s and one of Geto’s.

After your personal afterparty with the two of them, the three of you are tangled in Satoru’s bed together while you mindlessly scratch along Satoru’s scalp like a calming exercise. Whether he admits it out loud or not Geto is a thousand times clingier especially after sex with you than Gojo is so he has his head resting on your chest while playing around with your phone instead of his. All about that skin on skin contact even when all of your bodies are drenched in sweat… it is both disgusting and weirdly intimate all at once, but that’s the nature of sex itself, isn’t it?

Gojo eventually into the cuddle fest confesses to Geto that the two of you never did anything together after you broke up with him and it was all just a charade to get him to act, to which he says he doesn’t mind, because he deserved it. And yes, indeed he deserved every bit of that and then some because you put him through way more than just fooling around with just Satoru.

“I still didn’t like the idea of you humoring any of Sukuna’s texts to you,” Geto scoffs as he scrolls through your text thread with the aforementioned acquaintance. “This guy ought to get buried six feet under for how he’s talking to you like you’re just a fresh piece of meat.”

”You make him sound cannibalistic,” you remark with a teasing grin. Geto shakes his head as he hones in on a particular text, making him grimace.

He presents you with your phone screen. “What the hell? ‘Would love to see you on all fours, gorgeous thing’? Is this grown ass man for real? Is that supposed to be flattering?”

”Sounds like borderline harassment to me,” Gojo comments while chewing on some licorice. He offers you one and you decline. Geto takes a small bite off of his piece, but makes a face at the taste. Not a fan of sweets as a whole but he still tries whatever Gojo shoves down his throat (especially his dick).

You curl your lips in disgust again. How can anyone like black licorice? Apparently Satoru… who otherwise has the palate of a five year old.

“Fuck, yes it does. Should we pay him a visit?” Geto suggests and Gojo nods eagerly, making you bury your face into your palms. These two…

“We’re just saying—you don’t deserve to be objectified. You said so yourself you’re not a fan of it,” Geto brings up, and you sigh, relaxing your shoulders.

So he really does see you, huh? Shaking your head to yourself, you find yourself snorting at your own foolishness. Silly. So damn silly you are. For someone who makes a big deal about ensuring there is ample communication between the three of you, you sure feel like a bit of a hypocrite right now. But again, it’s not like you haven’t tried to talk things out with Suguru far before all of this began.

Speaking of which…

You plant a swift kiss on his cheek, and his bewildered indigo eyes meet yours. You smile a little. There’s still plenty of time to discuss the elephant in the room, but not when they’re all appreciating each other’s afterglow. Suguru traces a finger along your collarbone, leaving a reverent trail of kisses after.

“Man I didn’t expect to be third wheeling in my own relationship,” Gojo interjects with an exaggerated frown on his face. You laugh before planting a kiss to his lips, which instantly makes that frown disappear. No one likes to see such a ball of sunshine (and insufferableness) upset too long. Time to make that frown upside down! (Ah it seems he is rubbing off on you too…)

While you’re attending to Satoru’s neediness, kissing down his neck and making him purr like a content kitten, Suguru continues to trail kisses along your cleavage before trailing to your back, kissing down your spine, hiking your leg up—

“—if you try anything, I’m going to kick you in that stupid pretty face of yours,” you warn, “I don’t think I have another orgasm in me.”

”If you would be so kind as to let me challenge that theory…” he murmurs, face inching closer to your intimates.

”Suguru,” you chide again, “Not now.”

”Fiiiine,” he pouts, behaving as indignant as Satoru would be when he’s denied his favorite sweet.

He still doesn’t stop himself from kissing along your thighs and just in general continuing other ways of spoiling you to death, which in that case, who are you to deny him something like that?

Satoru lets out a little yawn that surprises even him as he tries to snuggle you a little closer into him and you nuzzle your face into his strong pecs. He may be skinny and lanky like Geto but his build is still sturdy. You draw circles around his unoccupied pec and he responds with a dreamy sigh. As messy as things can get with the three of you—a lot of it’s your fault this time—you can honestly say with your full chest that it’s in these moments where all of those other trying times make it all worth it. You don’t want things to go south with any of you so as long as they try to remember not to take each other for granted, then this could be all you need in your life. This is worth settling down for—these two gloriously hopeless men who you have fallen helplessly in love with yourself.

“Baby?” you hear Satoru sleepily murmur as he decides it’s time to retire to sleep finally… you glance at your phone screen to see it’s just over a quarter after 3AM and you know at least for yourself you have a pile of work to attend to tomorrow. That can be tomorrow’s issue, along with still talking things out…

“Hm?” you acknowledge him as both you and Geto join him.

“You’re going to stick with us forever, right?” he prompts, glancing at you with hope in his eyes like some impressionistic child.

“What are you, five? You do forget how finite our lives are, don’t you?” Geto interjects with a judgy look. You huff at his remark, which while true and another inevitability about their lives, he should still be a little more sensitive about Gojo’s feelings as well.

”Humor him, Suguru,” you chide with a playful whack on his shoulder blade, making him grunt in response. “Of course, Satoru. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncertain.”

”I know,” he remarks, before glancing at Suguru. “Er, we know.”

You chuckle at their antics, as Geto and Gojo simultaneously cage an arm around you and keep you snug in between them like nearly every night spent together. Just the three of them. The three of you work as a unit; you can’t believe you’re about to let all of that go just because you didn’t communicate your needs effectively enough. You have learned your mistake; you only hope Geto has learned his. There’s more to discuss when your mind isn’t about to drift off into blissful unconsciousness with the two men you love completely and wholly and hopelessly.

Both Gojo and Geto plant a kiss on your cheeks, and you stifle a laugh. Oh, how silly you are, how silly, indeed.

“You better not break up with me again,” Geto warns but you pick up on the playful undertone. You roll your eyes, before exchanging a look with Gojo.

“Way to ruin a moment, Suguru,” Gojo scolds, shooting him a look. “And that’s usually my role! We were just getting all cozy and stuff and you had to go and make some empty threat.”

“It’s almost like that was the idea,” Geto counters with a smirk.

“Just go to fucking sleep you two,” you groan as you flutter your eyes shut. “If I hear one more word come out of either of your mouths I’m washing them out with soap tomorrow morning.”

“Jesus,” Gojo breathes, his breath fanning your forehead a bit. “Whatever you say, Princess. We’re just glad you’re not leaving us for real any time soon.”

“Damn right she isn’t or we’re going to have serious issues,” Geto grumbles. You fall asleep to a bit more of them arguing as per tradition at this point, but it’s all white noise to you now.

It’s something to remind yourself to be grateful about having in your life.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #geto x you #geto x reader #gojo x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #erixtales #thotbubbles

231 notes · View notes

manicmanuscription · 3 months ago

Text

Technicalities

PolySJM Week: Day One

Prompt: Whose Court Is It Anyways?

Pairings: Eris / Azriel / Fem OC

Summary: Trying to balance a fresh mating bond is hard, even harder when Enora wants to settle down and live her life but her two mates can’t stand each other.

Word Count: 1588

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Arguring, Make-up sex mentioned.

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

A/N: This went absolutely in a different direction I was going but hey here we are. Happy Poly Week!

Aiding and Abetting traitors or anyone outside of your own court for harmful purposes was treason.

Trading illegal information with another court was treason.

Harboring criminals and spies was. treason.

The Winter Court’s lawbook didn’t technically say anything about hiding The High Lord of Autumn and the Night Court’s spymaster in my bedroom and technically I didn’t aid them, share any sensitive information or harbor any spies but I was pretty sure it was still treason or at least toeing the line.

Especially since my brother had no. fucking. clue.

God help us all if he somehow found out about it. Kallias despised the Night Court, and he thinks Eris is a bumbling shit-for-brains dickhead.

Paranoia about my brother finding out about the two popular political frenemies in my room, at nearly three am, had me straightening my spine.

“Be quiet.” I snapped for the millionth time as Eris and Azriel were at each other’s throats. Again.

Gods as if this mate bond wasn’t already a political nightmare I had to be mated to two people who loathed each other more than anyone else on the face of this planet.

They didn’t even hear me over the sound of their bickering -for a spymaster and high lord you’d really think they’d be more mindful about committing semi-treasonous behaviour- and I huffed out an annoyed breath grabbing Azriel’s wrist as his hand moved towards his blade and tugged him away from the red-headed male

I stepped in between them, giving them an equally harsh glare. “How many times do I have to tell you to be fucking quiet! Do you want this whole damn castle to hear you?” I whisper hissed, rubbing my temples.

Our love story wasn’t a romantic, soft and gentle one. No, in fact it had been blades, sharp tongues, death threats and blood. It had been attacks and countermoves. All in the name of destroying each other and protecting our respective court’s.

But eventually I got over my distrust, and so did they. My relationship’s with them slowly blossomed into something beautiful, but it happened singularly. One on one.

Because no matter how much I tried, Eris and Azriel were fine sharing me (after a lot of work and scheduling) but in no world would they ever be in a relationship with each other.

They hadn’t even acknowledged the golden string tying them together. Unless it involves me or trying to kill each other they simply weren’t interested.

It hurt to say the least and I was tired. Tired of being dragged halfway across the continent because they refused to have date nights together, tired of all the constant traveling, the lying to my friends and family and worst of all I was tired of them making this mateship -something I’d dreamed of and fantasized about, something that was supposed to be beautiful and sacred- a chore.

I already have too many chores. I’m Kallias’ emissary and advisor, a princess, and now a soon to be aunt. I didn’t need this extra stress in my life, which I had told them, deciding it was time for us to just pick a place to live and settle down together so I could take some burden off my plate.

But because I had made the naive mistake of trusting them to act like adults and pick the best spot for me to live -I’d hoped they would overcome their grievances and choose a place and court all together- and because The Mother said nothing can ever be easy for me, obviously that statement turned into a midnight tryst in my chambers where my mates are currently fighting tooth and nail for the spot. Azriel want’s it to be his court and naturally Eris wants it to be his.

“I’m sorry love.” Azriel spoke, softening his voice and pulling me out of my thoughts he quickly pressed a soft kiss to my cheek as he turned the wrist I was carrying and now cradled my hand to his muscled chest. Eris’ eyes blazed at that and quickly pressed a kiss to my other cheek, brushing a piece of my snow white hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry too sweetheart.” He mumbled, we’re still working on his ability to apologize to others. If I hadn’t felt his pang of guilt through the bond I’d assumed he’d only done it because Azriel had.

“It’s the middle of the night if my brother catches either of you in here. We’re all dead.” I emphasized the last part. My eavesdropper-protectant charms had broken nearly a week ago and I’d been too damn busy to fix them.

“You’re right Enora, I apologize for my part.” Eris started.

“Thank you-”

“Azriel, However? For a spymaster you’d think he’d mastered the necessary skills to be silent by now. I’ve always suspected you were incompetent but now I can prove it.”

“I don’t need proof to know you’re an egotistical bastard who runs his court with a fresh manicure every week.”

Oh for the love of gods.

They were arguing for a few more minutes. Their hushed tones lasting all of thirty seconds. I rubbed at the headache building behind my eyes, my pleas for quiet going unanswered until I finally snapped.

“All right. That’s it.” I whisper-yelled. Glancing at the door as a quick safety measure before ensuring my mates eyes were on me. “I. Am. Done. With all of it! With your constant whining and bickering and ambushing me when I’m with the other.

As if there are only two faes instead of three in this mating bond. If you ignorant, blinded, self-absorbed alpha males got your tiny dicks out of each other’s uptight assholes you’d see how much you're hurting me. Parading me around the other as if it’s a competition, it’s not a competition. Instead of you picking where I’m moving, I’ll decide. I’m staying here, in my house, in my castle, in my comfortable bed, in my court since you smug pricks can't act like adults and communicate. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everytime you fight it kills me.

Courting is supposed to be flowers and handwritten letters and-and gifts! and soft spoken words and fun dates not whatever the hell this is! I am tired of the constant traveling, of the back and forth, of leaving a shoe in Eris’ house and the other in Azriel’s. I’m tired of listening to you fight and bulldozing my own emotions in the process. I'm tired of all the lying. gods. Now you are both going to go spend a nice week or two in Eris’ lake house. You’re going to bring me my motherfucking favorite shoes and that stupid bracelet I left there and you are either going to fuck each other or kill each other. - Because sweetheart’s, let’s face it, even a blind man could see you two wanna kiss each other- No. other. options. Because I am exhausted of being yanked around the continent as if. I. don’t. have. work. to. do.”

Finally, for the first time in an hour silence enveloped my bedroom.

The only sounds were the quiet breathing of my ragged inhales as I fought to regain my breath after spewing so many words at once.

A weight lifted off my chest at the words. Long months of dealing with this, and saying nothing, long months of trying to comprise and fix issues that were never mine to solve. If they wanted me they were going to have to learn how to be around me without making me miserable. Because I loved them both so much it hurt.

A mixture of emotions passed over their faces. A whirlwind of guilt, regret, shame and anger flooding both sides of the bond at once it nearly knocked me off my feet. I reached down for the small decanter sitting on the side table and poured myself a drink.

Then another one.

Then all of a sudden the damn burst, both of them recovering from shock.

“But-”

“Shush.” I snapped.

“I-”

“Shush!!.”

“How are we-”

“Don’t even want to hear it.”

“supposed to bring back-” “-kiss him?! As if-”

“Zip. it.”

“-if we kill eac-”

“Shut. Up.”

“Enora!” “Enora!” They both bit out in frustration.

“Uh. Uh. I do not want to hear a single peep from either of you. I have a meeting tomorrow with some members of the Court and I swear to the Mother I need at least eight hours if I have to listen to Lord Hennings talk one more time about his stupid new boat.”

“But I-”

“I can’t do this anymore.” My voice broke at the words. “You either go figure your shit out like the plus five hundred year old males you are or as far as I’m concerned I don’t have any mates.”

The words tasted like bile on my tongue and the weight of them had both of them flinching. Another few minutes of silence passed before Eris took Azriel’s shoulder. Winnowing both of them away, leaving only the heaviness of my words.

I finished my second drink and walked into the adjoined room. Ignoring the few tears that unwillingly fell and jumped into bed, hoping sleep would soothe my aching soul.

—— ⭒ ——

Two weeks later, a bouquet of snowdrops appeared on my desk, along with a heartfelt apology letter, smelling of sex and a written promise to figure things out and to take me to the orchestra.

With both of them in attendance.

#poly+sjmweek2025 #poly+sjmweek2025d1 #poly!acotar x reader #azris x reader #azris #azris x oc #fluff #acotar x reader #acotar #acotarfanfiction #azriel fanfic #eris fanfic #eris x reader #eris x oc

168 notes · View notes

lunarriviera · 3 months ago

Note

I'm watching Guardian right now but the god awful CGI is making me laugh during serious moments. help.

legit reaction tho, almost all the CGI is truly hilaribad, especially during the first few episodes (that whole water demon/spirit thing? wow. just…wow) (and chu shuzhi's puppet ksdhfksfd whyyyyyyy)

BUT. here's the thing about guardian: 1) try to think of its kitsch as a feature, not a bug. just go with it, lean fully into all of the cringe. shen wei's dorkiness. dixingren being meteor-mutated aliens imprisoned underground. snake lady. talking cat. zhao yunlan's terrible hair (that at least will change). just EMBRACE it. that way when the very sharp knives suddenly come out and start flashing, in classic cdrama style, you will be completely taken aback and gasp in shock, and, not long thereafter, begin to weep and not stop until 3 days after you've seen the last episode. because, if you truly accept the initial lunacy of guardian, eventually it WILL gut you like a wriggling fish.

also 2) it's much easier to accept the rocky production values if you make mental allowances for how the company went utterly bankrupt midway through filming; the only reason guardian ever got finished AT ALL was that the cast and crew basically decided to work for free on an insanely accelerated schedule, during which all the actors are having to wear their own clothes. (fortunately for zhu yilong he had kept a bunch of pieces from modeling shoots, so he's able to fabricate some kind of more or less consistent Look for shen wei—like the painted-on blue suit with its inexplicable ass chain. mad drip.)

like. everyone knows this already so i'm sure you do too but there's a reason they have one (1) good piece of music (the opening song) and that's about it: they just flat ran out of money. this had some good results (we never have to see chu-ge's puppet again) and some not so great ones (i won't spoil you but let's just say it involves internal organs). ultimately, guardian only knows how to do three things but it does those superbly well: a) zhu yilong and bai yu staring at each other with ravenous desperation, like they're gonna die if they can't breathe the same air forever, b) a time-loop script that really comes through in the back half, and c) related to both of these, an ending that WILL make you throw objects around your home and then immediately read the novel/a bunch of fanfic. the good news is it's an amazing novel (though very different) and the fanfic is sine qua non. (also you get two ships for the price of one so don't sleep on chuguo.)

these are my 7 am thoughts on guardian. i wasn't sold on it at all until about a third of the way through but by then i was clutching it to my face sobbing and begging it to never end. guardian is weird like that—either you're gonna fall for it so hard it will change your entire media life (the way btvs or x-files did for fans in the 1990s) or you'll wind up dropping it. which is fine! for brilliant cgi you can watch like, idk. the expanse or something. (and fwiw i laugh at serious moments ALL THE TIME, my film students really hate it. i feel like it's a gen x coping strategy but they're alpha and very Earnest and Sincere.)

tldr watch guardian at least until you get to the kitchen scene before you decide. then you'll know if it's right for you. love you madly!! <3

#镇魂 guardian #shen wei #zhao yunlan #zhu yilong #bai yu #yes unspeakably bad cgi among its many other flaws #but those last few episodes WILL take you OUT #guardian will ruin your life if you let it inside

249 notes · View notes

writers-potion · 1 year ago

Text

Writing Magicians

If you are drafting or deepening a magician character, consider these personality traits and common characteristics of magicians. Your magician doesn't have to be set in stone or have all of these traits.

Intelligent

Magic requires a critical, quick, analytical mind to practice and implement. Must be capable of making difficult decisions.

Good Memory

For memorizing spells, potions ingredient lists, rituals and anatomy of magical creatures.

Creative

Magicians need to adapt existing spells and rituals to the situation

Self-disciplined and focused

Casting a spell or conducting a ritual requires the magicians to have unwavering focus and self-control.

Patient

Magic takes time to practice, especially if it's not a talent that you're born with. You also need patience to calm your human sacrifices down and make those stupider than you understand what's going on.

Highly trained

Mere talent is not enough. Practice - and pain - makes perfect.

Specialist

Magicians will have a spell/an element/a potion they are exceptionally good at

Musical

Many forms of magic involve drumming or chanting, or even singing.

Spiritual

Many forms of magic are linked with religious practices or concepts. Your magician might be heralded as a spiritual saint, or hunted for being a heathen.

Prayers are often a part of magic rituals.

Studious

Magicians are always keen to learn more, expanding their skills range, acquiring news spells, understanding different forms of magic and exploring scientific subjects.

Many magicians will amass books, or sign up for every available online class.

Well-orgnized and Methodical

The best magicians always have information and ingredients at hand and know where to find them.

They prepare thoroughly before rituals and have Plan B,C,D ready

Introvert

Many magicians like quietude and solitude in which they can recharge to practice a new spell in peace.

However, some magicians love social gatherings, maybe even showing off their power.

Ethical

Magic gives a person power, and requires moral judgements to apply this power wisely. You magician protagonist will be ethically challenged, but pull through difficult decisions guided by his good heart.

You magician villains, of course, will fall due to their unethical practice of power.

Sharp Sense

Your magician is likely to have a goos sense of smell/sight/sound, so that they can tell poisons part and catch the exact note of the chant.

Descended from Magicians

Magic is often portrayed as a talent that is passed down generations. It can be of blood (you must have "magical blood", so to speak), or it can be a guarded family secret.

On the flip side, your hero can be the only one with magical talent in a family with no such powers.

Psychic

Although magical and psychic gifts are separate matters, the power of foresight is often considered a branch of magic.

If your hero is a psychic, make sure it has limitations and consequences!

Day Job

Few magicians practice openly. Even if the magician earns money from her practice, she'd want to disguise her identity and pretend to work a more everyday job.

Many modern magicians work in the medical sector; other are employed in scientific, engineering or the arts field.

Pet

Magicians are known for thei close relationships with animals.

This can be a typical pet, or a mythical animal, or perhaps an incarnation of the devil, who knows?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

433 notes · View notes

satorusugurugurl · 1 year ago

Note

Heyyy👋 can you write reader catching modern au! Sukuna masturbating🫣 and she helps him out

Come Home

Summary: With his brothers at school and a day off work, Sukuna is alone in bed when his thoughts trail off to you. There's only one reasonable thing to do.

Pairning: Modern AU! Sukuna x FAB! Reader

Word Count:1,657

Warning: Masturbatons, oral sex, horny sexy sex.

A/N: Yes! Y’all know how I love self-pleasure!! Woot Woot!

“Lunch?”

“Check!”

“Phone?”

“Check!”

“Gym clothes?”

“Double check!”

“Awesome, cool,” Sukuna shoved his younger brother towards the door. “Go on, get the fuck out.”

Choso and Yuuji glanced at each other before looking at their older brother. He was in a poor piss mood. He had been all week. The two brothers shared a glance before Sukuna narrowed his eyes at them. It was probably because you were on a week-long girls’ trip. And while he would never admit it, his brothers knew how much you meant to him.

“What?” He asked, running a hand over his face.

“Nothing! Have a great day!”

As soon as they were no longer visible, Sukuna slammed the door shut. He'd been so annoyed every little thing ticked him off. Work, his brothers, everything! He'd been blowing his top, more on edge than usual.

If you had been here, you would have been able to ease his stress. You could talk him down from any edge. From the way your hands massaging his shoulders, working the tension out. By the way, you took over whenever the boys would give him a hard time. He hated to admit it, but you made him a better person. And what was even worse was that he liked it. Damn, fuck, he like the person he was becoming because of you.

You, all of you. Sukuna groaned, shutting his eyes tight as you invaded his mind. You soft Y/H/C, how your eyes lit up, how your smile could melt him. Everything about you was perfect in his eyes. Your voice, the way you smelled, the sound of your voice.

“Sukuna!” The joy in your voice when you came over.

The firm but gentle “Sukuna.” You whisper in his ear when he starts to lose his temper with his brothers.

“S-Sukuna~!” The way you would moan his name when he was balls deep inside your perfect pussy.

With a frustrated sigh, he peered down at the tent in his sweats. How was it you could be hundreds of miles away and still make his cock hard? Damnit, he had it bad for you, and he had a raging boner.

“Fuck it. I have nothing better to do.”

Padded across the floor, Sukuna plopped down in bed, his hand slowly reaching into his sweats. Sukuna grabbed his cock, causing a sharp hiss to pass through his clenched teeth. The velvety skin was hot, throbbing under both his touch and the thoughts of you. It always amazed him just how fucking hard he got whenever you were involved. Either participating in the fun or when you were just at the forefront of his mind.

Which was constant anymore, yet you were nowhere to be found to help with the predicament he currently found himself in. You were probably sippin’ on mimosas or some girl shit. When Sukuna would much rather have you sucking on his cock.

”Fuck.” Spitting into his hand, Sukuna wrapped his fingers around his cock. Imagining it as your hand, which barely fits around his girth length. “Suck it.” He rolled his head back, resting it against the pillows as he imagined images of you. Crawling up the bed on your hands and knees. “That’s right, mhmm fuck you look so fucking sexy.” You were naked, tits bare, lacey underwear hugging your hips as you kissed up his thighs.

He squeezed his shaft before slowly dragging his hand up and down. His spit lubricated the soft skin of his cock, but it wasn’t nearly enough, not enough to even begin to mimic your mouth. You were always so messy, gagging up and down, taking him as deep as you could until pretty tears stained your cheeks. Even if he told you not to push yourself, that you neednt worry about him, you gave it one hundred and fuckin’ fifty percent. So, one could only imagine his disappointment that his hand felt nothing like your tight, wet mouth.

The way your pretty lips kiss swollen wrapped around the tip, your tongue teasing his slit in slow, calculated licks. He knew you liked it. You loved sucking his cock. You hummed around him as you tasted his pre-cum, making your tongue move harder against his tip. Eventually, though, you grew tired of the pre-cum and wanted the real thing. So you would gag, bob your head, hollow your cheeks, doing everything and anything in your power to get him to cum in your mouth.

You were such a whore for his cock.

”That’s it, suck it, suck it, my fucking beautiful girl.” In his fantasy, you hummed, sucking faster as his hand tried and failed to imitate you. “Come on, baby, you can take it.” His brain was screaming at his hand to do what he was seeing in his head, but it was to no avail. Despite his hand being a cheap knockoff, it would get the job done. Just not in the way he wanted.

“Fuck, Y/N, come home soon.”

As Sukuna continued thrusting his cock into his fist, you opened the door to his apartment. You were giddy, kicking your shoes off, searching for your handsome boyfriend. You had told him you were coming back on Thursday, which was a lie. A lie you were proud of! You knew he had the rest of the week off, so you took it upon yourself to take the week off yourself. This way, you could make up for your time away from him.

When you couldn't find Sukuna anywhere in the kitchen or living room, you grinned mischievously. Knowing him, he fell asleep after sending his little brothers off to school. That meant you could wake him up in the naughtiest way before getting your guts rearranged. Tip-toeing to his room, you tilted your head to the side as his groans and curses could be heard from his room.

When you peeked inside to see what he was doing, your breath caught in your throat. Sukuna was flushed. A light sweat had begun to bead over his toned muscles while he fucked his hand. His face was contorted with frustration as his hand moved up and down faster. Your poor baby was so close, but he couldn't get past the edge. His thick, girthy, perfect cock throbbed red with anger while it cried beads of pre-cum.

“Y/N, fuck Y/N, don't stop, so close.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought back a pleased giggle. Poor Sukuna, he must be missing you so badly. Jerking his cock off like a horny teenager. Desperate for release, for a mediocre orgasm.

Well, it was his lucky day. Because you, you were going to suck his would out. Using his shut eyes and heavy breathing to your advantage, you stepped inside his room. You made sure to hold your breath as you approached the edge of the bed. From up close, you could see the pained expression on his face. Poor thing, his cock must be so hard it hurts. What kind of girlfriend would you be if you just allowed him to suffer like this?

Bending over, you kitten licked the slit of his leaking cock. Sukuna’s cock throbbed hard before his body seized up as he pulled his hand away. “What the fu — oooh fuck.” You wasted no time, getting on the bed, body hunched over as you took the tip of his monstrous cock in your mouth. “Fuck, holy, Y/N?!” His disbelief melted into a gravely moan.

Seeing as your mouth was full, you hummed, looking up into his eyes. “Mhmm~” you attempted to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him in time with your sucking.

“Oh, fuck feels so good!” Sukuna wrapped his hand in your hair, tugging at the Y/H/C locks.”That’s it, just like fuckin’ that!” He shoved your head down, making you take his cock down your throat. The sudden action had you gagging as tears blurred your vision. “So pretty, fuck you're so fucking pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

His praises had you sucking him down deeper. More tears streamed down your cheeks as you ran your tongue down the vein on the underside of his cock. Sukuna gasped, thrusting his hips up and into your mouth. Looking at him with blurry eyes, you gagged harder as he fucked your throat like he was fucking your tight pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” having him hold your head in place as he ducked your face was so arousing in the most intimate ways. You loved making him feel good. You got off on this. “Take it,” he gritted, “take it, suck it, fuckin’ fuck! Y/N!!” he threw his head back, back arching off the bed as ropes of cum filled your mouth. It was thick, hot, and slightly bitter.

You were determined not to waste a drop, so you swallowed and sucked, repeating the process until Sukuna pulled you off his softening dick. His chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the man looked like he ran a marathon. Seeing him in a state like this had you smirking as he gently caressed your head.

“Oh my fuck, I was not expecting this.”

“Mmm, surprise, I came home to spend time with you.”

Sukuna slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. “Good,” he grabbed you by the waist, easily lifting you, positioning you to straddle his neck. “No, why don't you take a seat here.” His middle and forefinger tapped at his lips. “And tell me all about your trip.” you ripped your underwear off, tossing them across the room, before holding your dress up in your hands.

“Well, you’ll never guess what Minami did.”

“Fuckin’ hate that bitch, tell me everything.” He muttered into your pussy as you gasped out in pleasure. Yeah, he felt a million times better now that you were back, right where you belonged.

888 notes · View notes

d0rothydraws · 9 months ago

Note

So I saw a reel on Insta theorising that Sylus is a fallen angel (very Lucifer coded)... would love to see that concept in a fic.. maybe wings could be involved 🤭 but will leave the specifics to you!

Sorry this took so long! also thank you for being my first request <3 I really appreciate it and I hope you like it

After you almost die from a surprise attack, you were saved. Waking up, you have a few questions for a certain someone.

Content: f!reader, switch!Sylus, slight praise kink, angel!Sylus. 18+

w/c: 3.7k

ao3: Here

a/n: I enjoyed writing this one! It was different than what I'm used to which was enjoyable. I wasn't quite sure where to take it so I hope its ok. Also happy kinktober! Let me know if theres any special kinks or prompts you want to see this month and I'll add it to the list.

It started off fine. Just a couple wanderers. It was a solo mission, nothing you haven't done before. It was late at night, almost 11. As the first wanderer fell to the ground in a heavy heap the second one lunged at you. Dodging, your sword caught it on its side making it cry in pain.

You pushed it farther, digging your sword between its crystalized ribs, groaning as you turned the blade. You felt a satisfying feeling deep inside you. This would be over soon, you told yourself. Just this one and you can go home and shower. Have a warm meal, catch up on your shows and go to bed.

Your body felt airborne. Weightless. And then, pain. Sharp paralyzing pain as your body was flung across the ground. A third wanderer appeared out of nowhere. Twice the size of the others and it was out for blood. You didn’t know if wanderers had families. But if they did, this one would most definitely be the mother of the two you just slaughtered. You felt weak, faint even. As you tried to stand, to defend yourself, a sound that you didn’t even recognize came out of your throat. An agonizing scream of pain as you tried to move your body from whatever the monster had launched you into. You didn’t know if you were impaled or crushed. All you knew is that your vision was fading fast, a vignette of black teasing the corners of your vision.

Your chest tightened as you tried one more time. If you stayed, you would be dead. Simple as that. But when you moved, it felt like you were being ripped in two. You felt something wet against your side. Most likely blood. You moved to try and use the device around your wrist, to call for help, for backup. For anyone. The feeling was gone from your fingers. Numb. Cold.

You never thought that your life would end like this. You weren’t going to lie to yourself and say you had no regrets. You did. More than a handful and if you were given a second chance maybe things would have been different. You would enjoy your friends more, don’t take the people you love for granted. And most importantly, tell the people those same people.. or person.. that you love him.

A cold chill trailed through your body. You never told Sylus that you loved him. Sure, you had been early in your relationship. Maybe it was off to a rocky start but you had never felt so appreciated and cared for by any person in your life. Your hands curled into fists, your eyes burning with the realization of not only have you never told him that you loved him, but that was going to be your final thought as this wanderer rips your throat out. Tears burned your eyes as you took a shaky breath. The creature was circling you in the air. Wingspan twice as wide as you were tall. Your heart raced as you felt it begin to fly straight down to you. You closed your eyes, taking another deep breath to utter one last word.

“Sylus.”

A strong breeze flew past you. Your body braced for impact that never came. You opened your eyes, your vision blurry. A tall man stood in front of you. His back was to you, even in your slowly dying state it looked like… no it couldn’t be. It couldn't be because no matter how hard you focused, how many times you blinked, or squinted there was a pair of large black wings coming from the man's back. A stark contrast to the white hair that you knew so well. You heard a scream, the pained scream of the wanderer as it exploded from… whatever he did to it. You weren’t in a position to really tell or frankly care. You were dying. You felt your heart start to weaken, your body growing numb from the blood loss.

Warmth enveloped you. Strong arms carefully lifted you as if you were a fragile doll. Soft lips brushed your forehead as you felt the wind suddenly flow past you. The last thing you remembered was the sound of his heartbeat. As fast as ever, before you passed out.

Your eyes fluttered open.. Quickly you sat up, bracing yourself for the hot scorching pain that you remember. And yet, it never came. As your eyes adjusted to the candle lit room, oh so familiar to you. Sylus’ bedroom. Your heart raced. Why was there no pain? Was it just a vivid dream? And more importantly, where was Sylus. The memories flooded your mind. The feeling of the wind against your skin, the soft feathers that encased you in a warmth that you couldn’t describe. It felt so real.

The sound of footsteps made you turn your head as you seen Sylus at the doorway with a plate of warm food. Your stomach growled. It felt like you haven’t eaten for days suddenly. And maybe you haven’t. Even as your body screamed for the food though you couldn’t be bothered. Not when the candle light was flickering against his face like that. Not when his eyes rivaled the fire of those same candles. Only one thought was on your mind right now.

“What happened?” You said, trying to sound as stern as you could muster. You knew he would try to brush it under the rug. But you needed answers. To your question he only sat the tray of food on your lap, his eyes softer than usual as he looked at your face. Gently a hand cake to your cheek, brushing the softness of your skin.

“Eat first.” He said, gentle but unwavering. “Then questions.” His hand lingered for a moment longer. Long enough for his facade to crack just slightly. Concern and worry flicker in those eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as you took a soft breath and did as he said. As you eat he sits on the end of the bed by your feet, his hand gently caressing your leg.

“You're not allowed to go off fighting on your own anymore.” His words were stern, sending a cold shiver through you. The sound of his voice though was almost strained as if he was trying to hold something back. “You are very capable, but I can't risk losing you.” He said his voice softer as his hand continued to rub your legs under the blanket. You couldn't really blame him for being so worried. You were on the brink of death. Which brought you to your next question.

“Sylus.” You said softly, setting the food to the side as you moved to sit up more on the bed. “I was dying. I could feel it. How am i..” you paused trying to think of the words. “Not only alive, but there's not even a scratch on me.” You whispered, feeling your heart race with anticipation.

Sylus didn't answer, as if he was trying to think of his own answer. Your mind thought back to the moments before you passed out. The fear. Your final thought being of him. And in the last second it was as if..

As if an angel appeared.

As if a prayer was answered.

Sylus must have noticed your eyes widened slightly at your thoughts. You body stiffening slightly as you looked at him. You moved to your knees, crawling over to him as if to examine him. He didn't flinch or speak. Your hands moved over his back softly. Even over his shirt it felt normal. And you've seen him shirtless enough times to know that he didn't have any outstanding scars on his back that would indicate..

“Are you looking for something, sweetie?” He finally said as you lifted his shirt to get a closer look. His voice was teasing and yet there was a slight edge to it. You didn't say anything as you pulled the shirt over his head, leaving him shirtless. Positioned behind him on the bed, sitting on your knees, you ran your hands over his back. Tracing where you thought you had seen the wings. Very faintly you heard Sylus take in a breath, the muscles of his back flexing. Your hands continued, beginning to trail down his spine.

“You had wings.” You said finally, it was not a question. The tension in the room was thick enough that it was almost hard to breathe. A soft chuckle broke the long silence which didn't help.

“Kitten you were passed out by the time I found-”

“No.” You said sternly. You weren't playing this game. Something came over you and you didn't know what. Suddenly moving from behind him, you used a hand to push him back onto the bed. In a second you were sitting on his chest looking down at him, frown on your face, eyes staring into his. The look of genuine surprise filled you with adrenaline.

“We both know that I was awake. I know what I saw. And you had wings. Big. Black. Wings.” You said, each word enunciated. You seen a look that you never seen behind his eyes. Hesitation. It passed in a blink of an eye as he smirked, raising his eyebrows. Hands moved to your hips, fingers sinking into your skin.

“Tell me, sweetie.” He said, his voice oozing with a condescending tone. “How exactly could I have wings? You just checked me. No wings, correct?” He said his voice confident and proud as ever.

You looked down at him, hating the smug look on his face. You sounded insane but you knew what you had seen. Not only that, you didn't have a single scratch on you. You weren't even sore. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words.

“You're an angel.”

You didn't know what you expected but you really didn't expect the sound of him laughing. A deep guttural laugh. Your lips tightened into a thin line as you glared down at him. Was he mocking you? His eyes were filled with so much amusement.

“I'm flattered, truly.” He said as he chuckled a few more times. “Humor me again kitten. Why would you think I'm an angel?” Sylus said, the laugh not reaching his eyes. Your body tensed. It felt like you said something you shouldn’t have. But you weren’t backing down. You weren’t going to let him gaslight you. Taking a deep breath you tried to not let your voice betray you.

“First, you appeared when I called your name. Second, there isn’t a scratch on me even though I was dying. Third..” You trailed off not wavering your eyes from his. The tension was thick. Your third remark was only half a joke but you hoped it would help ease how tense everything was. “Third, you’re too pretty to be human.” You said with a half laugh but part of it truly resonated with you. It was said Lucifer was extremely handsome even after he became a fallen angel. Sylus’ eyebrow raised as he looked up at you as if processing your words. Just when you were about to think of something to say to break the silence he finally spoke.

“I truly thought I was going to lose you.” He said softly. His expression changed as his hand moved to cup your cheek. Your breath caught softly. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t deny a single one of your words. “I never expected things to go this way, though when it comes to you, things are unpredictable.” He said sitting up, sliding you down to straddle his waist. “With how severe your injuries were, I didn’t think you would truly believe what you saw.”

“So it’s true.” You whispered, your breath catching as you lifted a hand to caress his face. You trailed over his jaw, his cheek. “You’re an angel?” Your voice started to give away. You had dealt with the supernatural before. Wanderers, mermen, aliens, but angels? This was a new one. He leaned his cheek against your hand, his eyes soft as he chuckled, enjoying the look on your face.

“Once I was. And now I am not. I suppose fallen angel is the correct term you would use.” He said, his thumb brushing the curve of your chin as his other hand held your waist. Tilting your head to look up at him, his voice dropped an octave, making you shiver. “Though the reason I've fallen… shall remain a secret for now.” He said as his forehead rested on yours, his breath grazing your lips. Your heart fluttered. He was so close. You couldn’t stop the temptation of closing the distance.

The kiss was slow, tender. As if you had all of the time in the world. As you kissed him, the thumb on your chin moved to your cheek, holding you there as his lips embraced yours. Even as you kissed him though, one thought trailed through your mind. Painfully so. The memory of what you were sure was to be your final thought. Your biggest regret. Not telling Sylus that you loved him.

You felt a rush of adrenaline rush through your body, your heart beginning to race as you broke the kiss, looking up at him. You tried to use words, your mouth opening but your brain wouldn’t cooperate. As he looked down at you, piercing red eyes staring down at you with a mix of curiosity and desire, you followed your instincts. You put your hand on his chest, gently tracing the defined muscles and skin that stretched across his body before you pushed him down onto his back. His eyes widened for a second, his hands moving to your hips as your lips found his again in a rougher, deeper kiss.

Nails bit your sides as he gripped harder, your teeth pulling at his bottom lip before pushing your tongue into his mouth. One hand curled in his hair, pulling slightly as you made him lean his head back more so you could kiss him harder, deeper. Your hips circled against his quickly hardening cock. There weren’t many times you got to be on top like this, and you were going to take advantage of every second. You felt him groan against your lips as your hand kept a firm grip on his hair. Pulling away from this kiss, his bottom lip between your teeth as you did, you looked down at him. Panting slightly your voice dropped to a low whisper.

“You are beautiful, aren’t you? My handsome angel.” You said as you leaned down to kiss the shell of his ear, teeth grazing the cartilage. “My own guardian angel.” You felt the shiver of his body under you, the hitch of breath. It clearly was a soft spot. One that you were going to prod and push until you couldn’t. Your lips moved down his neck, your hands trailing back over his chest as you gave a soft moan, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of his body under yours. His muscles twitched as your hands caressed him, lips kissing down his neck. “You really do like when I praise you, don’t you?” You whispered against his neck.

You felt his hands grip your hips tighter as a shiver ran down his spine. His breath caught as you circled your hips again. It was as if you could feel him start to lose his composure under your touch. His voice was strained as he finally spoke.

“You don’t want to know what happens when you call me that.” Sylus said, his hands moving to your thighs, groaning as you moved your hips against him again. You chuckled softly against his neck, lips kissing down to his shoulder. Your hands moved down his sides, nails gently scratching along his skin.

“Oh, and what’s that, my angel?” You purred, your body moving lower down his. Lips at his nipple as you looked up to meet his eyes that were looking down at you. Eyes that watched as your tongue flicked out against the nipple and how you smirked at his small gasp. “Relax. Let me reward my guardian angel for saving me.” You whispered against his skin.

Your tongue flicked his nipple again, hands moving to peel off his pants. As they were discarded with a little of his help, you moved your hand to the bulge that was hard between his thighs. A low goan echoed in the room as you began to shift his boxers down next, freeing him. Gently, your hand wrapped around his cock, twitching softly in your hand. His head leaned back as he groaned again, hips thrusting against your hand.

“Oh, you do like that, don’t you? All I’ve done is call you a pretty angel and you’re hard for me.” You said looking down at him. There has only been a handful of times that you’ve been able to see him blush like this. And each time sends adrenaline through your system like a shockwave. It was like a drug. Especially as you kept stroking his cock, thumb rubbing against the tip that was beginning to leak.

“Of course I do, kitten.” He groaned, looking up as you sat on his thighs. His hand moved against the skin of your inner thigh, tracing the outline or your panties. “How could I not when you’re on me like this, using such pretty words?” His voice was a low timber that made your hand around his cock tighten just a little. His mouth opened in a low moan, hips buckling slightly. You grinned down at him, eyes hungry. He was putty in your hands.

His moan distracted you from his hands moving your panties to the side. Suddenly you gasped as his fingers grazed past your lips. Wasting no time he moved a finger inside you making you gasp out a moan. He buckled into your hand as he added a second finger quickly after the first, You moved your hips against his hand, eyes half closing as his thumb pressed against your clit.

Suddenly you moved your hand from his cock, lifting your hips away from his fingers. His eyebrows knitted as he was about to make a comment before he saw you begin to adjust yourself over him. You see a fire behind his eyes ignite. Lowering yourself onto him you cried out, you both moaning in unison at the feeling. Slowly you lowered yourself all the way until you were sitting on his lap. Circling your hips, his hands came to grab them. In a swift motion you felt yourself be lifted slightly as if you were weightless before being brought back down onto him.

Your eyes widened as you cried out, gasping from the feeling. His hips met the movement, a low moan fell from his lips as he lifted you a few more times, hips fucking up into you. You laid your chest against his, kissing him through your moans. You loved that he could handle you like this. Like you weighed nothing. His kiss was deep, rough, hungry, matching the vigor of his movements.

You felt a gust of wind around you, gasping you pulled back slightly, looking up at Sylus. Spread out under him on the bed were those wings. Dark as night, the feathers having a vague red undertone. His movements slowed slowly, his cock still deep inside you as you reached out to brush your hand against the feathers. He gasped softly, you felt his cock twitch inside you. And as you did it again, your back was suddenly against the bed, hands above your head as he looked down at you. The dim candle light of the room illuminates his silhouette like a painting. Wings embracing you on each side of the bed. Closing you off from the world. The only thing you could see was him and him alone.

“It’s polite to ask before you touch, sweetie.” He said, breath heavy as he moved his free hand to reposition him against you again. Before you could say anything he thrusted back inside you. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you felt the feathers brush against your skin. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the sight. His face flushed, body above yours as he fucked into you. Moaning and grunting with each thrust. You knew you wouldn’t last long but your orgasm rushed through you suddenly. Your eyes widened as you felt the coil in your stomach break, hips arching against him, his name on your lips. And then, not realizing it, another set of words followed.

“I love you.”

You gasped the words out in a heat of passion but you knew you genuinely believed them. But you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed that this is the first time you said it. Sylus’ thrusts slowed as he looked down at you. His eyes suddenly soft, almost curious as his hand let go of your wrists to cup your face. Your words did not go unnoticed. And you could see that they had an effect on him.

“I know.” He said gently, his nose brushing against yours. “But it is nice to hear you finally say it.” He whispered, lips brushing against yours as he tilted your head to meet his eyes. “I love you too.”

His hips moved slowly, deeply. You gasped as your hands moved to claw his back, brushing against the area where the wings met his skin. He groaned softly, gasping. You couldn't stop touching the area again, fingers brushing and trailing along the sensitive wings. He didn’t pin your hands above your head this time, though. He let you continue as you felt his thrusts get more and more desperate. His body tensed under your hands.

Sylus closed his eyes, moaning as his mouth opened with the sound of your name on his lips. Hips stuttering as he released inside you. He rode it out, gasping as you continued to touch and tease this new sensitive part of his body. After a few moments his movements stopped as he rested his forehead against yours. His eyes opened, seeing yours looking up at him.

You arched up, kissing him softly. Pulling away you smiled, a hand cupping his cheek.

“I love you.”

#love and deepspace #sylus #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds #sylus x reader #fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #sylus x you #lnds smut

192 notes · View notes