#it said it was going to rain but it lied!

[makyurini]

She Washes All of My Wounds For Me | Touya Todoroki

cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (AFAB anatomy, femme pet names), so so SO much hurt/comfort, a lot of angels/heavenly/sinners/god-like imagery, touya is so desperate to be loved and in so much denial about it, one (1) little teeny weeny mention of Sir kink as a joke, one (1) verbal argument, touya breaks a piece of furniture during said argument but does NOT hurt reader, touya is too stubborn for his own good, drunk touya however is less stubborn, drunk apologies in the rain because i am not immune to cliches, oral and fingering (f! receiving), reader does have a Bush, praise and praise and praise and praise, super duper soft smut with obsessive undertones because of who i am as a person, touya also VERY vocal in bed, happy ending (in more ways than one)

wc: 15,240

a/n: you all thought i forgot about my re-uploads? (i did but shhh) here is one of the most personal fanfics i’ve ever written and probably my favorite (so far). enjoy! <3

The first time you call Dabi by his name, he swears he sees a halo floating above your head, glitter cascading down the face he’s spent months memorizing and the body he would consider his home if he deemed himself worthy.

He never knew a thing that has brought him so much pain, so much agony, something he thought was forever cursed to be a shameful thing to hide behind skeletons in dusty closets could sound so sweet, so tender, so gentle.

But he supposes every world that falls out of the mouth of an angel is bound to sound heavenly.

His limbs are tangled with yours, his head is pressed against your shoulder in hopes that maybe you can share the burden that lies on his, his heart has been cut out of his chest and locked in yours for safe keeping, and yet he can’t believe you still manage to find ways to rock him down to his very core. You’re a saint, something so ethereal and otherworldly he never thought his temporal hands would have a chance to touch you, and yet you still choose a sinner over your throne in the clouds.

It’s a miracle, really, his tainted soul hasn’t scared you off yet. Maybe you’re just as stubborn as he is. Maybe you see him as a charity case. Maybe, just maybe, you do love him and all of his broken pieces no matter how much they bite at your skin and dye them the color of mortals. And the fact that you can say his name with so much purity—as if it really is just another typical Friday evening spent together after a week of trying to bring hero society down and not you changing everything he knows about that goddamn name—just shows how much he doesn’t deserve you.

“What did you call me?” he asks, his face never daring to leave the crook of your neck in fear of you seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, but he can’t hide it from his voice. He knows how he sounds—knows he sounds like a child lost in a world that is far too vast for him to comprehend. Blood rushes in his ears, his hands shake as they grip your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your flesh in a vain attempt to starve off the longing that is filling his bones. It’s consuming him—chewing through calcium and turning it to mere dust between greedy enamel that only knows how to feed on what little affection he receives.

Your fingers lace themselves in his hair, a signal to let him know he’s safe, he’s okay, there’s no reason to sharpen his tongue and forge his armor around you. His heart is starved of love and you’re more than happy to flood it with so much dedication he fears it may burst out of his chest—worthless bones unable to contain all of the emotions he’s tried so hard to keep locked away. “I called you by your name. Is that okay?”

“I don’t know.”

And it isn’t because he doesn’t want you to know his name. He’s already announced it to the world. Of course, you’re going to know it. It certainly isn’t because he hates the way your lips so easily form the two syllables. It isn’t because he no longer wants to associate himself with the name.

He’s simply afraid of his greedy soul becoming attached to the way you somehow manage to make something that used to cause his skin to crawl now bring his heart a peace he’s never known before he saw your face.

“Can I call you it again?”

And you sound so uncertain, so scared you’ve prodded at bruises you didn’t even know existed, terrified of reopening a wound you’ve tried to stitch up before it bled all over your hands, that he can’t help but pull his face away from its safe space and rest his sapphire eyes on yours. Though they shake, he still runs his fingers along your lower lip and tugs so he can look at your teeth and all of the words sitting in them. You look as nervous as he feels. He’ll never tell you that, however, will never let you know how much power a simple word has over him—how much power you have over him. He’s a murderer with an agenda who has allowed rebellion and anger to corrupt his burning body. He can’t let something as fickle as love distract him from his end goal.

But sometimes, he thinks, it might be okay to allow himself to be loved, especially when you make it seem so simple.

“Just don’t get used to it, sweetcheeks,” he muses, a mask of ease sliding over his face, and pulls your body closer to his. “That version of me died long ago.”

“Maybe we can resurrect him,” you whisper into his hair, and it’s then when he realizes he lost control long ago when it comes to you.

And before he can snap back that he killed it himself, you gently kiss the tips of his fingers with a touch so tender, his lungs forget how to function properly.

Still, he manages to mutter, “Some things are better left dead. No use in trying to bring something back to life that wants to stay dead.”

“But what if it never had a chance to live?”

“Then it makes grieving a lot easier. Less memories. Less things to be sad about.”

“Or it makes it more of a tragedy.” And it’s so gentle as how you say it, full of such sorrow for a man you never got to meet. The grief in your eyes pulls at his heartstrings until they’re completely unraveled, put on display for your pure eyes to dissect and analyze, and for once in his life, he isn’t afraid.

Still, only fools allow themselves to be distracted by emotions, and Dabi is anything but a fool. Using his body weight against yours, he easily flips your bodies over so you’re now straddling him, his rough hands ghosting over your soft skin and all of the imperfections he loves so much. His fingers easily find the places that turn you into a whimpering mess above him, and he regains the control he thought he lost long ago.

“C’mon, babe, I had a rough week. Let’s not talk about it, yeah? Let me just make you feel good. Doesn’t that sound so nice? Crying from my cock instead of a stupid name?” Before you can protest, he slips his thumb past your lips and presses it against your tongue, effectively rendering you speechless as you reflexively begin sucking on the digit. “Now that’s a good girl. Let’s not worry about something stupid, okay? Now, what’s my name?”

“Sir,” you moan out around his hand, drool coating his palm in a lewd way that causes all of his blood to rush to his dick.

“That’s the only name I care about.”

The second time you call Dabi by his name, he remembers why it brings him so much pain.

It was such an odd thing to get angry about. After everything he’s done, the stunts he’s pulled, the countless times he’s burned his body trying to set others ablaze, you choose to get mad over the fact that he had to go radio silent for two weeks to keep you out of the attention of those who want to take him down. It’s nothing new, nothing you haven’t been through before. Hell, he’s had to disappear for a month before, and you welcomed him back with open arms.

So why? Why get angry now? Why do your eyes hold such hostility when looking at him? It’s something he’s grown accustomed to from strangers, from heroes who claim to fight for the greater good, from family members who forget the past, from colleagues who don’t agree with his extreme ideals. But from you? Such a thing could bring a man to his knees and grovel for forgiveness.

But not Dabi. Never Dabi. Dabi doesn’t bow to anyone—not even angels with pretty wings and glowing halos.

“What’s the big fucking deal?” he scoffs and plants himself in one of your kitchen chairs, an apple in his hand and a neutral expression on his face to hide the pain burning at his guts. “So what, I had to lay low for a little while? In case that pretty little head of yours forgot: I’m a goddamn villain and you, good samaritan, are not.”

“The big fucking deal, Touya,” you reply through clenched teeth, hands balls in fists and shaking at your sides, “is you just exposed the number one hero in Japan and then disappear for two weeks. I thought you died. I thought they locked you up and threw away the fucking key.”

The sapphires in his skull alight with a fire you haven’t seen in a while, and he grumbles dangerously low, “Don’t think you can just sling that name around to get a reaction out of me, doll, because you ain’t gonna like what’ll happen.” before taking a bite out of his apple.

Closing the space between your bodies, you smack the cursed fruit out of his hand, demanding his attention be solely on you, your chest pressed against his, noses nearly touching as you bare your fangs down at him in hopes he’ll back down. He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he stands right up, towering over you, chair clattering to the floor from the sheer speed of him getting on his feet, his own fangs on display and covered in blood.

“Oh? What’s gonna happen?” you challenge. “Are you gonna disappear? Make me think you’re dying in a goddamn gutter? Or maybe you’ll reveal your identity on live TV for all of Japan to see, expose your family for the abuse and trauma they put you through, also out the number two hero as a fucking murderer, and then randomly not answer any of my calls or texts for two weeks and leave me here to wonder what the absolute fuck is going on? Oh wait, you already did that.”

When Dabi speaks, it’s a voice he barely even recognizes, a voice he’s only heard in the back of his head and never dared to speak aloud—unhinged, angry, scared. A voice he never, ever thought would be directed towards you. But you’re so stubborn, so hellbent on babying a man who has been on his own since he was a child. Though, he supposes he has no one to blame but himself. He is, after all, a goddamn villain, and you, good samaritan, are not.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” The voice shakes with a fear he’s never wanted to show: a fear of losing you—the only thing he’s ever considered worth keeping. “Do you want Endeavor, my father, to come knocking at your door looking for me? Or maybe you want Hawks sending one of his stupid goddamn feathers in here to eavesdrop on you? Want the entire fucking hero commission here tearing your place apart? Do you want to go to prison because...because—” Because I love you.

It hangs in the air between your heaving bodies—a secret he thought he had kept close to his heart, but, looking into your tear-filled eyes, knows that his heart has always been on his sleeve around you. There’s no hiding anything from you because you’ve spent hours, days, weeks, months listening to all of the whispers trapped inside fragile bones and stringing together memories locked away inside of an unstable mind. You knew him before he even knew himself.

His eyes flit around your face in search of any signs of fleeting, any telltales of abandoning him now that you’ve seen all of his ugliness. Because love is such an ugly thing. Love makes people burn their bodies from the inside out just so someone will finally gaze at their flames. Love makes people spend years with the wrong person in hopes that one day they’ll receive the affections they’ve been craving all along. Love makes people foolish, irrational, idiotic. And Dabi has always considered himself smarter than the average man.

The anger in your eyes has dissipated down to pain, and he isn’t sure which one he preferred more. Your hand comes up to cup his cheeks, and he allows it for a breath’s moment before smacking it away as if it were offensive somehow, the limb falling limply by your side before balling into a fist. Anger returns, and it’s then he decides he’d rather have the anger than the hurt. It’s easier to cause a heart rate to spike than it is to stitch a wound.

“Because why, Dabi? Why the hell would I go to prison?” you dare to ask.

“Because we fuck around and they’d be able to trace you back to me.”

The words fall from his lips faster than he can catch them, splattering against your skin with an acid strong enough to strip you down to the bone, put on display and scared of scarring as it eats away at your body. It’s too late for regrets when he sees your eyes cloud over with an agony he can’t even begin to decipher. It wasn’t supposed to hurt you. It was supposed to piss you off, to rebuild the walls he allowed you to carefully deconstruct. He was supposed to make you hate him, to make you forget what the definition of love is and associate his face with villainous tasks not for the faint of heart.

He wasn’t supposed to hurt you.

“So that’s all this is?” you whisper, lowering your head and tucking your fangs back into your gums for safe-keeping. Your voice is strikingly low, quiet even, but that doesn’t stop each word from lacerating at Dabi’s barely-beating heart. “I’m just some fuck to you? Like the days I’ve spent rubbing your back because you drank too much the night before didn’t mean shit? Or the nights we’ve spent telling each other secrets and talking about a future without corrupted heroes was all just fun and games for you? None of it meant anything? I didn’t mean anything? Is that what you’re saying, Dabi?”

Venom sits in his enamel, eroding his tongue and any semblance of self-control he had.

It burns, it burns, it burns.

He thought he’d be used to burning by now—burning forests, burning bodies, burning himself. To be alive is to set yourself on fire, and Dabi bares the scars of his livelihood. It’s all he knows, all he was taught by a man who was determined to have the brightest flame the world has ever seen.

It burns, it burns, it burns.

Touya died in a self-inflicted fire set ablaze by a child who only wanted his father’s love and attention. Is Dabi going to die by yet another fire set ablaze by a man who doesn’t know how to allow himself to be loved?

It burns, it burns, it burns.

It burns to see you so hurt. It burns to know he’s the reason behind it. It burns to look in your cold eyes and see his own angry reflection in them. It burns to see your fists shake and wonder if you’re imagining driving them into his cheeks. It burns to know that he’s losing another home because even now, after all of these years, he still isn’t good enough.

The table sitting next to him splinters into a thousand little pieces as he drives his fist through the wood, all of his frustration and anger towards himself channeled into his bony knuckles. You don’t even flinch at the action, and that only seems to anger him even more. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that shit! You volunteered, in case you forgot, sweetcheeks. I didn’t come knocking at your door asking you to take care of me. You invited me in. You offered me a place to stay. You gave me food to eat, hot water to bathe in, a bed to sleep in. And what the fuck was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, no thank you, hot stranger, I’ll just stay homeless and sleep with rats in a cardboard box’?”

“You didn’t have to pretend to love me,” you shout back, eyes flitting around like a wild animal, fists trembling at your side, chest heaving as if you just ran a mile. “You didn’t have to rip yourself open and put on this whole ‘poor me, poor Dabi’ act if that’s how you really feel. You could’ve just been some typical useless roommate who pops in every now and then. You didn’t have to pretend. You...you didn’t have to lie to me.”

“Wait, I—”

“Oh, no, no it’s fine, Dabi. It’s fine. I’m the one who got caught up in their feelings. It was my mistake. I put way more thought into this than you did. It’s fine, really.”

But it isn’t fine. None of this is fine. The crystals forming in your eyes aren’t fine. The wounds splitting open on your chest aren’t fine. Your shaking hands and tight knuckles aren’t fine. His bleeding heart isn’t fine. His bulging throat clogged with every word he wished he could say isn’t fine. His fists filled with splitters and emotions aren’t fine.

Nothing is fine.

But you’re so determined to protect the treasure in your chest you thought was safe in the hands of a thief (what a foolish, naive thing to think, really), that you’re willing to believe any lie. As long as it’s sweeter than the bitter truth, it’ll go down easier. Deep down, you know the reality behind all of the smoke and mirrors, know it before Dabi runs over to your side with his puppy-dog eyes and dulled flames, have known it since the first time the criminal fell asleep in your arms: he trusts you. And that, for Dabi, means more than something as fleeting as love. Granted, lingering somewhere in that scarred heart of his, you know he loves you. He wouldn’t keep coming around if he didn’t. He wouldn’t steal for you, sneak away from his group for you, try (and fail miserably) to cook for you, include you in his plans, allow you to call him by his name… But loving something as explosive as Dabi means you’re bound to get burned at some point, and you have a funny feeling you’re going to need some salve tonight.

“I...I didn’t mean it like that,” Dabi rushes to reassure you, his hands trying their hardest to find the wounds he caused even though he doesn’t know the first thing about healing. “I just… I’m not the best when it comes to this emotional bullshit, y'know?”

Flinching away from his touch, you whisper, “I think you should go.”

“C’mon, doll—”

“I mean it, Dabi.” Your voice is firmer now, steadier, and you wrap your arms protectively around your body.

“You’re kidding, right?” he incredulously replies. “I didn’t mean it. You’ve gotta believe me, doll. It was just something stupid that slipped out, and you’re gonna kick me to the curb for it? Just toss me aside after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve told you? I let you call me my fucking name, and you’re cutting me out over a dumbass mistake?”

And right behind his sapphire eyes, tucked away in the corners of his skull, he can see the white hot flames again, burning away at the tips of his fingers, dancing across his tongue and leaving blisters, new scars decorating his heart and flooding his lungs. He’s choking and sputtering, and though he knows he has the power to stop them, he can’t help but lose himself in the familiar sensation. It feels good to be on fire again. It’s home, it’s all he knows, it’s all he can truly feel—just fire, fire, fire.

Dabi, if nothing, is a man meant to burn. He was born with a flame his body can barely contain, and he’s determined to allow the world to burn with him.

And though he knows how close he was to finding a new home in your bones, and he knows how close he was to having his sins forgiven and the bloods on his hands washed off, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of the smiles flashed at him, any of the seconds spent in your arms, any of the kisses exchanged between hungry mouths, any of the secrets placed on his lips for safe-keeping, any of the butterflies fluttering in his guts.

He was made for destruction, and he’ll die for it as well.

And though he doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows it’s inevitable. Fire doesn’t discriminate against who it burns. He’s living, breathing evidence of that.

When your eyes meet, he can already see the scars forming over them, can see his handprint seared onto the cornea and a new cautionary tale for you: never trust the man with blue eyes to match his blue flames.

“It’s time to go, Dabi,” you state, jaw tight and twitching with anger.

He sneers down at you, “Don’t you mean Touya?”

“He died a long time ago, remember?”

You might as well slapped him in the face, spat in his eye, curse his name and everything he stands for. It hurts more than his own flames ever will—the ice in your scarred eyes, the gates closing around your soul, your fingers curling in on themselves, your lips sewing themselves shut. You’re closing yourself off to him, and he has no idea what to do now that you’ve changed all of the locks and threw away the keys. He’s over, done with, nothing more than the same traumatized child willing to burn himself alive just to have someone look at him for more than a second.

He’s Touya Todoroki: young, naive, driven, boisterous, eager to see the world and be a part of it, ready to prove himself worthy of being born.

He’s Dabi: self-destructive, sadistic, crude, violent, determined to tear the world apart, ready to prove how hypocritical heroes truly are.

He’s neither: scared, lost, unsure if he ever really was any of that, not quite the boy who wants his father’s love but not quite the man who wants to destroy him, unsteady on his feet as he tries to find his place in this ever-shifting world.

He’s both: driven, self-destructive, naive, eager to see the world, determined to tear it apart, ready to prove himself worthy of being born and show how hypocritical heroes truly are.

He doesn’t know who he is anymore, who he wants to be.

All he knows is you’ve given up on him, and that hurts more than any flame that has touched his skin before.

He leaves without another word, no more venom flung at you to add to the scars he’s left, no more furniture broken with shaking fists and scabbed knuckles, no more fiery eyes and sharp tongues. Just a man who has lost the only home he ever truly had.

The third time you call Dabi his name, he learns that love, as dangerous as it is, can heal even the deepest of wounds, and he’s ready to rid himself of the scars that have haunted his skin for as long as he dares to remember.

He isn’t sure how he’s wound up in front of your apartment, rain pouring down on him because his life was never a cliche until he met you, alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach and grounding his feet, new burns spreading across his abdomen and tainting what little skin he has left. He doesn’t want you to see them. He doesn’t want your fingers to trace the spaces his flames have violated and stained with their hatred. He doesn’t want your eyes to flash with pity as they scan him. He doesn’t want your lips to turn down into a frown when you open your door and see his soaked body, crooked grin on his face because everything about him is a little crooked, old staples missing and new ones in new places, his chest cracked open and put on display for you.

He isn’t sure what he’s hoping to get out of this surprise visitation. A part of him hopes to see you angry, because if you’re angry you care, and he isn’t sure how fit he is for a world where you no longer care about him. A part of him hopes to see you apathetic, because that would confirm the belief he isn’t worth anything anymore, and that would make destroying himself a little easier. Another, smaller part of him, hopes to see you happy, to see relief wash your features and erase the fight you two had about love and other fickle things. It might be impossible at this point, but he’s never been one for easy goals.

All Dabi truly knows, however, is he wants to see you. It’s really as simple as that, and though he isn’t a simple man and doesn’t like simple things, the desire to see you is that—simple. It’s been haunting him since he stumbled out of your apartment blinded with anger and fear. How long has it been since he’s stood here? A week? Two weeks? A month? Time becomes such a messy thing when it’s spent trying to find the next surefire way to burn your bones.

Despite the clothes clinging to his skin, he feels naked, stripped of all of his armor and put on display for you to use and dispose however you please. Dabi isn’t the type to come crawling back to places he isn’t wanted. He’d much rather fake his own death and fly under the radar for years until he’s long forgotten about. But Dabi has also never been the type to look at the stars and try to find someone’s name written in them. He’s never been the type to try to find a face in a sea of people bustling about their days without having to worry about how they’re going to make the world know about them. He’s never tried to find meaning in the clouds or why some planets revolve around stars together while others just crash into each other.

But then he met you and suddenly, he cared. He cared about why some birds hid from the rain while others embraced it. He cared about why stars liked to hide and where they disappeared to. He cared about why some wounds healed and served as a cautionary tale and why others stuck around and served as a personality trait. He cared about Touya Todoroki—the boy whose only dream was to be what his father wanted and to be loved by those who were in his life. And that, he thinks, is the scariest thing he’s ever done. To hate is easy, it’s simple, and though he’s not a simple man and doesn’t like simple things, he loved it. He loved being able to burn those who hurt him and have his world be as simple as: if it isn’t beneficial, turn it to ashes. Black and white and blue. That’s all it was.

Then he saw you look at him as if he had personally strung the stars in the sky for you and suddenly, the universe seemed a lot bigger than sick mothers and neglectful fathers.

He still doesn’t quite understand it and, truth be told, he doesn’t think he ever wants to understand it. For once in his life, he’s okay with leaving this mystery unsolved. He’s okay with having more questions than answers. He’s okay with having an unfinished puzzle and not turning over furniture looking for the right piece to complete the picture.

As long as he has you, he’s okay with finding out who Touya could have been before he burned him to ashes.

The light from your apartment floods his sensitive eyes when you swing the door open, and he almost misses the confusion that flashes across your face before you settle for a guarded expression.

“What are you doing here?” It, like most things, is a simple question, but it still hurts nonetheless, especially when paired with your arms crossing over your body and your tone pointedly flat.

And, like most things, the answer is simple: “I wanted to see you, baby.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, but the rest of you remain emotionless, detached. “Baby? That’s a new one.”

He grins. “I’ve been trying out a lot of new things lately.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Oh, you know, calling you baby. Sleeping by myself. Not killing everyone who pisses me off. Admitting when I fuck up.”

What little amusement you allow to seep through is promptly sealed shut behind a frown, and you wrap your arms tighter around your torso in an effort to protect yourself from his charm. “You can’t just show up here and apologize and think that fixes everything. You really hurt me, Dabi.”

“But you haven’t heard the other new things I’ve been trying.”

You huff, knowing once Dabi has his sights on something it’s near impossible to distract him. He’s headstrong, determined, and that’s one of the many reasons you fell in love with him (and got burned for it). “Fine, I’ll listen. But we aren’t doing it out here in the rain. I’m cold and tired and want to finish my tea.”

For the first time in weeks, you allow him in your home, and it pains him how much hasn’t changed. While his entire world was falling apart, the same shoes have stayed by your front door, the same throw blanket has been strewn across the back of your couch, the same kettle sits on your stovetop, the same jackets hang on your coat rack, and you’ve even managed to find the same table to replace the one he smashed. Your life has remained the same without him, and that is something worth shedding a tear over if he could.

He tries to sit on your couch, but you quickly stop him. “You’re soaking wet,” you reason, and motion for him to go to the bathroom. “I think I have some of your old clothes around here somewhere. Wait there and I’ll bring them to you.”

Thankfully, your compassion has remained the same as well. As he stands in your small bathroom built for one person, rain and the last of his ego dripping off of him, he’s reminded of the first time your paths crossed, when he passed out in an alleyway due to overuse of his quirk and woke up in a bed that smelled like tea leaves, old books, and love. He remembers wandering into the kitchen and finding you humming to yourself, a robe wrapped tightly around your body, two mugs of tea on your table, comfort radiating off of your skin and flooding the tiny space. He remembers how high you had jumped when you realized he had woken up, how quickly you rushed to make sure he knew where the bathroom was and how to properly work your shower so he may bathe, how you had a plate full of food ready for him when he returned to your kitchen a clean man.

He remembers asking you why let a strange, scary-looking man who was unconscious in a shady alley sleep in your home, and you simply replied over your mug, “because you look like someone who doesn’t receive help often.” It was so simple then, and he wasn’t used to simplicity. So ke kept coming around, trying to unravel the mystery of why such a sweet person would help such a tainted one, kept asking questions and prodding at your brain in hopes that maybe he’d find out you’re just as sick as he is. That was never the case, of course. It was and always has been as simple as you being a good person and him being someone in need of a home.

He’s drunk and nostalgic, which is not a good combination for men with shattered souls and too many scars to keep track of and generous people with giving hearts and healing words. And although a part of him feels as if he’s taking advantage of the kindness you have shown him, he can’t bring himself to feel guilty. Maybe it’s the selfish animal in his heart that refuses to release its sharp teeth. Maybe it’s how even after all of these months spent together, you manage to find a way to surprise him. Maybe, just maybe, he’s finally ready to accept the love you’ve been offering him. Whatever it is that’s fueling this selfish desire to lock you away in his chest, nestled right between his lungs, safe from the others with sharp teeth and even sharper tongues, he’s allowing it to roam free and take whatever it wants.

He strips himself of his clothing just in time for you to knock at the door, your gentle voice ringing through the wood. “I found some clothes.”

“Well, bring ‘em in,” he replies.

“Are you naked?”

He rolls his eyes, though you can’t see him. “C’mon, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“But—”

“Just open the door, baby.”

His voice is soft as he says it—so soft, in fact, you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly. But you did, and you’re more than aware of the fact that you’re about to see him soaked down to the bone and as naked as the moon in the sky. Hesitantly, you open the door just enough to accommodate your arm, and right when you slide your handful of clothes through the crack, Dabi’s fingers brush against yours. Electricity runs down your skin—hot, familiar, exhilarating. It steals the breath from your lungs, makes you feel as if the wooden floor beneath your feet is shifting, reminds you of how good it felt to have his rough skin pressed against yours. It’s far too tempting to rip the door open and drink in the sight of the man who holds your heart in his scarred palm, and if you still weren’t so hurt over his words, you might have. You almost think Dabi is going to do it, but, much to your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Do you mind closing the door? The draft is a little cold.” He isn’t being ornery about it. There’s no sneer to his voice. He’s almost...kind about it. Tender. Something you never thought you would associate with the man who just weeks ago plotted to murder his younger brother in order to seek revenge against his father.

You nearly slam in the door in your haste to close it and stutter out, “S-Sorry!” before scrambling to your couch. Whoever this Dabi is, you aren’t sure. The last time you saw him, he was angry, hurt, ready to burn everything he has ever known in a vain attempt to feel something other than the pain throbbing in his chest. He was a wounded animal lashing out at anything that dared to try to get close to him. He was a jaded man who never thought himself worthy of kindness. He was impulsive, impatient, self-destructive, and, above all else, vengeful. Whoever has come knocking at your door is not the man who walked out of it. This man, whoever he may be, is humble, quiet, hesitant, and retrospective.

He’s also drunk and has been out wandering in the rain.

Dabi joins you on the couch before your mind can start spinning in circles, his white hair still sticking to his face and droplets cascading down his face, sapphire orbs shining with something you can’t quite put your finger on but still shakes you down to your core. He isn’t irate. He isn’t breaking furniture or complaining about Shigaraki’s next foolish move or ranting about how Endeavor has foiled his latest plan or about how he doesn’t trust Hawks and all of his easy smiles and charming laughter. He’s calm, his hands resting on his knees and eyes resting on your face, searching for something—a sign you’re ready to listen. And despite the wounds you’re still tending to and the bandages on your skin from all of the venomous words he flung at you, your heart and mind are open and willing to take whatever he wants to give you.

It’s an odd feeling to know you’re still okay with this man and all of his thick walls and bloodied hands even after he’s shown you the part of him he keeps buried underneath sneers and a mask of disinterest. Before his temper was turn towards you, you never believed him capable of murder, of violence, of all of those plans he stays up late stringing together and comes home battered and bruised from trying to execute. Before you saw how easily his hands can destroy, he was simply Dabi: the man you found face down and drowning in his own trauma. Now there’s burn marks on your furniture and soul in the shape of his palms, and though you aren’t too sure where to take the next step, you’re still wanting to take it regardless.

Topaz flits from your lips and back up to your eyes, the crystals dripping from his snow hair causing him to look ethereal. A hesitant Dabi is a rare sight, but a beautiful one nonetheless. “Do you want—”

“You must be cold,” you blurt out, shocking the both of you.

He cocks an eyebrow and the smirk you’re all too familiar with returns to his cracked lips. You’re nervous, fluttery, nerves causing you to act more erratic and unsure of yourself. It’s cute, he thinks, cute how you go from so stubborn and closed off to a school girl trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from crawling up her throat. It’s also a relief to see you get jumpy around him like you used to before he kissed you until your minds turned to mush and your fingers tangled with his hair and he pinned you down to your mattress, bodies tangled so tightly together he wasn’t sure where he began and where you ended. You still care. “Yeah, rain is pretty cold.”

You nod a little too eagerly. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“You go do that, doll.”

“And I can get you a blanket.”

“If you want.”

“And I can make you some food.”

“Sure. I could eat.”

“And I’ll… I’ll be back!”

“Don’t be gone too long.”

He watches you leave with a grin full of amusement and affection, and that does nothing to help ease the anxiety rolling around in your gut. You feel clumsy, skittish, for all of the wrong reasons. You want to kiss him. You want to shake the water out of his shaggy hair and pull on the ends of it while his lips attack your neck. You want to wrap your legs around his waist and feel his thighs flex underneath you as he tries to pull you as close as possible. You want to hear all of those breathless moans that tumble from his lips whenever you nibble on his collarbone. You want to lose yourself in him. Forget the anger, the hurt, the nights spent shivering because you didn’t have him next to you, the mornings spent drinking tea alone and making enough food for one person. He’s back, and you’re almost certain he was forgiven before the moon disappeared from the sky the night he left.

You can feel his eyes burning a hole in your back as you prep your kettle to boil some water, watching the way your hands shake as you turn the burner on and how you nearly drop the lid to it, and you know for a fact he has that same smirk on his lips. Why are you so damn nervous around him now? He’s buried himself in you too many times to count, has whispered the most obscene things in your ear, has seen you at your most raw and unfiltered, and now you’ve turned into a neurotic mess? Why is your stomach doing somersaults and why is your heart slamming itself in your ribcage and why does your throat feel too large for your neck?

Because this Dabi isn’t the Dabi who left. You know in the deepest parts of your guts, past the pain and the hesitance, whoever is sitting on your couch is not the man who broke your table. And even if there’s alcohol swimming in his veins and an ego in need of nursing, there’s something alarmingly self-aware twinkling in his sapphires, something that lets you know he knows. He knows he hurt you. He knows he wasn’t in the right. He knows he bit the only hand that was willing and wanting to feed him. He knows your knuckles still bare his teeth marks. He knows it’s going to take more than a simple fuck to make everything okay again. Because, for the first time, it isn’t going to be simple with you. It isn’t going to be as simple as him needing a bandage and you pulling out a first aid kit. It isn’t going to be as simple as him being angry at the world and you helping him get lost in the stars. And he’s okay with it. He’s okay reopening any wounds that didn’t heal quite right. He’s okay with spilling every single word sitting in his guts. He’s okay complicating himself if that means making things easy for you. Because, like almost everything else that has to do with you, you’re simply worth it.

He speaks up while you’re digging through your closet trying to find a blanket suitable for him, his voice laced with an odd mixture of hesitance and bemusement. “While you’re being all fidgety and shit, can I tell you the other new things I’ve been trying?”

“If you want.” You echo his previous words, careful to keep the anxiety out of your voice, as you prepare to make a meal for him.

Though you can’t see him, he smiles—a real smile for once. No sarcasm or scorn buried underneath taut muscle. A genuine smile with genuine happiness and genuine love. As scary as it is, it’s something he could get used to if he doesn’t keep himself on a leash, but he thinks he might be okay with that. “I looked at myself in the mirror the day after I left.”

That stops all of your tense movements in their tracks. Mirrors have been Dabi’s worst fear since the day you met him, because they contain his worst enemy. He’s avoided them, broken them, used the shards to puncture his heart and lacerate his lungs. He’s covered them, screamed at them, tried to erase them from his memory. To look at himself in the mirror is to face himself head-on, and that’s something you never thought you’d see. “How was that?”

He chuckles, deep and sorrowful, a sound that comes from the bittersweet emotions he’s destroyed his feet trying to run from. “I fucking hated it. I’m a real scary looking bastard, eh?”

“No.” The word tumbles out of your mouth with a resoluteness Dabi never thought himself worthy of. Your eyes are full of conviction once they meet with his, your jaw set in the way that lets him know there isn’t anything that will change your mind.

It’s adorable how deeply you think he deserves love even after he’s shown you how much it can hurt, and he can’t help but chuckle at how quickly your demeanor can change when it comes to matters like self-hate and forgiveness. “Did you lose your eyesight while I was gone? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t the prettiest face around here.”

You chew on your lip, careful that the words that leave your mouth help soothe the wounds on his mind. “I don’t care about your scars or your staples. I don’t care about the blood and gore. None of that matters.”

“Oh? Then what does? Because last I checked, society only likes pretty people with pretty quirks and pretty lives. Society doesn’t give a flying fuck about ugly bastards like me with ugly quirks and ugly lives.”

Dabi doesn’t expect you to answer, but you’ve always found ways to surprise him. The food on the kitchen counter is long forgotten about as you close the space between you two, your body just mere inches away from his. It’s the closest you’ve been since that night, and he has to fight the urge to pull you down on his lap. He doesn’t need to, apparently, because you’re practically sitting on it as your fingers trace over his brow bone with a touch so gentle, he could weep right then and there.

“What matters,” you whisper, “is how much your eyes shine when you laugh.” And then, your finger is tracing the corners of his mouth, ghosting over his lips. “What matters is how soft your lips are when they’re pressed on me.” And then, down the hollow of his throat down to his collarbone. “What matters is how you always smell like stale cigarettes and campfires.” And then, down his chest and right on the beginning of his abdomen. “What matters is how safe I feel when you’re holding me.” And finally, your palm rests right above his left peck, right over his hammering heart. “What matters is your passion, your drive, your determination. I don’t give a damn what society thinks about you. I think you’re beautiful, Touya.”

He knows it’s technically impossible but he swears he feels fireworks in his chest—bombastic, ribcage-breaking, heart-shattering, soul-cracking passion tearing his muscles apart until all that’s left is a body full of love. He loves you, and you think he’s beautiful, and he’s almost certain that, in this moment, everything is right in the world. “Can this beautiful man kiss you?” he breathes out, his eyes pleading with you to allow him to show you just how you’ve managed to piece him back together.

“Only if I can kiss him back,” you shyly reply.

If Dabi ever doubted the existence of angels, he knows now how terribly wrong he was, how utterly pessimistic and downright ignorant it was to doubt ethereal lives when he has one right here in his arms, sweet lips pressed against his, legs wrapped around his waist, arms pulling him closer and closer until your chests are touching and there’s not an inch of space between you two. Flashes of gold and thrones and feathers cross his mind as he breathes you in—all of the things he used to deny but now longs for. He wants to rule heaven with you, wants to make new worlds where other angels can’t follow and look down at him in disapproval, where he can’t hear their conspiratorial whispers of the saint who fell in love with the sinner, where he’s free to love you and worship you and allow his temporal hands roam your celestial body.

Dabi is a man who was born of corruption and gluttony and has fallen head over heels in love with purity and selflessness, and though he doubts he will ever think of himself worthy of such things, it won’t stop him from indulging. He is, after all, a bit greedy himself.

When his tongue brushes against yours and the taste of beer explodes in your mouth, you’re uncomfortably aware of the fact that only one of you is sober. You pull away, much to yours and his disappointment, but rest your forehead on his so you’re never too far from him. If you could, you would sew yourself to his skin, bury yourself in his bones and make a home out of his veins, play a prayer of love and devotion on loop so he knows that no matter how much heaven may shun sinners and all of their scars, you’re capable of a little rebellion every now and then.

But for now, while intoxication is a factor in a matter that should be dealt with a clear mind, you’ll settle for holding his hand.

“Dabi, you’re—”

“Drunk,” he finishes for you, a sort of sad smile on his face. “If it makes you feel better, I’m way more sober now.”

It’s a joke to help calm the guilt rolling around in your guts, you know it, and you brush your fingers against the corner of his mouth, wondering how long it’s been since he’s smiled and how often he might now. “Will you regret any of this in the morning?”

It stabs him right in the heart to hear such a question full of hesitance and apprehension asked so quietly, if he weren’t so dead set on catching every word that falls from your lips he might not have heard you. He feels the way your shoulders shake, can tell you’re just barely holding back tears, and he presses his hand to the back of your head to guide your face to the crook of his neck where you’re free to cry and hiccup however much you need. “I could never regret anything when it comes to you, baby. Why the tears?”

“I just…” A shaky sigh falls from your lips, your tears mixing with the droplets still clinging to his hair. “I thought I lost you before and now you’re back and I know technically you’re drunk but I know how sincere you are and it’s all just so—”

His fingers begin to massage circles into your shoulder blades, and he presses his lips to the side of your head, nose full of your scent and trying its best to burn it into his memory. “Babe.”

“Y-Yeah?” you hiccup.

“Fuckin’ breathe. It’s okay. It’s all okay. You didn’t lose me. I’m right here, baby, right fuckin’ here, and I’m not going anywhere. Not again. I fucked up, okay? I fucked up real bad and I know I did. I promise you, I’m not really drunk at all. I mean, I had a good buzz going on when I first showed up, but being here with you, talking with you, sobered me up real quick.”

And he sounds so genuine, so full of love and honesty, you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his hair, pull him so close you can feel his heartbeat against yours, bury your face right next to his jugular and commit mortality to memory. You cry until your eyes are almost swollen shut. You cry until your heart feels too large for your chest. You cry until your breath is a stuttering mess.

You cry for Dabi and all of the pain he’s carried around with him and no place to put it. You cry for Touya and all of the homes he’s lost and all of the times he was never enough. You cry for yourself and how deeply you love a man who only believes himself worthy of destruction. You cry for lost potential and empty promises of better tomorrows. You cry for broken furniture and shattered hearts because no one ever warned you love wasn’t easy. You cry and cry and cry until your voice is hoarse and the only thing you can taste is the salt cascading down your face.

And Dabi holds you through it all. His hands run up and down your back, gently rocking both of your bodies to a tune only he knows, his lips pressed against your head in hopes you can feel the adoration seeping out of his body. He allows you to unleash all of the emotions he’s stirred up in you. He catches every tear that falls from your eyes, thankful he’s unable to shed his own.

Once the world has stopped shifting and you’re able to steady yourself, he carries you to your bed without another word, a tender kiss against your forehead before he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” you ask, barely managing to whisper.

He smiles down gently at you. “You left some food out. I was gonna put it away then crawl in bed.”

“Don’t care. Come to bed now.”

“Your wish is my command.”

With your face tucked away in his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso, and your legs tangled with his, Dabi falls into a peaceful sleep for the very first time since he learned that family will always be your first disappointment.

The fourth time you call Dabi by his name, he finally allows himself to drown in the emotions he’s spent his entire life learning to swim away from.

The sinner wakes up with angel feathers around his body, the spot where your body laid empty and cold but scent still clinging onto the sheets. He quickly finds himself in a familiar routine of glaring at the nosy sun peeking through curtains and violating his eyes, cursing his nocturnal nature and how much easier it is to be himself in front of the moon and stars. After contemplating if going back to sleep is worth it (it isn’t), he drags his body out of bed and into a warm shower. The smell of your shampoo is somewhere to be found in the leftover steam of your own shower, and he smiles to himself when he remembers where he’s at: home. And it isn’t a home where dishes are broken and voices crack and plead. It isn’t a home where fear sits in the living room and stress waits for him in the kitchen. It isn’t a home where he’s expected to be an adult with obligations without ever knowing what it’s like to be a child full of wonder.

It’s a home where angels sing in the kitchen as they cook breakfast while he tries to wash his sins away in the bathroom and that, he thinks, is the closest to perfection he will ever get.

He walks into the kitchen with a towel around his waist and his scars on full display—new ones angry and red, old ones melancholy and purple—and, for once, he isn’t afraid. He doesn't try to hide them under baggy clothes and jeering words. He allows your eyes to run over them and wince at the fresh ones and squint at the old ones, because he knows you aren’t disgusted by them, you don’t pity him, you accept them as they are—reminders of times where he strayed too close to the fire.

“Morning, baby,” he says around a yawn as he sits at your table.

You smile softly at him and how easy he finds it to be around you. “You’re really laying the ‘baby’ stuff on thick, huh?”

“I mean, you only let me call you a cockslut when you’re being one, and I don’t see you on your knees right now so…”

Flustered, you quickly turn back around to tend to the salmon and eggs you’ve been cooking, probably adding far too much salt but trying to not pay attention to how much your hands are shaking. This causes Dabi to laugh—gentle, deep, melodic in a sense, carefree and raspy. “Oh, so you think you’re Mr. Funny Man, hm?” you challenge, though you don’t dare face him.

“I think I’m downright hilarious, baby.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

You swat a tea towel at him, which he quickly dodges with a grin, and you roll your eyes. “You aren’t giving up any time soon, are you?”

“Do I ever? Baby.”

“Point taken.”

Breakfast is eaten in comfortable silence—Dabi radiating a happiness you never thought possible, you soaking it all in with a sense of relief. He takes his time as he eats, as if he’s savoring every flavor crawling around his tongue, contemplative as his teeth shred his food to tiny pieces. You admire the sight of his furrowed brow and bright eyes as you sip on your tea, unsure of what to say and worried what you do want to say will scare him away. So rather than choke on the words sitting in the back of your throat, you take this opportunity to inspect his body. After all, it isn’t every day Dabi is comfortably shirtless, especially in the sun’s rays where all of his flaws are visible for anyone and everyone to see.

You spot the newer burns sitting close to his hips, not quite as wrathful as the older ones resting on his chest, but still containing a torment you don’t think you’ll ever understand firsthand (and you doubt he’d want you to). When he first began showing up at your doorstep and all you knew about him was he looked different than anyone else you knew, you used to tell yourself stories about his scars—how he got them, how painful they were, which ones are newer than the others, which ones were self-inflicted and which ones were done by a resentful hand, how they all come together for form a man who’s become a sort of expert when dealing with macabre things.

If it bothers him to have your attention so focused on things he tries so hard to hide, he’s never said anything about it. When he first noticed how fixated you were on his scars, he cupped your chin and tilted your head up, forcing you to look at his sapphires full of curiosity and hesitance.

“Little distracted there, doll,” he observed.

“Do they hurt?”

He blinked, unsure of what to make of your harmless tone. “Not really. If I get new ones, they hurt like a motherfucker, but I get used to it after a few days.”

“Are they hard to take care of?”

“No. I’ve been taking care of them for a while now so it’s not a big deal.”

Your fingers gently traced the staples on his collarbone, careful to not pluck at any, not a hint of disgust to be found on your angelic face. “Can you teach me how?”

He jolted back and immediately guarded himself behind walls high enough to reach the heavens. Suspicion clouded his eyes, laced through his tone and made his muscles more rigid. “Why?”

“So I can help you take care of them,” you replied, as if everything were really that simple, and Dabi swore he saw a flash of angel wings fluttering on your back.

Back in the present, Dabi watches your eyes fill with nostalgia, a small smile on your face as your fingers trace the rim of your mug. He thinks he can stare at you all day if you would allow him to. He thinks he could spend the rest of forever memorizing all of the expressions you make as you try to dissect mortality and why seraphic beings are so fascinated with it. He knows that eventually, sacrifices will have to be made and one of you will lose themself serving a god who doesn’t like those in love with vengeance while the other one tries to pluck their own eyes out so they may be blind to how much suffering they’ve caused. But, for now, he’s happy being the fool in love who flew too close to the sun.

“Little distracted there, baby,” he chuckles, gathering up your dishes and placing them in the sink. “Am I just that handsome?”

“You never did teach me how to help take care of them,” you reply with a somber tone.

The mug he’s holding nearly slips out of his hand when your words reach his ears. So you really were thinking about morality and all of its ugliness. He tries his hardest to keep his voice light, to not show how much he envies angels and how easy ignorance is for them. “They aren’t yours to take care of.”

“No, but I’d like to help.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Because I love you. There is it again, that goddamn sentence that always manages to stick itself to the roof of your mouth. You’re choking on it, trying to allow oxygen to flow through lungs that are turning inside out because you can’t seem to find the courage to say you love a sinner in a world that shuns blood and fire. Acid fills your throat as your lips try to form the words burning at your gums. I love you, I love you, I love you. Why is it so hard to say? Why is love such a scary thing even though it presents itself as a cure for everything wrong in the world? Why does your kitchen seem smaller than before? Why are there black spots dancing in front of your eyes? Why is Dabi so afraid of anything he can’t burn and why are you afraid of giving him a reason to leave?

“Because…?” he prompts you, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

You try to flash an easy smile at him, though you fear it may look strangled. “Because I don’t want you to bleed everywhere if you miss a spot.”

That certainly isn’t the answer he was expecting given the way a chuckle stutters out of his throat, but he finds himself laughing until he’s nearly bent at the waist and struggling to catch his breath. It’s a beautiful sound, one full of long-lost joy and too many cigarettes smoked under a full moon, one that cups your heart and kisses it tenderly. “Well, I don’t want to ruin any more furniture,” he hums. “Better teach ya’ the secrets to my staples and how to make this mug oh-so pretty.”

After dishes have been washed and food has been stored away, you usher Dabi back to the bathroom and pull out the first aid kit you’ve learned to keep handy. He guides you with a firm hand and soft voice, tells you how to properly disinfect the burns and where to place the staples so they hold everything together, teaches you how to keep your fingers from shaking and how to not wince whenever metal punctures flesh. Keeping someone from falling apart shouldn’t feel so intimate, but with every staple placed into taut skin a jolt of something warm, something precious, something so fragile you’re afraid if you acknowledge it it’ll fall apart, spreads across your chest and causes sunlight to pour out of your hands.

With every brush of your fingers, the sinner is slowly learning to admire sunrises and how they highlight all of the things he tries to hide in the night. It’s not an easy task, and he struggles to fight the urge to find solace in galaxies littered across the sky, but if it means he can admire your face under the rays then he’ll bear through it all. You’re so close to him—the closest you’ve been in weeks. He can see every eyelash, every pore, every bit of stardust swimming under your skin and all of the oceans running through your veins. His body might contain destruction, but yours contains creation—the secrets to all of the universes and how to create life out of pure love. And maybe it’s a bit of an oxymoron to have such opposing things crash together, but Dabi is not a simple man and he doesn’t like simple things.

“Can I tell you the other new things I’ve been trying?” he asks timidly.

You look up in a pair of frightened sapphires and nod slowly, shyly. “Yes.”

Long, slender fingers stop your hand from placing another staple into him, and rough lips kiss all of the suns in your palms. His voice shakes when he speaks, nearly as much as his soul does, but he still forces the words out. “I’ve been trying out this...thing. It’s pretty fuckin’ scary. To be honest, I never thought I’d try it. And to be even more honest, I thought it was too late for me to try it. I thought it came with an expiration date, y’know? Like those credit card offers you get in the mail that say some bullshit like, ‘This offer is only good for the next two weeks! Sign up now!’ But recently, I learned that now is the perfect time to try it.”

“And what is it?”

The air is filled with anticipation, with words that have sat in throats for far too long, with feelings that have been locked away in chests, with pasts that have refused to die, with futures that may never live, with closets overfilling with skeletons. It’s suffocating, terrifying, absolutely world-shattering. But with your gift of creation, Dabi can destroy as much as he wants without worrying about leaving any new nasty scars on planets. He’s free to be himself, to unleash as much fire as he wants, and you’ll be right behind him, sweeping up ashes and leaving life in their wake.

“Love.”

Once the word drips from his tongue and lands right on your chest, the world stops turning. Stars can no longer be found and the moon buried itself in a black hole and oceans stop their waves. Angels have stopped fussing about forgiveness and gods are no longer worried about who deserves to be smited next. The entire universe and beyond has ceased to expand because all that matters in this moment is how Dabi’s heart is no longer caged and you’re no longer afraid to play with fire.

Tears fill your eyes before you can stop them, and Dabi brushes his thumb across your eyelashes. “You love me.” It isn’t a question, and it certainly doesn’t need an answer, but he offers you one anyway.

“I love you, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to realize.”

If the sinner didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he heard the angels begin to sing. But trivial things like sins and purity, heaven and hell, angels and demons, don’t matter because none of them could ever feel as freeing as loving you. He’s no longer bound by the past and all of its bloodshed, and he thinks it’s okay to forget it sometimes. His fingers shake as they brush tears away you didn’t even know you have shed, careful to not taint your divine skin with his infernal hands, a shy sort of smile on your lips as you pull his body closer to yours. He protests that you’ll get blood on your clothes, and you shush him by telling him you’ve always been fascinated with mortals anyway, and neither of you are sure who initiated it but your lips are slotting together and you remember why heaven never felt like home.

Before you could get lost in how good it feels to not have to worry about serving a vengeful god, Dabi picks you up and carries you to your bedroom, chest flush against yours and hearts beating in sync. He’s gentle as he lays you on your bed, careful to not disturb your wings and all of the feathers falling from your back. His fingers graze your thighs, and for a moment he fears he may be cast down to the deepest pits of hell before he’s able to worship you the way you deserve. But then, you pull his face down to yours and kiss him as if he hasn’t spent his entire life in search of his next big sin and, suddenly, hell is worth being dragged through as long as it means he gets to hold your hand.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you, angel.”

Shaky fingers trace his jawline as if he were going to crumble to desk any second. “I love you, too. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. Everything is okay.”

He didn’t even realize he had blood droplets welling in his eyes until you gently wiped them away, fingertips glistening with newly formed rubies and trembling as you try to get rid of any evidence of sadness. Rather than trying to voice all of the emotions crawling up his throat, he kisses the wet pads of your digits, a silent thank you for teaching him that even the most corrupt of souls can be saved. Cracked lips trace over soft skin, and though it serves as a reminder of the different worlds you serve, the villain can’t help but lose himself in all of the pretty little noises falling from your mouth. It’s hypnotizing how you can make something as simple as a few breathy moans sound like the same harps in the clouds he’s spent his entire life trying to run away from. He’s barely taken your shirt and pants off and you’re already heaving underneath him—the visual reassurance he needed to know that you’ve been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as he had. And right as he lowers his head towards your thighs to provide the relief you’ve both needed, you stop him short, trembling hand finding purchase in his snowy locks.

“Angel…?” Sapphires full of questions scan your face, but he waits for you to speak, waits for your explanation, waits for you. He’s spent his entire life waiting for someone—something—like you, what’s a few more seconds?

You look hesitant—eyes darting around the room, incisors digging into your lower lip, heart thumping in the hollow in your throat—and, if Dabi didn’t know any better, scared. “I...uh...I’m unprepared.”

He blinks up at you. “I’m not following. What do you mean ‘unprepared’? No condoms? I’m fairly certain I’ve fried all of my swimmers so there’s a very small chance you’ll get knocked up, and I promise you no one has touched me in years so there’s no risk of any infections. There’s always Plan B too if I still have a few stubborn lil’ guys desperate to create a crotch goblin and—”

“No,” you cut him off, the heels of your hands digging into your eyes. “I haven’t...y’know...taken care of things down south in a while…”

A laugh bubbles up his throat once he realizes what your implications are. You haven’t shaved. He’s covered in nightmarish scars and staples, lanky body trying to destroy itself every second he’s alive, and you’re worried about some body hair? It almost pains him to think that you’re so self-conscious of something so miniscule, so human, so mundane it doesn’t even deserve a second thought. Who turned you away for keeping one of your temporal traits? Who shunned you for wanting to be mortal?

“Angel,” he breathes between chuckles, his knuckles brushing against your cheek and pulling your hands away from your face. “Have you looked at me at all? Like, really looked at me?”

You meekly nod.

“Then you’ll know that I’m the last person to give a fuck about some hair. Hell, I can’t even grow my own body hair because it’s all burned to shit. Your body hair is a part of you, therefore, I love it. I don’t care if you grow it, shave it, wax it, whatever. That’s your choice. So don’t be so ashamed of it, yeah? If you can look past my fuckin’ terrifying scars, I can look past a few hairs, okay?”

Rough fingers trace a soft cheek, and you find yourself nodding again, spreading your legs and allowing him access to the place he craves to be most. You’re completely and utterly intoxicating looking down at him through unshed crystals, fingers playing with the strands of his hairs while he tries to memorize how you look in this exact moment because he’s sure this is the closest to heaven he’ll ever get. He’s tender as he traces your soaking slit with his calloused digit, careful to not rush you nor taint you with the impermanence of humanity. A bit of stardust falls out of your mouth when you moan out his name, and he’s disappointed in himself for not bringing a mason jar so he may keep all of your celestial beauty on a shelf as a reminder that not everything is as ugly as he is. Still, he considers himself the luckiest mortal to ever grace this earth to see you wriggling underneath him, see how your mouth goes slack when his finger brushes against your swollen clit, hear how soft your pleas for more are, to know that even the holiest of angels are capable of a little sin.

“What’s that, baby?” he coos down at you, fingers never leaving the apex of your thighs.

The mewl you let out is cut short by a whimper as he drags his fingers down your fluttering hole, gathering up all of your juices and licking them clean, sapphires never leaving your face. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve been blessed enough to see, so fucking sexy and world-shattering as he brings his hand down to grind his palm against your throbbing heat. Lowering his body over yours, he nips at the sensitive shell of your ear, licking and sucking on the afflicted skin until you’re bucking your hips against his hand.

“S’matter, sweetheart?” he asks with feigned sympathy. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

But, oh god, if only you knew how he’s barely hanging on. This last shred of control he’s somehow maintained is about to burst at the seams, tear his world to shreds until all he knows is you and all of your feathers and glittering halo. He’s a mere mortal who somehow found a way to break into heaven, and he’s about to lose himself amongst all of the clouds if he lets go. He can’t, not yet, not when he’s still unsure if you love him as much as he needs you, not when he’s afraid of you regretting having an affair with ephemeral beings. You deserve better than him, he’s sure of it, but you’re looking up at him with eyes full of stars and wonder and he can’t stop himself from breaking down his own walls he’s spent a lifetime building up.

Trembling hands grab at his neck, his hair, anything they can grasp to pull him closer, closer, closer. You want him, you need him, all of him, every last scar, every little staple, every tear he had shed before crying became impossible, every blood-curdling scream that has left his throat, every word that has dripped from his tongue, every insecurity that haunts his heart, everything. You need Dabi, you need Touya Todoroki, you need the man you found facedown in an alleyway, you need the man who shattered your soul and furniture, you need the man who came back and pieced them both back together. You need him, and he’s never been more sure of it than in this moment.

“I don’t think you’ll ever realize how beautiful you are,” he whispers, breath hot against your cool skin.

But before you can reply, his tongue is running along your folds and his hands are intensely gripping your hips and, oh my god, you swear you see stars on your ceiling. He drags his tongue across your pussy like a starved man, moaning and panting in sync with every noise that falls from your chest, determined to make you cum, desperate to earn every ounce of praise you’ve ever given him. Sapphires clouded with lust and love gaze up at you as a hot mouth toys with your desire, and you’re certain this is what it’s like to be worshiped in the best way possible. You brush your thumb against his cheek, a signal that he’s so good, the best possible devotee and all of his acts of worship won’t go in vain.

“F-F-Fuck,” you mewl, and earn a groan from him in return, the verberations hitting your pussy and causing supernovas to explode behind your eyes. “Oh, please, just like that! You’re so good, Dabi, so fucking good!”

His index finger replaces his tongue, languid strokes against your sopping heat as he tries to catch his breath. “Goddammit, you’re perfect.” His voice is somewhere between a moan and a whine, syllables catching in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he attempts to swallow down all of the words flooding his esophagus. “You’re so fucking perfect for me and I’m so in love with you it hurts.” He’s in awe, completely and utterly in shock that such an innocent creature—one with stars in their skin and oceans in their veins and all of the secrets to love and life trapped between their flower-filled lungs—can look at him with such…adoration. Passion, trust, tenderness, bliss—they’re all there, swimming in your irises, dancing across your face, beating in your chest.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

And it isn’t out of pity. He isn’t some sick stray dog you found and nursed back to health and fell in love with along the way. You love him as if you had no other choice to, as if your heart would explode without him, as if the world would stop turning if he left. And, god, does he love you. He loves you like Icarus loved the sun—dangerously, self-destructive and self-aware, knowing he’ll never be worthy but still determined to be close with you at least once during this lifetime.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, fingers finding your cunt and mouth attaching itself to your clit again.

He’s a starved animal, deprived of love and selfishly taking as much as he can now that he’s in a home full of it. But there’s not a damn thing selfish about the way he loves you, about the way he circles his tongue around your clit, about the way hs dips his slender fingers into your throbbing heat and grazes your gummy walls, about how his other hand is touching as much of your soft skin as he can—your breasts, your nipples, your hips, the swell of your ass, your legs, just everything, everything, everything, so he knows what dedication feels like.

Bony hips rut against your mattress in a desperate search for some form of relief, but he can’t stop himself from devouring every little piece of you until your halo falls off and you’re free from the clutches of a cruel god. You were never truly happy amongst the clouds, were you? Always forced to be something you weren’t, forced to shun anyone who was less than perfect, forced to convert anyone who didn’t believe.

But now, in this moment, with the very same face you were taught to fear is buried between your legs, when you’re stripped down to the bone and all of your galaxies are setting the room alight, when your soul is naked and free to be handled by even the most scarred of hands… You’ve never felt more free.

Your fingers pull on his wintry locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you, closer to heaven and all of its promises of healing. “I—” Dabi cuts your whines off by flattening his tongue against your clit, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and pumping his fingers faster. “F-Fuck…! I’m so close! Wan’ cum, please, wan’ cum so badly!”

You’re barely hanging on. Flashes of gold dance in front of your eyes and you’re almost certain it’s a part of your halo falling, but who needs angels when the sinner right between your legs is the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen? He’s quivering—so overwhelmed with the trust you’ve given a man with bloodied hands to not taint your precious body that he can’t help but try to give you every ounce of reassurance that yes, he is trustworthy! He’s worthy! Even with scarlet stains on ivory skin and graveyards full of regrets, he’s been deemed worthy of one of heaven’s most pure angels.

The fifth time you call Dabi by his name, he’s ready to completely throw away his previous life in favor of everything holy and pure.

Your thighs are shaking around his head, hands tangling themselves in his hair and pulling for dear life, and he knows you’re so, so close to that final push that will permanently brand you a fellow sinner.

“Tell me how much you need it, angel,” he all but pleads against your pussy, the pace of his fingers becoming faster and sloppy, desperate, haphazard circles being drawn into your clit and hungry teeth nipping at your flesh. “Tell me how much you need me. Oh my fucking god, baby, please tell me how much you need it. I need to hear it. I need it, I need you.”

“Touya, I need you,” you cry out. It’s a demand—give me all of you and let me love every piece. It’s a plea—love me as much as I love you and don’t ever leave my side. It’s a promise—I’ll wash every wound for you if it means I get to be close to you. It’s everything Dabi could have ever wished for and more—an angel finally allowing themself to be free of their divine restraints in order to love the very same thing that might kill them. “Oh, fuck, I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you.”

You love him, you love him, you love him.

His ears are filled with your prayers and his mouth is full of your ambrosia and his chest is full of all of the suns you’ve saved for him, and, for a moment, he thinks he’d be okay if he died right now. Your whimpers are intoxicating, the very same harm that tempts every sinner with a tainted soul. The pleasure that has been rumbling and knotting deep within your gut finally snaps with a few licks to your clit and his knuckles brushing against your slick walls, and you’re sure that you’ve officially lost your heavenly status. It’s worth it. It’s all worth seeing Dabi looking up at you with his hypnotizing topazes and smile that would make God himself weep.

Unsteady hands grab at his sharp face, heavenly fingers swiping away the rubies that have begun to cascade down his cheeks and splash on the bed sheets, a wobbly smile on cracked lips.

“You’re crying,” you observe, tender as you try to pull him close to you. “Are you okay?”

But rather than answer you, Dabi takes both of your wrists in one of his hands and delicately pins them over your head, his other hand tracing your body with feather-light touches. He’s measured with his ministrations, hesitant, careful to keep all of the flaws trapped in his bones away from you and all of the galaxies in yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The rubies are still falling from his topazes and all you can think of is how terribly wrong he is because he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Not the clouds in the sky, not the other angels fleeting around carelessly, not the supernovas you see every night, not the sunrises you see every morning. Nothing could measure up to how painfully beautiful it is watching Dabi finally accepting the love you’ve been trying to offer him for what feels like a lifetime.

“You’re gorgeous,” you manage to reply, voice and heart wobbly. “You’re handsome and beautiful and—”

Rough lips slotting against yours cuts you off, calloused fingers cupping your face, and when he finally releases his hold on you, you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s shaking like a lost child, salty tears and copper mixing with your hungry kisses and clashing against greedy tongues. Your chests heave together as sobs wrack both of your bodies, so desperate to finally be together after heaven was so determined to keep you separated. Fumbling hands rip the towel that clung to his hips off, and he sinks himself into you, his hips stuttering with every centimeter he pushes through.

The sixth time you call Dabi by his name, he understands why generations of men have gone to war to feel a fraction of what he’s drowning in—earth-shattering, skin-searing, sanity-robbing fulfillment.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, stars exploding under your skin, you dig your fingernails into his back as he snaps his hips against yours. He’s lost in you and all of your healing touches, all of the prayers echoing in your chest, all of the feathers falling down your back and glitter falling down your face. He’s completely and utterly in love with the saint underneath him, and he silently vows to protect you until his dying breath.

“A-Angel,” he groans, his pace sloppy as he tries to chase the high only you can provide him. “Oh, f-fuck, you feel so fucking good. You’re so good to me. So goddamn perfect. I love you so fucking much. Please, don’t leave me.”

Somehow, some way, you manage to find your voice and sob, “I love you, Touya, love you more than anything! ‘M not going anywhere, I promise.”

The seventh time you call Dabi by his name, he allows the past to die and begins to set up a home for the future.

His hips stutter when the sound of his name falls on his ears, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck to bring your chest flush against his. “Say it again,” he pleads. “Say my name again. Just like that, baby, say it again.”

“Touya!”

The eighth time you call Dabi by his name, he swears he sees a flash of golden gates.

He kisses the hollow of your throat, watching the way your pulse skyrockets at his touch. “Again.”

“Touya!”

The ninth time you call Dabi by his name, he starts to feel galaxies form under his own skin, and it’s then he knows his sins have been forgiven.

He’s drunk on purity and innocence and forgiveness—all of the things he’s been denied his entire life but has found waiting for him in your ribcage. “Again.”

“Touya!”

And though he knows he’s just a greedy man who was lucky enough to catch the attention of God's greatest servant, he thinks he might be able to sit in heaven with you. He hopes, for just a moment, he might be able to see all of the golden gates and hear all of the harps that have haunted his dreams. His soul is still tainted with broken promises and broken families, but laying right underneath him, with the secret to healing and the key to salvation in their palm, is the very definition of love and everything right in the world.

And hovering right above you, with all of his passion and determination, with all of his flaws put on display for anyone to scrutinize, is a reminder of how beautiful and brave it is to be human in a world that only praises heavens. His cock brushes against your cervix, his lips kiss every inch of skin they can touch, his hands are buried in his hair, his voice is rough with desire and need, and nothing in heaven could ever be as breath-taking as Touya Todoroki.

“Oh my fucking god,” he moans against your skin. “I love you, angel. I need you.”

Lost in love and all of its intricacies, you whine and buck your hips up in sync with his, grinding your clit against his pelvis and sobbing at the galaxies you both are creating. Your own heaven to get lost in, where gods can’t spy and angels can’t judge. Where forgiveness is commonplace and greed is acceptable. Where family is who you choose it to be and love isn’t a tool for manipulation. Where everything is simple and pure and right.

And although Dabi is not a simple man and does not like simple things, Touya is learning that simplicity holds its own beauty worthy of loving.

The tenth time you call Dabi by his name, he’s ready to allow himself to be loved without any attachments, any suspicions, any ill will—the past, along with Dabi, have finally laid to rest.

“I love you, Touya,” you cry out, and he’s sure that it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you so much!”

You’re close to coming undone—he can feel how much your pussy is clamping down on him and how your voice becomes more and more distorted by hiccups and sobs. He just needs a little more, just a little more to add the finishing touches to your heaven and build a throne out of gold. Just a little more, just so he can relish in how sweet forgiveness tastes and how good it feels to no longer bear the burden of corruption.

“I love you too,” he whispers into your hair. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

His thrusts are becoming sloppier and sloppier with each passing minute, and he knows he’s only a few pumps away from spilling over. Cupping your face with his hands, he uses his thumb to brush away the tears streaming down your cheek and slots his lips against yours in a moment of heated passion.

“Cum, angel, cum for me,” he pleads, angling his cock brushes against scared places in you. “Cum for me, cum with me, just cum, baby, cum.”

Who would’ve known the creation of a new heaven could feel so sinful? Clutching his body to yours as much as you can, you cry out his name followed by a string of curses as your pussy milks him for every last drop he has. His bliss follows right after yours, and he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself from groaning too loudly so as to not drown out your melodic cries. Visions of gold and white and purity flash before his eyes as cock throbs inside of you.

His body goes limp on top of yours, breath shaky and bloody stars falling from his eyes. He thinks he can feel your fingers running through his hair, but he’s so high on simplicity and absolution he can’t seem to feel anything except your heart beating against his. Tender lips press against his sweaty temple, and he buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles after a beat of silence. “For everything. I should’ve realized sooner. I…I should’ve been stronger.”

Delicately, you bring his face out of its hiding space to press your forehead against yours, examining the regret and hesitance dancing inside sapphire. “All that matters,” you whisper “is that you did realize. I’ll be your strength if you’re feeling weak. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on. There’s nothing to worry about. All is forgiven.”

And for the very first time in his life, Touya no longer feels like a sinner forced to bear the wrongdoings of a greedy man. He no longer feels like the product of selfishness and vanity gone awry. He no longer feels like a family secret buried in the backyard never to be spoken of or acknowledged.

Touya Todoroki feels like a man with his entire life ahead of him, an angel by his side and a heaven to come home to, and that, he thinks, is more than anyone with a past such as his can hope for.

#❀.mine #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #touya todoroki x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #toya todoroki smut #dabi smut

[thehiddenhermit]

Please start raining so that the construction workers go away

#it said it was going to rain but it lied! #2 months of the loudest most obnoxious noises from 8 to 6 #im at my fucking limits #how fucking hard is it to replace balconies goddammit! #October 17 2022 #Personal

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[imjustconfuseddd]

.

#omg no like not to disagree w you but i'm more defensive of ** than of my own girlfriend so any time you complain or tell me anything theyve #done wrong i am going to disagree and make a fuss abt and run and jump slowmo style to take the bullet for them #bc no matter what you say i am always going to take their side :) bc they're my friend :) #so idc how badly they treat you :) is this #feeling familiar yet? #on top of that regardless of the #fact that we have been together over a year i have never once a single time offered you my jacket in the cold or wind or rain #but the very first time we hang out w Li and it starts to barely drizzle i'm going to offer her my jacket even if it means not having one #for myself at all #and when you react and say ur uncomfortable i'm going to laugh abt it w Li and her friend #and then later on when you give someone else in the group YOUR jacket i'm going to act hurt and like you've cheated on me #and then try to get defensive about it later on like i'm the victim #when really all i'm doing is bold faced flirting in front of you and ignoring how you feel about it #i'll fight to the ends of the earth for ** but for you? yeah.... i won't say anything :) #even tho this same person i'm doing all this for doesn't gaf about me #and actively blamed me as the problem when ***** was calling out every weekend to avoid working w me #and said we needed to 'hear them out'' bc she thinks i'm a huge bitch #but i'll still take her side over my gf :) hehe!!

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,�� you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

#uhohitsemmy #opla #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece netflix #one piece fluff #sanji opla #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #opla x reader #opla x you #opla fluff #x reader #floofy floof floof #yall when i say we're whipped i rly do mean WHIPPED #also shoutout to my bf for making that menu for dinner cause i kno nothing about european style cooking #least of all french cooking #scheduled post

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Peter Anderson: Hi, my name is Peter Anderson. I'm from Peter Anderson Studio and we created the title sequence to Good Omens Season Two. So this scene is quite literally a continuation from Season One.

An interesting detail with this scene is the fly. The fly is significant because it stores Gabriel's memory.

Gabriel is hidden in every scene. This is the first time we see it.

This goat is half bird, half goat, representing a mistake in a moment of transformation.

In the pickled herring barrel, we have literally red herrings sticking out.

A lot of the gravestones have hidden engravings, easter eggs, all written by Neil.

[This one says: HERE LIES THE FORMER SHELL OF BEELZEBUB referncing Beelzebub having a new face in S2 :), another ones are: EVERYDAY, JANE AUSTEN, Here lies ADAM (the Adam from Adam and Eve is meant)]

Another hidden Gabriel.

Our same character that was trying to escape Hell in Season One titles is also trying to escape here, moving in the opposite direction to the rest of the procession. Except this time he's apprehended and dragged back into the procession.

Our Hell spider from episode four makes a little appearance in the background here.

Can you tell where the bus is going? Director Douglas McKinnon selected Powell and Pressburger's Stairway to Heaven to put on the billboard.

Another thing to note here is the type is all handmade specifically for Good Omens. The Alphabet only exists within the show.

The big floating turnip is a nod to Azirafel's magic tricks.

The Ladies of Camelot poster we pulled from the show.

We added plaques to the back of the chairs and Neil chose who to honour.

[There are: A TALE OF TWO CITIES by CHARLES DICKENS, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by JANE AUSTEN, THE CROW ROAD by IAIN BANKS (twice!) and GOOD OMENS by TERRY PRATCHETT (Neil missing for some reason :) <3)]

Saraqael made an appearance from Heaven.

Our Space is back from Season One. Aziraphale and Crowley are having a little dance here. A moment of flirtation. There's a tiny planet in the middle that comes into existence at this moment.

Our Scottish tartan hills make an appearance here.

The aeroplane and the airline is a little bit of a clue here.

[THY KINGDOM AIRWAYS 👀]

It's raining love hearts in reference to Aziraphale's attempt at making Maggie and Nina fall in love.

Here are elevators to Heaven and Hell. A wee thing to spot. Here is Gabriel in the lift arriving from Heaven.

We've updated our flags to reference some of the plotlines in Season Two. For example, The Second Coming.

The movie poster artwork changes every week, representing the episode plotlines and the minisodes. We made the posters to look like the time period and in this case we've got a Good Omens version of Buddy Holly.

[The posters are:]

In the snack bar some of our popcorn is actually communion wafers.

There are specific characters from Season One in the boxes watching the movie as the procession goes by. This includes some of our original concept art from Season One.

The duck playing the accordion is from a newspaper headline that someone is reading in The Dirty Donkey from one of the episodes.

[this is also from the Good Omens book :): "Daily Mail. 'Letter From America.' Um, August the third," said Newt. "Just after the story about the woman in Worms, Nebraska, who taught her duck to play the accordion."]

Each episode is showing a new movie on the screen, each one selected by Douglas, and has clues about what's to come.

The season one phone box tumbles in the background.

The big mountain is made of all the ingredients from Season Two and a couple of remnants from Season One. We are heading towards the biggest Easter Egg, which is the lift. We're heading towards the Second Coming..

#good omens #perer anderson #peter anderson studio #bts #opening title #s2 opening title #fun fact #second coming #kingdom thy airways #duck playing accordion #videos #bts videos #easter eggs

[cupid-styles]

yours (ymls check-in)

in which y/n just wants to be harry's — officially.

word count: 3.8k

content warnings: parenting/family stuff (y/n and harry are parents), smut (breeding kink, slight size kink, literal one "mommy" mention, dirty talk)

ymls masterlist | main masterlist

talk to me

. . .

Parenthood is difficult.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so it takes Harry and Y/N approximately two minutes of bringing Clementine into the world to come to the same realization. Her loud wails break their hearts every time, sleep becomes a luxury, and breastfeeding takes an incredible toll on Y/N’s physical and mental health.

But in the same way that parenting is hard and filled with tears and confusion, it’s just as — if not more — rewarding.

Clementine is the best thing that’s ever happened to each of them. Harry can’t remember a version of his life where he wasn’t head-over-heels in love with his sweet baby girl, and Y/N has softened up a considerable amount now that she spends most of her day cooing to her daughter. 

It’s not perfect by any means — Clem is a tried-and-true daddy’s girl and sometimes it hurts Y/N’s feelings. Clementine also inherited her mom’s grumpy exterior and, in the middle of a visit from Harry’s parents or Y/N’s sister, will starfish her body, going completely rigid until one of her parents takes her. (Harry always thinks it’s funny while Y/N is embarrassed by it. It’s something they’re working on as a family.)

Beyond their little trio, though, lies a larger situation that’s been conveniently tucked away since Clementine was born: Harry and Y/N’s relationship. 

They never decided what they were after confessing feelings for one another. One day, they lived separately and were going the route of platonic co-parenting. The next, Harry moved all his things into Y/N’s, ended the lease on his own apartment, and painted the guest room a pretty pastel pink. 

At first, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Y/N has never cared for labels on relationships, and their devotion to each other was blatant — they were parenting a child together, after all. He kissed her good morning, they held hands on family walks, and at the end of the day, they were crawling into bed together. She didn’t need a ring or a title to reiterate where she stood in Harry’s life.

Until… well, until the supermarket incident.

It was a rainy day, but Y/N wanted to pop into the store before they rounded the corner to head back home. Now that Clementine’s pediatrician gave them the okay to start trying out solid foods — or, as solid as baby food can be — Harry had gotten really into making it from scratch. Currently, their kitchen was a mess of sweet potato, apple, and green bean purees, but Y/N was trying to be supportive, even if the noise of the blender sometimes woke Clem up from her afternoon nap. She remembered him mentioning a new recipe he found for carrots, mangos, and bananas, so she figured they could grab the ingredients on their way home. 

Clementine looked adorable in her cute little rain jacket and matching hat. Harry couldn’t stop taking pictures of her, and as they dipped into the produce aisle, stroller in tow, she remembered they needed another gallon of milk since they were trying to wean Clem off of Y/N’s breast milk. 

“You guys can stay right here, it’s just in the next aisle,” Y/N said, arms stuffed with produce bags. Harry nodded, though his attention primarily laid on Clementine’s gummy smile. Y/N snorted to herself as she quickly shuffled off to the dairy section — the duo were two peas in a pod, but she didn't think she would want it any other way. 

Glancing down at her watch, she put a pep in her step as she walked back to the produce aisle. They had about 15 minutes before Clem started getting antsy and whiney about her pre-dinner nap, and she didn’t want her to get upset on their walk home. 

Only, when she turned the aisle, Harry and Clementine weren’t alone anymore — no, there were two women standing with them, cooing over their daughter. 

“She’s so precious! How old is she?” one of them asked.

“Ah, almost eight months,” Harry replied bashfully, petting down the tuft of brown curls at the top of Clementine’s head. Y/N clenched her jaw. Why had he taken her hat off? It was supposed to protect her from the rain! 

“So sweet,” the other woman grinned, reaching out to thumb over Clementine’s puffy cheek. The vision sent a pang of jealousy through Y/N’s chest — her baby wasn’t some kind of doll that anyone could just touch! Clutching the produce and container of milk in her hands, Y/N all but marched over to the stroller and threw them in the bottom compartment. 

“Ready to go, honey?” 

Harry blinked at Y/N, a world of confusion swirling in the green eyes he shared with his daughter. She stayed silent and still, knuckles white from gripping the stroller handle so tightly. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, leaning down to gently place Clementine back in her seat, “This is Y/N, Clementine’s mum.”

“Oh, your baby is so sweet! Harry was just raving about you!” one of the women nearly squealed. Y/N smiled tightly as she watched him buckle Clementine in.

“Okay, say bye bye, Clem,” Harry murmured. They’d been trying to teach her how to wave hello and goodbye, but Y/N would rather scoop her own eyeballs out than watch her do it for the first time with these women. 

In fact, she was already pushing the stroller down the end of the aisle before they could even get the word “bye” out.

Since that day about two weeks ago, it’s been constantly replaying in the back of Y/N’s brain. Even though Harry didn’t think much of it (she knows this because he immediately started talking about nonsense on the walk home), for the first time, it plucked at a chord of insecurity that she didn’t even know she had. She’d always felt fairly secure in her relationship with Harry — he’d all but begged her for this life together, and he’d been incredibly involved from the moment she got pregnant — so how is that two random strangers at the supermarket tore this out of her? 

It bothered her so deeply to the point where she did something she’d never done before: Ask Lea for relationship advice. 

“In the years I’ve known you, you have never asked me for help with a man,” Lea had said, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly met her hairline. Y/N grumbled as she wrapped her hand around her matcha, avoiding eye contact with her friend. She’d been able to sneak out for an afternoon coffee date with her while Harry took Clementine to the park. “You’re always so… sure of yourself. And you have a literal child with Harry. What gives?”

Y/N shrugged as she rubbed her lips together nervously. “You should’ve seen the way those girls were all over him. It was… gross.”

“It’s normal to feel jealous, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I am not jealous,” she muttered, “I just… he introduced me as Clementine’s mom. Don’t you think I’m a bit… more than that to him?”

“Of course you are. But you’ve never had that conversation, have you?”

“Like you said, we have a baby together. What else could you need?”

Lea smirked, “That’s all that you need. But he probably needs a bit more confirmation than that.”

Y/N bristled as she stuck her straw between her lips, taking a long sip. 

“He knows we’re in a relationship, doesn’t he?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “Dom and I used to hear all the gossip about you two before Clem was born, but since then, I think he’s just been focused on making sure you and her are both taken care of.”

“So what do I do?” Y/N asked through a sigh, leaning back against the worn leather of the booth. 

“Talk to him,” Lea said easily, “But… maybe don’t do it in your rough-and-tough-Y/N way. Maybe… make it a little special. He likes that, y’know? Little romantic gestures?”

Y/N scrunched her face. Lea was right — Harry was all about the little things, like surprising her with flowers or waking her up with breakfast in bed on the weekends. And while Y/N was positive she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, she’d certainly attempt to find one if it meant making Harry happy. 

. . .

A few days later, Harry walks into his shared apartment with Y/N to the scent of something delicious. 

“Y/N?” he calls as he toes his shoes off in the entryway. They weren’t due for company, were they? He doesn’t think so, but with eight months straight of four to five hours of sleep each night, he had trouble remembering anything that wasn’t Clementine-related. 

He follows the fragrance into the kitchen, where Y/N is standing over the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of some sort of sauce. She jumps, hand over her heart, when he goes to greet her. 

“Jesus fuck, you scared me!” she exclaims, the wooden spoon nearly clattering to the floor. He smirks and lets out an amused laugh as he walks towards her, observing the array of pans on the stovetop. 

“What’s all this for?” he asks. Y/N presses a hand to his muscular chest and attempts to block him from seeing anything. 

“I’m making you dinner,” she mumbles, nibbling on her bottom lip, “Clem’s with my sister for the night.”

“Oh?”

She nods. 

“Did I forget a special occasion?”

She shakes her head.

“Then how come I’m getting spoiled tonight?”

Her cheeks warm at that, but they both pretend her blush is invisible. “I just wanted to do something… romantic for you.” 

“Romantic?” he repeats the word like it’s a bizarre concept and it makes a pit form in Y/N’s stomach, “That’s… sweet of you. Thank you.”

She nods, albeit a bit robotically. “Um. Yeah. It’ll be ready in like 5 minutes.”

“Sounds good,” he replies, “Do you want me to set the table?”

She shakes her head bashfully and Harry raises an eyebrow. “I already did that.”

Her demure nature makes a smile form at the edges of his lips and he reaches out to press a hand to her hip, squeezing gently. 

“Y’okay?” he asks softly, tilting his head to look at her. “You seem nervous.”

Y/N shrugs and it supplies him with a tepid answer. “I just wanna make this nice for you.”

His heart breaks a bit at that and he ducks lower to catch her lips in a short, sweet kiss. PDA isn’t irregular for them — not with touch being Harry’s primary love language — so it’s unsurprising to be on the receiving end of one of his dizzying kisses, even if it ends quicker than she’d like. 

“This is already so special to me. I do miss Clem, though.”

She snorts at that as he brushes his nose against hers. “Of course you do. She’s your mini me.”

“Except when she’s making that grumpy little face. That’s all you.”

Y/N lightly bats at his chest before mumbling out to go sit down in the dining room. 

Harry’s eyes widen when he sees the candlelit table — he can’t remember the last time they ate on actual plates, always opting for take-out containers or paper plates for the sake of convenience. He swallows as he sits down and listens to Y/N shuffle around the kitchen. He hears her curse, followed by what sounds like her emptying pasta into a colander — she always burns herself whenever she does that, and he can envision the slight grimace that appears on her face. 

Just as he’s getting antsy and preparing himself to ask if she needs any help, Y/N appears from the kitchen with a big bowl of pasta. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she places it on the table, then stands up straight. She looks like a soldier waiting to be told to return to their duties.

“Um… I made us that roasted red pepper pasta you like.” she says, wringing her hands out in front of her. “I hope that’s fine.”

“That’s great,” Harry nods, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Sit down. You look like you’re gonna have an aneurysm. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Y/N grumbles as she sits down, and the sound of her grouchy voice makes him chuckle as he grabs her bowl to serve her, “I know I’m not, like… the most romantic person, or even the easiest person to be around, so it’s important to me that I make this really good for you.”

“I hate when you say that,” he murmurs before placing her full bowl in front of her. He moves to serve himself, “You’re the easiest person I’ve ever been around. You’re a great mum and I love being a parent with you.”

Y/N swallows as she listens to him, leaving her food untouched. He watches her and takes a bite of his pasta, chewing slowly. 

“Is that… all I am to you?” she asks softly with low eyes. Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… am I still just a co-parent to you?” 

He sets his fork down and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “Well, we never really talked about it, I guess. But you know you’re more than that to me.”

“You’re more than just Clem’s dad to me,” she continues. “And it kinda hurt my feelings when you introduced me to those girls as ‘Clementine’s mom’ a few weeks back.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, “Oh. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“I know.”

His heart strains at the thought of hurting her feelings, but he also knows that what happened in the supermarket was weeks ago. Had she been sitting on it and thinking about it all this time?

“I never want to make you uncomfortable, Y/N. To be honest, I don’t know how to refer to you but… I’d say you’re my partner, yeah? You’re my teammate in raising our beautiful girl and I love getting to live life with you.”

Her heart thumps rapidly in her chest. “But what if… what if you called me your girlfriend, too?”

Harry’s silent for a moment. He reaches out to place his hand on her knee, squeezing softly.

“Would you want that?” he asks. “I’ll only do it if that’s what you want.”

She looks up at him and nods. Her eyes are glassy and it makes Harry’s chest tighten. Suddenly, he needs to be closer to her, so he stands up and scoops her into his arms. At first she rejects his touch, mumbling out sentiments about still having postpartum weight, but Harry shushes her and pulls her into his lap. 

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Y/N.” he murmurs. He leans up and presses a chaste kiss to the side of her neck. She shivers and he keeps his hands as solid anchors on her hips. 

“I want you to call me your girlfriend,” she says, lifting her gaze to look at him. “I don’t want you to entertain any other person or let them flirt with you or touch our baby. I just want it to be the three of us, always.”

If Harry’s being honest, he would have been content with living in this gray, in-between area with Y/N for the rest of their lives. He was happy — so incredibly happy to be in her life, to sleep next to her every night, to raise a gorgeous baby girl with her. He felt fortunate to be there for every moment, good and bad — but he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t been waiting for the day where she told him what was really going on in that pretty head of hers.

He presses a chaste kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings,” he says quietly, soft fingertips smoothing over the expanse of her hip, “You’re my girlfriend, okay? Not just Clemmie’s mum. You’re so much more than that.”

She nods her head and Harry smiles gently at how flustered she continues to be — it’s a side of her that he rarely sees, and the sight makes a low chuckle sound from deep in his chest. 

“You’re silly,” he mumbles against the shell of her ear. “Isn’t that what you are? A silly baby desperate to be mine?”

Y/N bristles and swallows harshly, keeping her gaze low in his lap. His smirk only grows as he begins to press slow kisses along her jaw and down to her neck. Her eyes flutter closed. 

“Everyone thinks you’re this pretty, grumpy girl, but I know better than that,” he continues, sliding his hands beneath her tee-shirt to feel her warm skin, “You’re loving and kind. The best mum I’ve ever seen. The best partner and the best girlfriend, too. Isn’t that right, mama?”

She gasps wetly and he feels her thighs threaten to clench, but his hips prevent her from getting any relief. He hums, satisfied with her response and, in a quick movement, pulls her shirt from her body and tosses it to the floor. Her swollen breasts sit prettily on her chest and he tries his best not to groan at the sight. 

“Don’t tease,” she mewls. He chuckles as she grasps at the fabric of his own tee-shirt, the soft material in the tight clutch of her knuckles. 

“Need me to fill you up?” he asks, though he knows the answer is an obvious and resounding yes. They haven’t had actual sex in at least a month, not with Clementine occupying 99% of their time. Even if he’s attempting to play it cool, his cock is hard and throbbing beneath layers of his clothing. He swears he can even feel the warmth of her pussy through her own clothes and it’s taking everything in him not to thrust up and grind against her. 

“Yes,” Y/N pants, shaky fingers digging beneath the waistband of his trousers to pull his length out, “S-stop playing around. You know it’s been too long.”

Harry laughs lowly and lifts his hips up to grant her enough space so she can retrieve his cock. She doesn’t even bother pushing his pants or briefs down, swallowing tightly at the sight of the ruddy tip already leaking with pre-cum. 

“Relax, baby,” he mumbles, grabbing one of her trembling hands and intertwining their fingers together, “Breathe, yeah? I’ll take care of my girl.”

Her pussy clenches at that — my girl — and she nibbles on her bottom lip eagerly when he pushes her soft shorts to the side to reveal her pussy. He wishes he had more willpower to look at what he’s been missing out on and his throat bobs when his eyes flicker down to the puffy clit tucked between her lips. He thinks they’ll both explode if he doesn’t get inside of her in the next two seconds, so he gives his cock a pump before he positions himself beneath her and slowly pushes in. 

Immediately, she whimpers out and he stalls, his free hand pressing rigidly into the skin of her thigh. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Yeah,” she whispers, “Tight fit.”

“I know.” he mutters, glancing up at her to read her expression. “Do you need me to pull out?”

She instantly shakes her head, “No, no. Keep going.”

Harry leans up to seal their lips in a messy, wet kiss as he continues pushing in as slowly as he can. He supposes he should’ve spent more time stretching her out, but if there’s one thing he’s learned about Y/N over the past year, it’s that she’s always eager and ever determined to take him, even if it’s been weeks since their last time together.

When he’s finally all the way in, his balls snug against her bum, their kiss slows, though it doesn’t seem like Y/N has any plans to separate their mouths. He doesn’t move a muscle, even if he knows his cock is throbbing from the tightness of her pussy. And then, after what seems like an eternity, she nods.

Slowly, he begins to fuck up inside of her and breathy moans depart from her swollen lips. Harry’s mouth catches each one, punctuating every whimper with a gentle peck. 

“There you go, mama, take my cock. You’re doing so good, aren’t you?”

She only responds with a lilting whimper and he moans, feeling the way her pussy clenches around his length. It’s not the dirtiest sex they’ve had — not by a long shot — but god, if it doesn’t feel incredible knowing that they’re completely devoted to one another.

“You make me feel so good,” she mewls, making his eyes nearly roll back, “I love your cock— ‘s so good, Harry, want— want you to give me another baby.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, squeezing her hips hard, “Can’t just fucking say that stuff, baby. I’ll bust before you even cum.”

“D-don’t care,” she shudders, but he can tell she’s reaching her peak by the way her thighs begin to tremble, each of her muscles tightening. “Cum inside me, m-make me a mommy again.”

His chest vibrates with a deep groan and he reaches between them to pinch at her pearly clit, rubbing it in quick, tight circles. He’s seconds away from bursting himself, but he refuses to finish before she has a chance to. 

It barely takes a few loops around the bundle of nerves before she’s shaking in his lap, her pussy tensing around his length as she moans out his name over and over again. It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and he presses his forehead against her sweaty shoulder, shuddering as her orgasm triggers his own. As requested, he pumps his cock deep inside of her as he comes, pushing his seed as far as it’ll go. She whimpers from the sensation as pants fall from her lips, shivering every time he thrusts another rope of cum into her.

They’re both shaking by the time both of their orgasms taper off. Harry wraps his arms around her sweaty form, pulling her chest against his. 

“You’re mine, yeah?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You and Clem. We’re a family.”

Y/N nods, echoing his words. “Yours.”

They settle into a comfortable silence; Harry’s softening cock still inside. He’s unsure of how how long they stay there, but he does know that they’ll have to move eventually so he can clean her up. It’s only then that she sits up to look at him, her eyes soft and tired. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” 

“Will you get me Plan B tomorrow?” she asks, biting her lip. “I think Clem is… more than enough for me right now.”

He laughs and nods his head. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.”

#writing #ymls concept #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles one direction #one direction #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry's house #fine line #dadrry

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[11vr1]

Been Away ⭒ Miles Morales

Synopsis › You were tired of his secrets and lies, so you did the one thing you promised you’d never do and walked away. But Miles Morales wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

Inspo › “Been Away” - Brent Faiyaz

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, Angst, the tiniest bit of fluff, pet names, spanish, a microscopic amount of manipulation, toxicity, going back to your ex, stalking, harassment, mentions being mugged, mentions being stabbed, mentions the police

P.S. › I do my best work when I’m sleep deprived.

P.S.S. › Reading comments and reblogs really make my day, even if you’re telling me my commas suck. Requests are also open.

Y/n pulled down the sleeves of her crocheted sweater as she stepped out of the bodega, white plastic bag of chips and candy in hand. The sun was close to setting behind skyscrapers and plunging New York City into its usual state of terror. It was dangerous to be alone on the streets, but Y/n figured she’d be fine walking a few blocks to her friend’s place. She pushed through sidewalk traffic, passing others who were just as eager to be safe in their homes.

Her phone chimed with a text.

Unknown: Turn left.

She paused, looking up to scan her surroundings. There was nothing strange or out of place. Just stores closing up for the night and people minding their own business. Despite how normal everything seemed to be, Y/n knew better. She spared a glance at the alley to her left, immediately deciding against it and kept walking.

Another chime. She ignored it and the next. Stopping wasn’t worth possibly ending up on the eleven o’clock news. At least that’s what she told herself. The less rational part of her mind had a thought. In some ways more terrifying than being mugged.

Tucked away in her pocket, her phone rang. This time she checked. Unknown. Y/n scoffed, rejecting the call.

Unknown: One more chance.

Unknown: Take a left.

Unknown: I won’t ask again.

Her phone rang once more. With a long, begrudging sigh Y/n swiped to accept. “I thought you weren’t going to ask again,” she said, her eyes darting warily to the darkening street.

“Make a left, Y/n,” a deep distorted voice ordered from the other line. Her heart dropped. Maybe the irrational part of her brain wasn’t as off kilter as she thought. The call hung up like she didn’t need anymore convincing.

The yawning mouth of an alley stared back at her. She took a calming breath, inhaling the morning rain before stepping away from any potential witnesses. Her footsteps echoed in the eerie silence of the alley. Her skin heated in either fear or anticipation, she didn’t know. “I don’t have all night,” she spoke into the open air. “I will leave.” Y/n attempted to hide the tremble in her throat.

Her ringtone was shrill in the alley. She jumped. The bright smiling photo of her friend illuminated her face. She did not hesitate to answer. “Hello?”

“Thank god! You’re still alive. Are you close?”

“Yeah, I’m almost there, Ellie,” Y/n began to exit the alley. “The bodega line was long.” She rustled her haul of snacks.

“It’s getting dark. I can send my brother to meet you. Ya know he’s always had a bit of a thing for you and now that you’re single…” Ellie trailed off. Y/n could practically hear her smile.

She rolled her eyes, laughing nervously, “You don’t have to make him come get me. I’ll be—” She was cut off by her own scream ripping from her throat. A streak of darkness and neon flashed in front of her, swiping the phone from her hand. Her grocery bag tumbled to the concrete as she stumbled over her heels. Cold metal met her back. A well defined arm snaked around her waist, held her impossibly tight.

“Y/n? Y/n!” Her friend’s voice rose over the speakers.

The smooth phone screen pressed against her cheek. “Tell her you’re okay then hang up,” the same warped voice demanded in her ear.

Y/n felt her lips move before he ended the call. Some quick lie about a monstrous rat. Blood thrummed through her skull along with her ragged breaths.

“Let me go!” Y/n wrestling out of his grip with no resistance, finally turning around. She halted. Pixelated eyes narrowed at her. What had she been expecting? Was a mask better?

Getting slashed for the money in her wallet and being left for dead by a dumpster was starting to sound more appealing than her current situation.

Mechanic panels whirred and parted open. Rich, penetrating dark eyes took in every inch of the girl in front of him, peeling back layer after layer in that calculating glare Y/n knew all too well. “Hola, mami.”

She hoped to never hear that name fall from anyone’s lips. Much less his. Y/n allowed a selfish moment to let her gaze wander. His braids were fresh, obviously not her work. Fade clean. Jay’s untied. Bronze skin annoyingly flawless. He was the same, except for the faint bags decorating his eyes. His chuckle bounced off the brick walls, catching her. It was sobering.

“You have one minute, Morales. One minute before I run screaming and call the feds on your ass,” she crossed her arms.

“Morales?” Miles raised an eyebrow. “Damn. Is that what we doin’ now?”

“Fifty.”

He circled her like the predator he was, each footstep deafening. “You look good, ma. Where you goin’ so late? It’s not safe.”

“You know where! You’ve been following me, remember? How long have you been doing that for? Just another secret, huh?” Y/n was on the verge of yelling, her initial fear replaced by pure rage. “You’re not even going to deny it.”

Miles dared a step forward. Y/n took two back. “You’re afraid of me.” Her lack of an answer was a shattering confirmation.

“I’m afraid of what you do, Miles,” she motioned to his suit, the spray painted insignia physically painful to see on his chest. The Prowler. She would have never fathomed the possibility if she hadn’t seen him in action herself. “You’re a criminal. You steal. You’ve killed people,” she choked trying to swallow back tears.

He dragged a gloved hand down his face. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right! I don’t get it. You changed and I don’t understand why.” Her waterline welled. Three months of suppressed feelings threatened to rear their ugly heads when he was near. Because of him, of course.

It was ironic how much he made her feel, even now. Ellie, other friends, Y/n’s family never fully warmed up to Miles. He was unfeeling, nonchalant, closed off. They couldn’t see how a girl like her could fall for him and stay. At least that’s the promise she made.

“So did you. You walked away. Left me. What happened to our forever, Y/n?”

“You expected nothing to change? In what world would I not react or feel some typa way?” She tensed. Another wave of anger seared through her veins. How dare he turn this on her? “Oh wait,” her laugh was humorless. “I was never supposed to find out.”

“I have to do this. The world ain’t right and I need to protect the people I care about,” he placed a hand over his armor, over his chest. “I couldn’t do shit about my dad, but you…” He stalked closer. This time she didn’t back away.

Miles grasped her hand, placing it over his heart. She couldn’t face his intensity for too long, not without air. He wore the same musky cologne she gifted him for Christmas.“Mirame,” he tilted her delicate face towards him. “Mi corazón, I can keep you safe. You gotta let me. If something happened to you I don’t know what I would do.” His chiseled features twisted, barely able to utter the words. He finally closed the space between them, resting his forehead against hers.

“One minute,” Y/n whispered. It had been more than one minute.

Without separating, he slowly slipped her phone into her back pocket, letting his fingers linger by the waist of her jeans. “Call them. I’ll stay right here and you can end this. You’ll never have to see me again. Prometo, mi corazón.”

She should have listened when Ellie told her to stay away. Undeniably gorgeous, genius level intellect, sexy accent. There was always a catch, she said. She was right. But there was one drawback not even her best friend predicted.

Y/n pulled away. Suddenly the autumn air was too chilly through her sweater. She unlocked her phone. Typed 9-1-1. She looked up through her lashes at Miles as if he would melt into the shadows and escape. She didn’t expect sheer defeat to paint his face, unhidden behind his usual mask of indifference. Her thumb froze.

Miles Morales had Y/n entranced. He’d woven himself into her being, hollowed out a space in her soul just for him. Those titanium claws were in deep and she didn’t know if she had the strength to pry them out or wanted to.

Y/n pocketed her phone. She resigned to every emotion she harbored for the boy in front of her. She chose every wrong decision. “Go, Miles.”

His grin was smug. “Should I call you?”

“Don’t push it, Morales.” He draped his arms around her shoulders, dragged her into his warmth. “I’ll unblock you. Sound good?”

Miles angled his head. His smile stretched to his eyes, showing those rarely seen dimples. “Sí, mami. Whatever you want.”

#iivri writes ˚·⊹ ⟢˖∿ #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse spoilers #spiderman #miles morales #prowler miles #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #angst #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman angst #spiderman fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #Spotify

[aidaronan]

"First movie you ever saw in theaters?" Steve lounged opposite of Robin on the couch in his living room, the stereo on low, spitting out Madonna on the local radio station.

"Oh, that's easy." Robin bit off part of a licorice. "Freaky Friday. I remember because I was terrified for weeks that I'd end up switching places with my mom and have to, like, balance a checkbook or something."

Steve laughed, separating m&ms in his hand. "You still don't know how to balance a checkbook, do you?"

"Like you do." Robin playfully glared at him. "Okay, here's a good one. First kiss."

Steve ate the sole blue m&m first, a grin spreading across his face because he usually lied about his first kiss, but he didn't have to. Not with Robin. "Camp Stronghold when I was nine. We met up in the boathouse after lights out to trade contraband."

"Contraband, huh?" Robin raised her brows.

"Candy. I swear my parents loaded me up like I was going to prison. 'This is as good as cash in there, Steven.' I think my dad wanted me to network or something. Because, you know, I was totally gonna start a small business with a group of eight-year-olds."

Robin snickered. "And the kiss?"

"Ah. I didn't actually want candy. I just wanted this kid to like me so bad, and I didn't know why until we were there in the dark tripping into each other because we couldn't see. I had all these butterflies, and we were standing close enough that I could feel the heat off his sunburn in the air." Steve could still picture it. The way he couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face. "Then he kissed me, just this quick peck on the lips before he turned tail and ran. I left the boathouse with a Snickers and one massive first crush."

"Did anything else happen?" Robin asked.

"No. It was the last week of camp and I think he freaked himself out over it. I don't know. He didn't even really say bye to me after we climbed off the bus to meet our parents. Never saw him again. I honestly never even thought to get his name."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. I just hope he's doing okay, you know? That he's got people in his life that make him feel like he's allowed."

Robin looked at him softly, reaching out to give his ankle a squeeze. "Hey, you never know. You might run into him again someday. Maybe he's your soulmate or something."

"Please. I think you're pretty obviously my soulmate." Steve nudged Robin with his foot. "But I guess he could settle for 2nd place."

"Oh, there's a toast for sure." Snacks tumbling off her lap, Robin reached for her can of Coke on the coffee table and raised it as high as she could reach. "To both of us finding our 2nd places."

"Cheers to that." Steve thrust his own Coke into the air.

____

It felt like a big cosmic joke that Steve would be in a boathouse when he realized who Eddie Munson had been all that time. Eddie had looked so different when he'd transferred into Hawkins that Steve had never even given him a second look, not during their shared classes, not during any of those cafeteria tirades. Not during the numerous occasions where he gave the kids rides to D&D.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!"

It was the eyes that finally pulled back the curtain and cut away all those in-between years. Steve had never been close enough to clock them, but he couldn't deny them now. Not at such close range, Eddie holding a broken bottle against his neck, trembling with so much fear that Steve worried he might actually use it.

Dropping the oar from his own shaking hands, Steve said the only thing he could think to say.

"Well, this brings back memories."

Eddie didn't respond, the fear in the air drawing out every second, making it feel infinite. Behind them and in another universe, Dustin said a bunch of stuff Steve barely heard for the pounding in his ears. He watched beads of sweat roll down Eddie's forehead and waited for something to give.

Like clouds fat with rain, Eddie finally broke open, tension draining out of him, arm and weapon dropping to his side. He exhaled a shaky breath, maintaining eye contact, his expression too complicated for Steve to fully read.

Steve was about to say something else when Eddie finally spoke, cocking his head to the side and leveling Steve with a look.

"And here I spent all these years thinking you forgot."

#steddie #ficlet #mine #long post #first kisses

[groguspicklejar]

part 1 of viking!141

because the last post got taken down without any warning and i wouldn't have known because that one anon, now i'm going through my entire masterlist out of sheer paranoia

warnings: +18 (minors and ageless blogs dni), dead dove do not eat, mentions of noncon, implied smut, violence, mentions of blood, deception, gender disguise.

idk why but my mind just said f!reader disguised as a frail man, weak enough that when viking!141 pillages the village, they take pity on "him" and spare him a bit of mercy and take him in instead.

you'd shaved your head, binded your breasts, wore your brother's clothes, which were baggy enough to hide your figure and have been silent the entire time, never uttering a word because you know your voice will give you away, so they just assumed that you can't talk.

cut to maybe a week later and they're trying to teach you how to use a blade but you're so bad at it. you land hard on your back with a groan with viking!Soap standing over you and says "come rain or shine, lad, i'll make a man out of ye." and you've never been more afraid of the glint in his eye.

and he keeps you close. tells the other vikings to fuck off when they pick on you for barely being able to pick up Ghost's hammer. puts a cup of ale in your hands, even though you didn't ask for it, but you drink it anyway.

Gaz often let's you sit by the fire when the nights get too cold. he spares you his blanket and tells you stories sometimes. his voice is soothing, makes your stomach twist when you hear him laugh. he doesn't mind your silence. only asking yes or no questions to communicate and you answer with a nod or the shake of your head and sighing in relief when you tell a few white lies.

you tend to stay away from Ghost and the leader of the vikings, chief Price, mostly because you're sure that if they look too closely, they might suss out your rouse but occasionally, you do run into them sometimes.

Ghost saw you fishing one day and silently often traded stuff for fish with you. you don't know why he does it, seeing as you know that he's capable of hunting a whole deer by himself. but you don't question it. you needed things; new clothes, a knife, a book he got from the local traders.

you never look Price in the eye. or try not to. he's not sure what to make of you. the weak little man whom his two Sergeants took pity on to keep around like a little pet. he merely hums as he watches you around his men. watches the way you flinch when Soap smacks your back when he laughs all too loudly. watches the way your brows furrow when you listen to Gaz telling you something silly or something important. watches the way you keep a healthy distance away from Ghost, even when the giant of a man seems just as drawn to you as everyone else.

he watches with an eye that sometimes makes you think he knows.

they don't let you cook, thankfully, something about not trusting you enough not to poison them because they did essentially kill your entire village. smart. and here you were planning to put poisonous mushrooms in their soup. you just stick to fishing and foraging for plants your mother taught you about for food because you can't constantly rely on the vikings to feed you.

you're on your own. trying to find a solid way out of this alive and unharmed. you know your disguise won't hold up forever, sooner or later, you're going to get caught. there's hardly any time to mourn all you've lost because you have to keep up the facade. it takes every ounce of your strength to not bathe every day and to avoid smelling like a woman. it takes everything in you not to let your hair grow back and you hate nicking your skin every time you shave it off. the only time you feel like you can lower your guard is when you're alone in the forest when you're picking wild berries.

you saw Gaz carrying a few maps and you thought of stealing one for when you escape so you at least know where you were going when you do. but for now, you keep your head down and lay low. you've made it this far. a good few months with them being non the wiser.

you've been luckier than most, having the gods give you the strength to keep going and to have been spared the fate of what vikings do to the women they steal from villages. you've seen it. one had been thrown on the mud while Soap tore her clothes off and laughed maniacally when she squealed and tried to shove him off.

the others watched and they revelled in taking turns. that night had reminded you that Gaz might have a pretty face but his teeth are still sharp, even when he smiles and they're stained with blood. it took every ounce of you not to do something, not to step in and keep it stepping for your own survival.

the months were getting colder. winter was coming and you can barely survive on your own. you made it another month before they started hanging around you. Ghost shadowed your morning walks. Gaz kept you company as you went fishing. Soap brought you to see more friendly duels. Price made you sit next to him during feasts. the closer they were, the more you felt like time was running out.

things took a turn when Soap decided to accompany you through the forest for foraging. he didn't have a clue about which plants to pick and which ones not to touch, so you just point to the ones you needed since he insistent upon helping you.

except, you turned around for five minutes to grab a few mushrooms. and when you turned around, Soap was nearing a bush, picking a few dark berries. knowing him, he was going to eat a few.

but you know that bush. you avoid it for a good reason. eat just one berry and you'll be dead in minutes.

so the terror gripped you when Soap slowly brings a handful to his mouth and you. just. panic.

"stop!"

your scream tore through the forest, frightening the birds as they took off from the trees. you stare at him in horror. he stares at you, equally as wide eyed while the berries were mere inches from his mouth.

his death wouldn't bode well for you. the others would blame you for it. they'd hunt you down and make your end slow and painful. you can't have that.

but you've just exposed yourself to the enemy.

"i fucking knew it." he smirks, dropping them to the ground. he takes a step towards you, you take one back. "i knew it— i knew ye were a bonnie lass—"

you turn and run as fast as you can. you forget about all of your stuff and you run as far as your legs can carry you.

you somehow run past Gaz, who'd been carrying a bundle of wood and he wonders for a second why you were in a hurry before he hears, "don't let her get away!"

and him being closer, he drops the wood, breaks into a sprint and manages you tackle you to the ground. he grunts as you struggle under him, pinning you down when you try to escape his grasp. but he hadn't been sure if he heard Soap correctly, his gaze veering to him. "her?"

your hands are tied behind your back and you're made to sit on your knees. Gaz looks at you with confusion, trying to make sense of Soap's words.

"got nothin' tae say now, bonnie lass?" the man grins, leaning closer to your face. you clench your jaw shut. "no?"

"have you lost your mind?" Gaz shoves at him. "that's not a woman."

"wanna check just tae be sure?"

Soap's grin is directed at Gaz, and the latter catches the horror seeping into your eyes. Gaz drops on his knees beside you and you try to worm out of his grasp as he tries to reach under the layers of your fur coat and shirt.

your face burning hotly as you move away from him, but he brings you back. you couldn't take it anymore when he reaches your binded chest. "no, no, alright! stop!"

his cold hand had been splayed on your belly as he stopped. he's shocked. you can see it on his face before you look down. he peels his hand out from under your clothes.

it's a brief moment before he yelled, "hang on, you can talk?!"

you can't tell if his teeth are chattering if he's seething as you all make your way back to the chief's tent. Soap had thrown you over his shoulder whilst Gaz walked behind, glaring at you the whole way there.

Price raised his eyebrow when Soap bounded in with a boisterous voice and explained everything that had happened.

"can't believe she went on for months and we didn't even realize it." Gaz muttered, sat in a corner and crossed his arms.

"hiding in plain sight." Ghost replies beside him, his eyes have been fixed on you ever since you were carried all the way back to Price's tent. "smart girl."

Price tells Soap to untie you. it's not like you'd get away from them. so you stay put when the rope is cut loose and the room falls into a quiet hush as they watch you rub your sore wrists. you flinch when the chief reaches for your hands to get a closer look at them.

he studies your palms in a long silence. there's not a hint of his thoughts, not bad or good. you're unsure of what to say when his eyes find yours. it's the first time you've held his gaze for this long. the first time you've truly taken the time to see the hardened wall in his blue eyes.

"what's your name?" he asks, letting your hands fall back on your knees.

you don't want to accept defeat yet. but hopelessness seeps in your veins as you look down and offer a quiet utter of your name.

he hummed, leaning back. "pretty name."

Soap leaned closer to you, his hand jerking at the collar of your shirt. "mind if i take a peek—"

you reacted violently, swinging your elbow as hard as you could. you heard a sickening crunch and a yelp when you took off but you were yanked by the back of your coat and held down. Ghost looks down at you in slight amusement as he pinned your wrist down.

"fuck." Soap groaned, holding his bleeding nose. still, he laughed, blood dripping into his mouth, surprised by your sheer act of defiance. "good one, lass. we taught ye well."

"smart girl." Ghost added, his head tilting. "very smart girl, having us all fooled."

you say nothing. keeping your mouth shut was your best option for survival. no, mercy, at the very least. the slightest bit they can spare now is all you can hope for.

"quiet as a mouse, eh?"

Price, Gaz and Soap stand over you. you feel the tears welling like a dam of boiling hot water in your eyes.

"that's alright." he smiles darkly. "we have all night to make you scream."

Sheep In Wolf's Clothing banners by @cafekitsune and @vase-of-lilies do not like, comment, reblog or follow— in fact, do not interact with this blog if you're a minor or if you have no age in your bio. read the [ground rules]. you have no excuses if you get blocked. offer a note in the picklejar

#what's in the picklejar #viking!141 #viking!soap #viking!gaz #viking!ghost #viking!price #viking!au #141 x reader #141 x you #task force x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #cw noncon #fic: sheep in wolf's clothing #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #all because I was listening to Donny Osmond's “I'll Make A Man Out Of You” (a Mulan soundtrack)

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Want It All: Part 2

Part 1, Part 3

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Reader, Astarion x Bard!Reader

Kissing, Angst, Asexual Angst, Allusions to Past Relationships

Summary: You and Astarion had been playing this little game of yours for a while; he pretends to care, you pretend not to fall for it. It’s easy, even fun at times. The trouble is, what happens the moment you can’t pretend anymore?

A/N: OMG, thank you to everyone who has read the first part. I was not expecting for it to blow up like it did. Hopefully this next part doesn't disappoint. And as always REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!!! (Especially those I've tagged. I'd really like to know if you still like it.)

Word Count: 3.0K

How could ten feet of hallway feel like a death march?  It was a question you never thought to pose to yourself, until you faced the distance between your door and Astarion’s. 

What could you even say to him? An apology was always a good start, but for what? Neither of you made any formal declarations of intentions towards each other. That was the whole point of this game of yours, to keep the other guessing. It wasn’t like you outright lied to him or made promises you didn’t intend to keep. 

So why did you feel so guilty? 

Of course, you could be working yourself up over nothing. He could just as easily laugh in your face. 

With all these thoughts swirling in your mind, you were almost surprised to see the light beneath his door reflecting on your boots.

A lump of panic tightened your throat. From the angle of the light, he wouldn’t be able to tell you were standing there. There was still time to turn around, put it off until morning–.

“The door is open, darling.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his voice. He didn’t sound upset or angry. Hell, he didn’t even sound smug. It was that rare gentleness he only took on when nobody else was looking. There were times it seemed to surprise even him. You didn’t stand a chance. 

With a breath, you opened the door. 

Warm candle light met your eyes, illuminating the room with a soft orange glow. The room itself was nothing special. Similar to yours it really only held the bed, desk and chair. The only noticeable difference was the widow facing due east, its curtains open allowing a view of the rain pittering against the window. 

Astarion had insisted on this room. You understood why now. He always wanted to start the day facing the rising sun. 

For a brief moment, you allowed the stillness of the moment to calm you, before turning your gaze to the man himself. 

Oh thank the Gods, he was still dressed. 

Astarion sat on the edge of the bed, in his most comfortable white ruffled shirt and black pants. Despite his casual appearance he still came off as nothing short of a prince awaiting his court. His lips were posed in a knowing smile as he regarded you, tilting his head to the side. The light of the candles caught his scarlet eyes, making them burn.

“Are you going to keep that open all night?” he asked. 

Blinking, you turned to see your hand was still on the door handle. A little too quickly, you shut it behind you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not knowing what else to say. 

“It’s quite alright,” he said, his tone only mildly teasing. 

You stood there awkwardly, not really knowing where to put your hands. How in the hells were you meant to start a conversation after everything he saw? You were a bard for Gods’ sake. Talking was supposed to be something you were good at. Still the silence lingered, becoming worse with every second. 

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “What are you still doing way over there?”

You shrugged, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise up your neck. “Is there somewhere else you want me?”

He gave you a playful smirk, offering his hand. “Come on. I’d promise not to bite, but…” He trailed off, widening his smile enough for his fangs to show. 

Of all things, it was that small flash of teeth which put you at ease. He was poking fun at you. Surely that was a good sign. 

Slowly, you walked toward him, taking his outstretched hand. He was cool to the touch. His fingers a mixture of manicured softness and well fought calluses, leaving your skin tingling in its wake. You centered in on sensation letting it the ground you back into the here and now. 

He guided you to sit next to him, never letting his touch slip from yours. 

“That was…quite a performance,” he said. 

You gave a half hearted smile. It was as good a place to start as any, but you couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on the way his hand intertwined with yours. It should have frightened you or at the very least made you suspicious, but it felt too good. You didn’t want to break the spell. 

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you said, honestly. 

He gave a hum of agreement. “I don’t think any of us were.”

His hand trailed further up your arm, allowing his thumb to brush against the scars on your wrist. 

A small shiver went through you. The scars on your neck had long since faded after the first night you let him feed on you. You’d made a point to only let him bite your wrist from that point onward. It was meant to hedge expectations. You’d thought a neck bite would make the act more charged than you intended. What a fool you were. Of course he’d find a way to make even the barest touch feel intimate.

“The melody alone…I’ve never heard its equal,” he continued. 

You nodded, unsure what to do with his praise. You couldn’t dismiss it as easily as before. He sounded too sincere. 

“Thank you,” you said, softly, “but I’m not sure how much credit I can take. It felt more like the song was playing me.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me. How else could you explain such radiance?”

You felt now was the time for you to say something clever, but any words that might have formed fell heavy on your tongue as he moved your wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the raised marks of your skin. Your heart began to pound. No doubt he could feel every racing beat of it. 

“Are you hungry?” you said, the words blurting out before you could stop them. 

He laughed, the vibrations running down the length of your arm. 

“Certainly,” he purred, turning his gaze to you. “But not for blood. I was hoping you’d let me indulge in some other parts of you.” 

Panic struck you then, turning in your stomach as your eyes widened. “Astarion…”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he said. He still held your wrist delicately in his hand allowing the other to brush lightly against your cheek. 

Your breath shook and damn you to the hells if you knew exactly the cause. 

“I saw you,” he whispered. “I saw what it is you truly desire. It was beautiful, passionate…starving, and all for me.” He leaned it close, the warmth of his breath dancing against your lips. “Am I wrong?”

Your mouth became dry as sand, forcing you to swallow. “Not entirely.”

“Would it surprise you then, to know I want the same thing?”

The sudden urge to laugh rose within you. Gods was this really happening? “I rather doubt that.”

“Then allow me to show you.” 

Before you could say another word, he closed the small gap between you, pressing his lips to yours. 

It was…nice; really nice, if you were being honest. His hand cupped your cheek, as if it were made of the finest porcelain. There was a care to his touch you hadn’t expected, leaving the door open for you to pull away. The assurance was enough to make you want to stay. 

You’d always liked this part. In truth, you craved physical affection; holding hands, hugging, kissing, they had a way of making you feel so much closer to those you cared for. The trouble always came when people expected more.  

He pressed further into you, teasing your mouth to spark a reaction. 

You needed to pull away. If there was a time for you to stop, this was it. But, it did feel so good. Maybe you could indulge a little longer. It was just kissing. 

Your own hand reached out, lacing your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. 

He hummed in approval, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. 

You let yourself get lost in him. It was easy to forget when he held you so reverently. For a moment you could convince yourself this was all there was. 

A slight shift in his body. His hands grasping you just a little tighter and next thing you knew you were on your back with Astarion hovering over you. 

His low moan poured into your mouth as he slotted himself between your legs and pressed his weight against you. 

Fear spiked within you, forcing the air from your lungs. Shit, this was happening.  

His lips left yours trailing kisses across your cheek to the underside of your jaw. 

“Just relax,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so well for me.” 

His lips met your neck and it was taking everything in your power to breathe normally. 

This wasn’t what you wanted, but it didn’t feel bad. Astarion was being so tender with you. Maybe, if you went through with it, things wouldn’t have to change. You could still flirt and tease. Hell maybe you could convince him to simply hold you now and again. All you’d have to do is let him have something for himself. It was more than a fair trade. Besides, he was experienced in this, certainly more than others you’d been with. You could do this for him. It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. 

His hands moved further down your body, teasing the edge of your shirt. 

The memory of that twisted melody came into your heart filling you with dread. The way you had been so willing to morph yourself into what somebody else wanted for the sake of not being alone. Wasn’t this supposed to be different? 

“Wait, stop,” you said, before you had time to question yourself. 

To your relief, Astarion didn’t hesitate pulling his hands away as if they just caught fire. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?” 

You shook your head, that familiar guilt twisting inside you at his concern. “No. You didn’t do anything, I just…” You swallowed. You weren’t going to cry.  Not now. Gods, you were such an idiot. “Could you…could you move off me? Please.” 

His brow furrowed, but he did not question you as he pulled himself away. 

Cool air rushed over you, pulling a sigh of relief from your lips. For a long time you just laid there, calming the rush of adrenaline pumping through your blood. It was over. It was all over.

With an effort, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position. Out of the corner of your eye Astarion watched you, his expression unreadable. You’d expect nothing less from him.  

“I’m sorry,” you managed. 

“I don’t need an apology,” he said, firmly, “but I would like an explanation.” 

Slowly, as if to keep from frightening an cornered animal, he turned his body to face yours, making a point to keep a respectable distance. He really wasn’t going to make this easier for you. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. 

You shook your head fervently. “No. No, you were perfect. That’s rather the problem.”

His lips turned into a hard line, clearly unsure how to take your statement. His eyes then narrowed, leaning closer to more carefully examine your features. 

“You’re not cursed, are you?” he asked, suddenly. 

The question caught you off guard, forcing a laugh. “What?”

“You know, something something, any man who touches you below the belt is smited. That kind of thing.” 

You shook your head, baffled as to where this conversation was headed. “No.” 

He nodded, in consideration “Alright then, any diseases you neglected to inform me about?”

“No.”

“Hells, don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

“Gods no!” you snapped, feeling your whole body go flush. 

“Then what is it? One second you were there and the next…” he trailed off, before forcing a deep breath. “Look, I’m not angry, but if there is something wrong, I’d prefer to know.” 

“Nothing is wrong,” you insisted. 

“So why the hesitation?” he pressed. “You find me desirable. I’ve made clear I find you desirable. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks and even have a proper mattress for the occasion. The only conclusion I can come to is there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

You opened your mouth only to close it again, wracking your brain on how to start this.

To your shock, Astarion remained silent. It wasn’t the quiet entitled anger you had received in the past or even idle confusion. He looked like he truly wanted to know. 

You let out a long sigh. There was no getting around it now. 

“I do find you desirable,” you said. “The trouble is, physically speaking…I don’t really.”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me you don’t think I’m pretty?”

You had to laugh, shaking your head. “Astarion, I promise, you are possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t factor into why I desire you.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No,” you said plainly. “It never has. Not with anyone.”

He cocked his head, his eyes caught between his natural suspicion and genuine surprise. “Never?”

You shrugged. 

“Above such things are you?” he said, dryly. 

“It’s not as if I’ve taken a vow of chastity,” you snapped. “I’m not trying to achieve some arbitrary moral purity. I just never felt attracted to anyone in that way. I can look at someone and know objectively they’re beautiful or handsome or any number of other descriptors, but that need, that hunger so many people describe, it just never clicked.”

He continued to stare at you blankly before his mouth turned into a hard line. 

“So when I was kissing you, just now. You didn’t feel anything?”

“Not especially,” you said, a little guilty. “Don’t get me wrong, it was pleasant. I do like being close to you. It’s just the things kissing leads to I’m not a fan of.”

You didn’t know what to make of the look that shot across his face. He seemed lost, somewhere far away, before blinking back to the present. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asked. 

“I meant to,” you assured. “I should have. I just…sometimes forget I don’t need a reason to say no.” 

You took a breath, willing yourself to calm. 

“I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking some part of me was broken. That if I waited long enough or tried hard enough, I’d feel the things I’m supposed to feel. I’ve come to terms with the fact I never will. I’m not upset about it. It just means that what I want, what I desire from another person, it’s different than most.” 

He took that in, his red eyes peering deep into yours as if truly looking at you for the first time. 

“So, if it’s not my body you desire, what else could you possibly want?” 

You stared at him as his expression suddenly hardened. His whole body turned on edge as if waiting for you to cast the ending blow. 

“What?” he prompted, sharply. 

You shook your head. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

He gave you an incredulous look. 

Keeping your movements slow and obvious, leaned closer to him. You reached out, moving towards his hand. 

He didn’t pull away, but the guarded expression never faded. 

You took that as a good sign, allowing your hand to rest on top of his as you looked him straight in the eyes. 

“Astarion, when I say I desire you, I mean all of you,” you said, keeping your tone as clear and open so there could be no doubt of the truth of your words. “I want your attentions. I want your adoration. I want your petty jealousies and loud annoyances. I want your teasing. I want your promises and your secrets. I want nights filled with your laughter and mornings in your arms. I want to feel your heart in my chest. I want to know it beats for me. And in return, I want to give you mine. So no, I’m not especially interested in your body. But for the rest? I’m insatiable.”

He only stared at you. You supposed you should take it as a triumph. You’d found an effective way to shut him up at least; declare your overwhelming love for him.

“I know,” you said, softly. “It’s a lot. I’m a lot. But, you don’t have to worry. I don’t expect anything.”

“You don’t?”

You gave a self deprecating smile.“Despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m not an idiot. I know whatever…favor you gave me, it wasn’t real.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly.

You gave him a doubtful look. 

He grimaced. “Alright, maybe some of it was, but–.”

“It’s fine,” you cut off. “I know what game I was playing. I’m just not very good at it.” 

You pulled your hand away, letting your eyes fall from his. Despite the coolness of his touch, somehow your hand felt even colder at the loss of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice unnaturally unsure of itself. 

You tried to smile. “Don’t be. I’ll get over it. I always do.”

Something in his eyes flicked in the firelight. His expression turned contemplative as he looked deeply into your eyes. 

“I rather doubt that,” he murmured.

A sharp pain buried its way into your chest at his words, not because they were cruel or came from a place of arrogance, but because they were undeniably true. 

You pushed yourself off the bed, forcing down the well of emotion threatening to burst from your eyes at any moment. 

“I should go,” you said. “Goodnight.” 

You made your way towards the door only to stop at the sound of your name. It was said so gently, like a desperate prayer. 

You didn’t reach for it, not this time.  It already burned too much. 

Without another word, you stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you leaving nothing but dark and silence.

Tag List:

@yaimlight, @hallowedandhungry, @bluestuesday, @meggsssart, @murmoruno, @prophetszendo, @cabbit17, @sunset-sunrise-sunshine, @isharaneith, @thisisew, @easy-there-leftovers, @ohhnoimbisexual, @dolceaspidenera, @dork-of-the-universe, @righteous-scamp, @ambrolyer, @our-little-shared-infinity, @baldursgateslittlestar, @pkail, @nanaoise08squad, @becksynthetic, @deliriumcrow, @badgerstorms-art, @taraiel, @writingmysanity

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bladur's gate iii #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #bard!reader #asexual!reader #asexual #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

[sadnymi]

angsty / fluff fic ab mattheo like going on about how nobodys gonna love him n shi to y/n, n she says like but i love u, and hes like u js playing then she kisses him and wow yay happy ending

「 ✦ Apocalypse. ✦ 」

Mattheo riddle x reader

Summary: ( request)

Warnings: angst, fluff

Words : 2k

I saw it in his eyes, the darkness creeping in as he struggled to maintain control. The fight had escalated into pure hatred, with both Theo and Enzo unable to pry the boy from Mattheo's grip. The damage was evident; the boy was bleeding, a clear indication of Mattheo's brutal impact on his face.

His gaze met mine briefly, pushing the blood away from his features as he swiftly made his way out of the school grounds. I glanced at the unconscious boy, then back at Mattheo disappearing into the distance.

Ignoring Pandora's warnings and calls to give him space, I bolted through the oak doors of Hogwarts. The downpour that had been threatening all afternoon had finally unleashed its fury, the wind whipping the rain into a stinging wall. My hair plastered itself to my face, and my robes clung to me like a second skin, already heavy with the deluge.

Mattheo was already a dark blur disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a war between reason and a deep, primal need to be with him. Reason screamed at me to turn back, to let him cool down, to respect the boundaries he was so forcefully setting. But the thought of him alone, consumed by whatever darkness had gripped him, was a terrifying prospect.

With a deep breath, I plunged into the forest. Thick branches clawed at my robes, and gnarled roots snagged my feet.

"Mattheo!" I called out, my voice swallowed by the din of the storm. Each step forward felt like an eternity.

"Mattheo, please stop," I shouted, desperation tainting my voice. He didn't glance back, didn't acknowledge my presence.

"Mattheo," I called again, and in that moment, everything escalated. Rain began pouring heavily, adding to the chaotic atmosphere.

"Riddle, I swear to—"

"Go back to the fucking school, Y/N," his voice sliced through the rain, sharp and commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Mattheo—" I tried to protest, to reason with him.

"I said go back!" he screamed, his anger palpable as he turned to face me.

I stood there, speechless, meeting his gaze with wide eyes, refusing to blink even as the rain blurred my vision.

"No," I whispered defiantly, shaking my head and attempting to step closer to him. But he instinctively took a step back.

"Are you stupid or something? I said leave me the fuck alone! What part of that don't you fucking understand?" His voice echoed in the rain, filled with frustration and anguish.

"Don't shut me out, Mattheo," my voice trembling with emotion. "You don't mean that, and I'm not going anywhere." Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the rain as I desperately tried to convey my feelings.

A string of curses erupted from Mattheo's lips as he took forceful strides towards me. "Don't cry," he rasped, his eyes squeezed shut in a struggle with whatever inner demons gnawed at him.

I sniffled, wiping at my face with a damp sleeve. "It's not tears," I lied, my voice thick with emotion. "Just the rain."

He stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine"Fine, whatever. Just get back to the castle." He pivoted, his cloak billowing in the wind as he prepared to walk away again.

My mind raced. I had to stop him. As I moved towards him, an idea – a desperate and slightly reckless one – sparked in my head. With a feigned gasp, I stumbled, collapsing onto the rain-slicked ground.

Mattheo reacted instantly, spinning on his heel and rushing back to my side. A flicker of genuine concern crossed his face as he crouched beside me. "Hey, hey, look at me , what happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp with worry. His hand gently brushed the wet hair from my face, a touch surprisingly tender.

"Ankle," I whimpered, milking the act. "I think I twisted it."

He didn't seem entirely convinced. But the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. He offered his hand, and I hesitantly took it, wrapping my fingers around his forearm. "I think I can walk," I muttered, testing the waters.

Instead of letting me stand, he scooped me up in his arms with surprising ease. It startled me, but there was no time to dwell on it. wrapping my arms around his neck not tearing my eyes off his face.The rain hammered down relentlessly. He navigated the downpour until we reached the shelter of a large oak tree, its broad leaves offering a meager shield from the deluge.

Settling us down I clung to him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs."I know you're lying," he said softly, his voice devoid of anger. My breath caught in my throat, his words cutting through my facade.

The shock momentarily stole my breath, but I held his gaze."Then why did you carry me?" I whispered, barely audible.

"Because the possibility of it being true terrifies me," he confessed, catching me off guard.

A surge of warmth spread through me despite the chill of the rain. "If you weren't pushing me away, I wouldn't have to lie," I said, my voice gaining strength.

"And maybe if you were smart, you'd have listened and left when I told you to."

Ignoring his words, I reached out, cupping his cheek with my hand. My thumb brushed away a stray raindrop that clung to his lash. "Don't let whatever that boy said get to you, Matt." I said softly. "You know he's wrong."

His eyes held mine, a storm swirling within their depths. "No, he wasn't wrong," he choked out,. Before I could offer a counterpoint, he surged forward, his voice rising with each frantic word.

"It's the curse of the name I carry," he spat, desperation lacing his tone. "No matter what I do, history will repeat itself, They'll pretend to care, to love me, if it's just out of fear. It's a gilded cage, this life , It's a curse of being the heir. We think we own everything, that we can have everything we desire. But then..." He trailed off, his voice cracking, his eyes flitting to the rain-slicked ground.

A heavy silence descended, broken only by the rhythmic patter of raindrops. I yearned to reach out, to comfort him, but I won’t dare to stop him not after he finally opened up to me , sensed the raw vulnerability pulsating around him like a volatile aura. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he continued, his voice barely a whisper.

"Then the darkness creeps in, whispers promises of power in exchange for a sliver of your soul. It's a seductive song, promising control, promising to silence the doubts, the fears. And before you know it, you're drowning in it, the darkness coiling around you, suffocating the light."

A surge of protectiveness washed over me. I reached out, my fingers brushing against his cheek. The contact seemed to ground him, the storm in his eyes calming just a fraction.

He slumped back against the rough bark of the tree, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. Rain trickled down his face, My heart ached for him, for the pain he carried like a heavy cloak.

"Mattheo," I said softly, gently brush a wet strand of hair away from his forehead. "That's not true."

He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Easy for you to say.You don't live under the shadow of a name that breeds fear."

"Maybe not," I conceded, "but that doesn't mean the people who care about you don't see you for who you truly are."

He met my gaze, a flicker of doubt warring with the cynicism in his eyes. "Do they?" he challenged with a smile his voice barely a whisper.

"You're kind," I said, my voice firm despite the turmoil within. "You're loyal, protective, and funny when you try to be." A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "And deep down, Mattheo, you have a good heart."

He stared at me for a long moment, searching my eyes for any hint of deception. Then, a spark of something, perhaps defiance or maybe a sliver of hope, flickered within their depths.

"But what if that's not enough? What if love is just another game—“

Before he could say another word , I leaned forward and cupped his face in my hands. My thumb stroked his cheek, a silent plea for him to listen. Our eyes locked, a silent conversation unfolding between us.

I whispered, my voice husky with emotion. " for what it's worth, Mattheo Riddle, I don't play games, I love you "

Then, with a boldness that surprised even myself, I closed the distance between us. My lips met his .My kiss was soft, hesitant at first, a question mark pressed against his lips. Then, a spark ignited, a fire that burned away his doubt, his fear. He responded with a fervor that mirrored the intensity of the storm raging around us, his arms pulling me closer until we were one tangled mess under the shelter of the oak tree.

When I pulled away, his eyes were wide, a mixture of shock and something else I couldn't quite decipher flickering within them.

He pulled me close, his thumb brushing away another stray tear that had escaped my notice. "You say you love me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"I do," I confirmed, leaning into his touch. "More than anything ."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a hesitant bloom against the pale canvas of his face. Then, with a shaky breath, the words I longed to hear spilled from his lips.

burying his face in my neck leaving a soft kiss before whispering in my ear “ I…love you too Y/N”

In that close embrace, the rain seemed to lose its roar, replaced by the frantic drumming of my heart against Mattheo's chest. His words echoed in my mind, a melody sweeter than any song.

"You... love me too?" I breathed, needing to hear it again.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Like crazy in love with you "

A choked sob escaped my lips, and he tightened his hold around me.

"Don't cry," he said, his thumb gently brushing away the tear that escaped down my cheek. "This is a good thing, isn't it?"

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. It was more than good.

he closed the gap between us. Unlike the tentative kiss before, this one was filled with a raw, desperate urgency. He poured his emotions into it.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and shaky, his forehead rested against mine. He stared at me for a beat, his chest rising and falling rapidly before a genuine, unguarded smile bloomed across his face.

"So, " he drawled, a teasing glint in his gaze, "about that ankle of yours?"

My cheeks burned with a blush that had nothing to do with the rain. "Oh, it's miraculously healed," I mumbled, looking away playfully. "Must be the magical properties of this particular oak tree."

He laughed , a sound so rich and warm that it chased away the remaining chill from the downpour.

"Right," he said, a playful edge to his voice, "and I suppose the boy I pushed magically turned into a harmless bundle of sunshine too?"

I couldn't help but grin at his teasing. "Perhaps," I kissed his cheek . "Maybe the rain washed away his bruises ."

He feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "Everyone knows the only thing rain washes away is a good hairstyle , Also about that…maybe I owe Theo and Enzo a massive apology, and maybe that boy a new nose."

“ I would have said a new face “

“Merlin knows what McGonagall will say if she finds out. Detention for a lifetime, that's my guess."

A giggle escaped my lips as we settled back a playful glint back in his eyes, "does this mean I have to carry you back to the castle... or can you miraculously walk again?"

I swatted him playfully on the arm, a smile tugging at my lips. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Riddle," I teased, a light laugh escaping my lips.

"Actually," he countered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "it already has."

He dipped his head, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine. The rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the oak leaves above, creating a secluded world for the two of us.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle masterlist #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys #fluff imagines

[hysteria-things]

ok hear me out… matt or chris x reader and nate threesome😮‍💨😮‍💨

also (kinda) based off of this

EYES WIDE OPEN

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate, dom!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: nate tells his best friend about what you two did on prom night, and it ends up with him showing chris how it’s done.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, swearing, p in v, fingering, some praising/degrading, hair pulling, dumbification, ROUGHH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,634

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: sorry it’s late please still love me🙏

“you do know i fucked her right?” nate tells chris, pointing to the bathroom door just down the hallway.

“what?” chris questions, crossing his legs and looking over to his best friend.

you’re fixing yourself up in the restroom, and somehow, the boys start discussing how you have the most obvious crush on chris.

chris’ brother nick is your best friend and you practically grew up with them. since you’re a year younger, you’ve gotten close with nate being that he’s the same age as you.

you went to prom together senior year of high school, but it wasn’t serious. it was as friends.

chris chuckles, darting his eyes around the room. he may or may not have wondering eyes for you too, but he can never act on it. he’s one of your best friends, for god sake. “when?”

smirking, nate gets comfier in his seat. “after prom. remember when i said i couldn’t come over because my mom needed me home? i lied.”

his mind wanders, thinking back to what you were like in his backseat.

the rain sounds soothing on the car windows. the parking lot is empty, with only one streetlight illuminating in the distance.

lips smacking together in need, you grind on nate’s now growing hard-on through his dress pants. his tie is untied, his blazer thrown to the front seat with some of his shirt buttons undone.

nate’s hands roam up and down your body, gripping your ass each time he brings them to that part of you. he then starts to unzip his pants, pulling them down past his thighs along with his underwear.

the fluffy area of your dress is bunched above your hips, giving you easy access to nate’s dick. when he starts to pull your underwear to the side, you pull away and whine. “it’s too big.”

he chuckles, holding your hips to guide you down. the expanse is painful, but you tilt your head and moan nonetheless.

you wrap your arms around his neck and start to rock your hips slowly, whimpering and whining each time you move forward.

“there you go, just like that. i knew you could take it.”

he snaps out of it and sighs. “you need to see it for yourself one day.” nate suggests, taking a sip of his water. “she’s a good fuck, man.”

chris looks at his friend like he’s insane. “why are you telling me this, dude?”

“because you need to get laid.” he points out.

chris scoffs. “i don’t need to get laid.”

nate crosses his arms and eyes him, seeing right through his bullshit. “when’s the last time you hooked up with a girl?”

staying silent, that gives him his answer. “exactly.”

the bathroom door shuts, the sound of your footsteps coming back to the living room. “sorry, guys. i didn’t mean to take so long.” you giggle, sitting back down next to nate. they both eye you up and down, and you feel a little— no. very intimidated.

“do you remember prom night?” nate asks out of the blue, your eyes widening slightly.

“of course.” you start. “it was fun. why?”

he and chris both get up, the atmosphere feeling closed in around your body when they both hover over you. you gulp.

“do you remember when i fucked you?” nate asks, and your face heats up instantly. chris is standing right there. nobody is supposed to know about what happened with you two that night.

“i need to show chris here what he’s missing out on.” he continues, nodding his head to the right where he’s standing. “want to help me out?”

before you can answer, he cups your cheeks and kisses you with passion, laying you down back flat on the couch. you pout when he pulls away to remove your shirt. chris is now standing by the far wall to watch.

why don’t you question it? you have no idea. why do you enjoy it? also no idea.

he takes off his shorts and top, throwing them on the ground before his knees dip into the sofa at your sides. without warning, he takes his fingers and places them into your bottoms.

nodding to silently prove his point, he turns to chris. “she’s wet already.”

he practically rips off your shorts as you squirm, feeling embarrassed before he starts to rub your clit with two of his digits. gasping, you throw your head back. he moves them in a circular motion. you start to pant when he changes up the movements, either going hard or slow. “nate.” you whine, clit getting red from the penetration.

he takes one of the fingers and starts pumping it deep inside you, the other one still where it was before. your body jerks each time he pumps his finger into your hole, eyes starting to cross and tongue just about escaping your lips. “see how those pretty eyes roll back?” he teases. “i’m barely doing anything and she’s becoming a dripping mess.”

chris swallowed when his boner tightened in his pants, eyes not leaving your face of pleasure. nate adds the second finger, moving faster and curling them to hit one of the spots you love.

you moan loudly, closing your legs before they’re forcefully opened. “look at your little crush getting hard at the sight of ya. wishing he was the one who got to you first instead of me.”

chris pouts, frantically pulling down his pants to start jerking off at the sight. he moans at the way you’re looking at him through hooded eyes not helping with his erection.

“i’m-i’m going to cum, nate.” you mewl, squealing when you say his name.

“oh yeah? you going to cum around my fingers to show chris what he can never do?” he mocks, chris rolling his eyes. you whimper out yeses as your eyelids start to well up with tears. you cry out different curses, legs quivering from the stimulation.

the moment your orgasm drips down his hand, he puts his arms under your armpits and grips your shoulders. he leans so his bare chest is touching yours. “if you’re lucky.” he starts, hammering into you with no warning whatsoever. you gasp, the way he’s positioned making him deeper than ever. “you can pull another one out of ‘em.”

you scratch at his biceps, moaning and yelping while your body rocks so hard that the couch starts to squeak. “nathan! you feel so g-good!” you scream, the knot already coming back.

“you missed this, didn’t you?”

“mhm!” your mouth hangs open, clenching so hard on his dick it’s like you can feel every vein. it’s embarrassing how fast the coil tightens in your abdomen. “i’m cumming! ngh— oh my god.”

clamping down like a vice on his cock, you shake violently at how much you cum. he pulls out, flipping you over onto your stomach and getting up. this gives you time to breathe.

“your turn.” he tells chris, who’s leaking pre-cum out of his slit.

your eyes widen, pushing yourself up before chris grabs your hips and pins them down. nate grasps onto your hair and forces you to look at him. “eyes better not leave mine, princess. i want to see how fucked dumb you get.”

you wince at how hard he pulled. “w-wait! it’s too mu—” your eyebrows furrow and your mouth agape when chris enters you with ease because of how wet and aroused you are, completely cutting you off.

since you’re laid flat, the angle he’s hitting is deeper than nate’s. hoarsely moaning, chris’ hips pound fast, your ass slapping against his thighs.

nate’s tip lands on your tongue, fucking it to get to his high since he wasn’t able to get to it when he was fucking you.

it takes a second for your cunt to morph into chris’s dick. you’re still dazed from before, but since you’re getting filled again, you’re practically brain-dead at this point.

“y-you’re so big! ah—” you whimper, and he smirks. nate rolls his eyes. “you hear that? the slut said i’m big.”

“shut up.” nate bites back, painting your face with his sticky cum, smearing it on your mouth and chin. “so beautiful.”

you fight for your life to not have your eyes roll back, moaning uncontrollably since it feels like you can’t speak anymore.

he moves hard, grunting each time you close in around him. man, he missed doing this with girls. your nails dig into the arm of the couch, still staring into nate’s dark eyes. your mouth moves as if it’s saying words, but nothing comes out. you’re blabbing nothing. “look at that. you’ve fucked her even more stupid. well done.”

chris sighs annoyingly, looking down at the way your pussy engulfs him. “i know how to fuck girls, nate.”

whimpering, the fabric of the cushion rubs gently against your clit, squeezing tight around him so that it catches him off guard. “cum.” you sob quietly. “i-i’m going to cum.”

that alone has him going at an animalistic pace, tears staining your cheeks. “you’re on the pill right?” he asks, twitching between your walls when he hits your g-spot.

you nod, releasing for the third time tonight as he starts to get to his orgasm. “thank fuck. i’m not pulling out of this perfect pussy.”

thrusting in one last time, he stops to shoot his load nice and good into your cunt. nate let’s go of your hair, your head immediately plopping over the edge.

he’s already dressed, and chris gets up to do the same. they look at each other, smirking. “we did good.” nate says.

“yes we did.” chris replies the both of them looking at how your face is coated with cum and how your folds flutter, leaking and making a mess below you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

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[letorip]

somethin' stupid [ii]

"and though it's just a line to you, for me it's true and never felt so right before"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: it's all her fault, and wednesday can't help but feel it in her bones.

warnings: mentions of blood, the police (gross), hospitalisation, crying

word count: 4.8k

A/N: thank you all for the love and support you have given to this silly little story of mine. it is absolutely insane. red font denotes the thoughts of those around you. kind of worried i may have rushed the ending, but i hope you like it anyhow. right, anyways...

===+++===

It took an additional thirty four minutes and twenty eight seconds after the beast sunk its claws into your chest, for Wednesday to come wandering out of the line of trees stretching to the cloudy sky and onto the nearby mountain street, still wearing your bright yellow raincoat bunched around her wrists.

Finding the cave had not turned out to be entirely as difficult as she had expected, and she managed to find its charred remains just as Eugene had said. There was no evidence to gather, really, and there never had been to begin with.

In the far away distance, only lightly covered by the rain, it sounded as if a flock of birds were screaming at each other and fighting, and the noise rang throughout the forest before settling in Wednesday’s ears. She had already been annoyed and frustrated enough tonight. The extra noise just set her even more on edge than before.

It took another sixteen seconds and a few steps closer then, for Wednesday to realise the noise bleeding from around the bend in the road wasn’t in fact, a group of birds. Instead, it was the worst sound Wednesday could ever want to hear.

Within an instant, Wednesday took off running, every sickening realisation clicking at once. The vision that had been plaguing her nightmares and every interaction with you came back in full force. Her stomach began to churn as she went, heart burning and ears ringing. She knew.

When Wednesday rounded the curve, she saw the cars and their sirens.

The red and blue lights bounced off of the dirt and pavement even from far away, reflecting in the rain water as it pummelled to the ground. Five police cruisers sat strewn every which way along the shoulder of the road, headlights on and pointed into the underbrush. Officers wandered the clearing, pointing their flashlights into the dark and yelling loudly to each other in an attempt to overcome the rain.

As Wednesday rushed towards the vehicles, a man stepped out of the closest car to her, wearing a plastic blue poncho that did mostly nothing to stop the merciless pounding of the furious rain. He spoke into a little radio on his shoulder, staring out into woods at his men while they searched.

Wednesday’s loud steps from her thick shoes warned him of her nearing, and the man turned, hand dropping from his radio. She was immediately displeased, greatly so; the man was Sheriff Galpin. He looked just as unhappy to see her, frown drooping into a wry glower.

“Addams what are you doing out here??!” He shouted at her over the storm, hands placing themselves on his hips. “It’s sure as hell past your curfew, now go back to Nevermore, dammit!“

Wednesday walked right up to him then, tugging him roughly by the poncho and his collar, which she balled up dangerously in her fist. It was a warning, and she meant it. Potentially, she meant it more than any threat she had previously given. “Who did you find.”

Sheriff Galpin’s eyebrows lowered, a line appearing in his forehead as he stared her down. “That’s official Jericho Police Department business, missy. You need to-“

Her grip on his clothing tightened. “Now.” Her voice shook a little. “Who did you find.”

He looked at her for a moment in the flickering blue and red of the dark, examining the look on her face. Her eyes were shining, though she would never admit to it. The old sheriff sighed. “Some kid from Nevermore was attacked. You might have known ‘em. Name was like, (Y/n) or something.”

Wednesday’s hand went slack, dropping back down to her side. “Were…,” she swallowed, attempting to cool the heat rushing to her face. It felt as if the Earth had just broken away from its orbit, to float off directionless into space. “Were they killed?”

For the first time, Sheriff Galpin seemed almost soft. He bent down to her a bit, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly as if to say ‘there, there.’ He had never liked the Addams girl much, though that seemed highly irrelevant in the moment.

“Uh, luckily no, though the camper who found them said they were awful close. The EMTs got here just in time. They’re headed to the hospital.”

Wednesday pulled back, tensing at his hand. “Give me a ride to the hospital,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. The sheriff shook his head.

“Nuh uh, no way. You’re going back to school, kid. It’s too late for you to be out here anyways, and I’m sure Weems would like to know why the hell you were out past curfew in the first place.”

She glared. “I need to be at that hospital.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes at her, any moment of softness gone upon remembering why he disliked her and her family so much. “Like hell I’m going to take you there.”

Wednesday blinked at him.

===+++===

The night was still dark but no longer raining, when Sheriff Galpin speedily dropped Wednesday off with her bloody fist at the front step of the hospital.

Punching the tree again and again had hurt, the sharp bark slicing through the skin of her knuckles, but it also meant she needed a nurse and potentially stitches, and there was only one place capable of offering such services. Suffice to say, the sheriff wouldn’t become her fan any time soon.

The clock had slowly crawled to four in the morning, and though Wednesday was exhausted, and Enid and Thing were potentially freaking out back at the school as to where the hell either of you were, Wednesday was a bit more concerned with figuring out where in the hospital your room was. Oh, and maybe aiding her fist, which was now dripping blood onto the patterned green carpeting as she went.

Upon entering and striding right up to the front counter, Wednesday had gotten straight to business. She held up her bloody fist, placing it with a 'thud' on top of an infographic that sat on the reception desk. The previously sleepy-looking teenage receptionist stared at Wednesday with a look of wide awake, abject horror. “Tell me where the ER is,” she said.

"Uh...over there?” said the girl, raising a weak finger towards the doors in the far left and unable to pry her eyes away from Wednesday’s hand.

Wednesday nodded a single time before walking off, leaving the receptionist to lean over the counter and watch her go. The sign over the door was marked 'ER,' and Wednesday followed down the brightly lit hall until she arrived at a new waiting area. The people in there looked much worse for wear than the empty entrance at the front.

Nervous parents sat cradling their obviously sick children, a construction worker was repeatedly coughing in the corner with his head propped up, trying to stay awake, and a woman in a pantsuit was cradling her foot in a cast and wincing. If this was an omen to who was in your company, it was certainly a bad one.

Wednesday did just as she had before, walking right up to the desk with her hand and showing it to the nurse at the front. Only this time, the woman gave her a worried look, picking up the black phone to her right immediately and dialling a few numbers into the keypad.

“Uh, stay right there, ma’am,” the woman said. Wednesday nodded. She didn’t intend to go anywhere anyways.

The nurse who had come to find her was an older woman, with smile lines crinkling around her mouth and winging off the corners of her eyes. She looked almost like a grandmother, except the electric pink afro she had curled off of her head in coils that spoke of youth and vitality and fun. Enid would have liked her, and Wednesday knew you would have too, but she hated the colour pink just as she (mostly) disliked fun people.

The woman had gotten straight down to business, pulling Wednesday into a room with a metal tray of supplies already picked out and holding up her hand.

Even being someone who enjoyed pain as she did, the antiseptic stung when it was placed over the scratches on her fingers. She hissed a bit, and the nurse glanced up at her with pitying eyes, grabbing the supplies for her stitches off of a metal tray.

"You said you punched a tree?"

Wednesday was suspicious of the woman's sudden interest, but nodded. The nurse could probably tell her where you were anyhow. She didn't like making friends, but she could at least make allies. She had called you one of her allies when you had asked. Remembering that hurt now.

"Yes,” she replied, a bit annoyed with the question.

"Why'd you do that, then?"

"I needed to come here. It's important." The nurse began to stitch her up, and Wednesday flinched at the sudden contact.

"What’s important about here?"

Wednesday glanced down at her soaked, dirty shoes. "There's someone staying here I need to see." The nurse looked up at her then, studying her carefully.

"You're here for that kid that came in after being attacked." Wednesday swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The nurse sighed, wrinkles filling her forehead as she finished up Wednesday's middle finger and moving to her ring finger, holding up the pad to the light. "They were rushed into emergency surgery about twenty minutes ago. You'll have to wait here a while, and just to warn you: it isn’t pretty." Wednesday sent a small glance to her, one that spoke of a timidness the situation had drawn out of her that wasn't previously there.

“Why don't you go home for the night? Get yourself cleaned off and dry."

She shook her head at the woman, frown deep and telling. "I need to be here when they wake up. They don't have anyone else. Both of their parents are deceased, and I need to be there for them."

"I'm sure they would appreciate you coming this far, honey. They're very lucky to have someone who cares for them as much as you do. I've been a nurse for a loooong time, and trust me when I say you've done plenty."

She certainly had not. Wednesday was not immune to the morbid irony of the situation at hand. In reality, she had cared all too much, pretended that she cared not at all, and tricked you for the longest time into thinking she cared too little. Caring had gotten her nowhere- worse, it had gotten you into an ambulance.

"I'm...worried," she struggled to spit the word out at the nurse, who looked at her with soft eyes of encouragement. "I've said some things, that I don’t think I’ll be able to apologise for."

"Shhh," the nurse hummed, finishing Wednesday's final knuckle and taking out some bandages to wrap around the raw skin. "You'll get the chance."

“I’m not sure I will,” Wednesday's frowned deepened. Her lip threatened to quiver a bit, but it was true. She had been so foolish to bring you along- so selfish to allow you to push the bounds of your own safety. It sat lodged in her stomach like a tumour, growing and growing.

If this is what it meant to love you, Wednesday wasn't sure she was ready.

The older woman gave her a sad smile. "Look, there's no shame in making mistakes. The shame is in being too proud to ask for forgiveness for them," she said, standing up from her chair. "They'll be in room 304, I think. Should be out of surgery in a couple hours, in case you want to…”

“I’m not leaving,” Wednesday insisted. And she didn’t, for a while.

Very little could spook an Addams, especially one such as Wednesday, but she had decided it was all too much, seeing you after surgery. It was an utterly horrific sight. Had it been anyone else, Wednesday would be staring at the intricacies of the scars waiting patiently to form, marvelling at the magic of twisted skin and scabs. But no, it was you in that bed, wheeled right in, and she felt the rare urge to vomit.

You were hooked up to so many machines. Buzzing, whirring, and beeping were the only things keeping you alive, and it served as a painful reminder for everything that could have been lost.

A ventilator sat over your mouth, covering your soft lips and strapped to your jaw. Live, it said, as did the several needles and monitors that were hooked into the skin of your hands and arms. There was too much surface area covered. Wednesday, even if she had wanted to, couldn't have held your hand.

Blood was still very much crusted to the planes of your skin in parts, or at least what was visible of it behind your bandages. The white cotton sat in squares and rectangles, taped to your chest and along the stretch of your cheeks and face. You would never be the same, and Wednesday knew it then.

Always, you would bear the evidence of the attack when someone saw you for the first time and winced a bit, and Wednesday held herself as partially responsible. Her love was too thick to sit in. Wednesday Addams swallowed the tears she would deny crying.

She sat with you an hour, then she walked down to the payphone on the corner and called Enid as the sun finally settled for the morning sky.

===+++===

In the three weeks since your attack, you had yet to wake up. The doctors said it was a coma, and that they had no idea when you would wake, if at all, and that only made Wednesday feel worse. She had gone to visit you before, after, and sometimes even during class. Her own hand had healed nicely, though there would be a permanent scar over the knuckle of her index finger from a particularly nasty cut,

On one visit, Enid had said it was as if you "were sleeping," but Wednesday couldn't disagree more. When you slept, it was on your side with your mouth, open, snoring softly. No, instead, you looked like a dead body. Even after acquainted with the room, Wednesday still felt a great pain in her chest upon seeing you every day like that.

Principal Weems had been more than angry, discovering another student had been hospitalised as a result of Wednesday's actions. She was also worried, and annoyingly tried to sign Wednesday up for more sessions with Kinbott.

That wasn't what Wednesday needed, and she shrugged it off as such, every time Kinbott tried to bring up what happened to you, like she was waiting for her to burst into tears. An Addams didn’t cry. Instead Wednesday let the guilt eat her alive.

She also hungered for vengeance. Strewn across her floor was a giant mental map of everything involved in the case, from photos of the bodies (Enid had fainted twice) to crime scenes, and even potential suspects, all laid out accordingly.

As soon as visiting hours were over, she bid you adieu and threw on your yellow raincoat that still smelled like you, before heading out into the dark to solve the mystery. Maybe it was a way to say she was sorry, maybe it was a manifestation of you potentially never waking up- Wednesday didn't know.

What was even more frustrating was how she knew you held the final puzzle piece. She wasn't a fool- your ability to see into the thoughts of those around you was probably what had caused the attempt on your life in the first place. You had intentionally placed yourself in harms way, then, turning off your abilities for her.

You were incredibly powerful for one so laissez-faire about life- a fact that only offended Wednesday more, as you had been the target and not her, or someone else. You, who had just worn your heart on your sleeve to her, listened to her throw it away, and then immediately gotten attacked. You didn't deserve that, just as much as Wednesday didn't deserve you.

Then came the question of what you did deserve to hear when you awoke. If she was such an excellent writer, why couldn't she think of what to say to you if that ever happened? It still didn't feel good enough, no matter how many times she rewrote the letters or changed the order of the sentences. Nothing seemed to feel good enough.

===+++===

Around the fourth week, Wednesday began to leave you long thoughts, like diary entries. She didn't even know if you could hear her, from in there. You had been taken off a ventilator and it looked as if you were finally starting to level out a bit. Wednesday didn't know why, but she suspected you could hear her thoughts.

So she started thinking to you.

It had started small, at first. 'Today is the twenty-sixth day of you being asleep, you know. If you don't wake up, I swear I'll kill you.' She didn't even know if you could actually hear her, or if you'd want to, considering your last interaction. Wednesday itched to talk to you again, and her recounts grew longer and longer.

'Today is the twenty-eighth day of you still not waking up. Mayor Walker passed, yesterday. I have my suspicions of Xavier. He seems to meet with Dr. Kinbott frequently, and it's possible she's Laurel Gates. I'm not sure if I told you about this yesterday, but I summoned my ancestor a few days ago, Goody Addams, and she warned me of the Gates Mansion.'

'Today marks an official month, 31 days, of you not being awake yet. My Uncle Fester is in town. He sends his regards, by the way. He's the bald one I spoke of before, and he was eager to meet you... Enid and I visited the Gates' Mansion with Tyler. We were attacked and Tyler was injured. I know that may alarm you, but I assure you, I'm fine... If you don't wake up... I'll curse you forever.'

She didn't mean it.

‘Today is day thirty six and you’re still not awake. Enid will be waiting with you while I go confront Xavier and have him arrested. You must forget this when you wake, but I miss you… I’m not proud of it but I do. I said I wouldn’t care for you this way but look at me now. You didn’t spoil anything, (Y/n). If you said you loved me now, I would say it back. Give me the chance to say it then, or else.’

Wednesday waited patiently for another minute, hoping even a little bit that her mind would spark you to life. When nothing happened she sighed just as she had every previous day. Enid gave her a sad smile.

“Go get him, Wends. We’ll both be here when you get back,” she said. Wednesday glared at the use of the nickname, but grabbed your yellow raincoat off the back of her chair, shrugging the oversized jacket on and heading out the door. If there was one thing she thought would make amends, it would be catching your attacker and achieving revenge all on her own.

Of course, thirty seconds later, when Wednesday was long gone, you shot up right like a rocket, and Enid let out a scream.

===+++===

You were climbing, it felt like. You weren’t sure what, but you were pulling yourself up and out of something, pads of your fingers gripping the surface and lifting. It was one clutch after the other, and you had no idea how long or where you could possibly be climbing to.

Were you dead? That was entirely possible. You had blacked out with Tyler’s claws ripping and tearing at your chest and come-to in the back of the ambulance as it sped towards the hospital. A nervous-looking paramedic stood over you, casting a shadow over your eyes, and from there you had passed out again. Maybe you had died then.

Of course, it was a possibility. Not a welcome one, but it was still a possibility. Either way, you had to figure out a way to warn Wednesday about Tyler. Maybe if you just kept climbing. Time seemed to slow down, and it was one hand after another.

There was definitely sound coming from the outside world, and it wrapped around your head in mumbly nonsensical jargon. You recognised the voice, that was definitely Wednesday, and she was definitely close. Every now and again small words like 'Xavier,' or 'Kinbott,' would peek through the mist and you were left to wonder as to why they were relevant.

You climbed a bit harder. The voice would come in and then out again, and you were left wondering if days were passing or maybe it had just been an hour. All you knew was to keep climbing. Your fingers felt raw, your arms ached to stop, but you kept going to keep Wednesday safe, wether she wanted you to or not.

Before you knew it, a hand came forward for the last time, and it was like a button had been pressed. Suddenly, you weren't in any void, or any back of an ambulance, you were in a bland hospital room, sitting straight up and looking right at a mortified Enid.

"Oh my god!" She yelled out, pointing at you in surprise. "OH MY GOD!!!" 'WHAT THE FUCK!!!!'

"TYLER!" You yelled back.

"WHAT?!" Enid yelled.

"IT'S TYLER! And hi!"

Enid fainted again, just in time for a nurse to rush in upon noticing you were awake.

===+++===

One thing you had missed dearly whilst in a coma were fruit cups. You sat rather contentedly, eating a mango fruit cup in your soft hospital bedsheets and leaning back against a checkered pillow. From around you in the hospital, noise buzzed in your mind. It felt good to have your blinders off for once, even if it meant you had to focus in on Enid and the noise directly in the room with you.

"Thirty six days???" you asked. Enid nodded.

"Wednesday- I mean all of us 'But mostly Wednesday', were worried sick that you wouldn't wake up. Are you okay? What was it like in there?" 'How the hell are you still alive???'

You shrugged. "Not really sure. I just remember my arms hurt and I was in this void-thing, trying to pull myself out..." You grew serious. "I need to speak to Wednesday."

Enid leaned forward. "And you're sure it was Tyler? He doesn't seem like he could hurt a fly."

"I saw him, Enid. He was covered in blood and he was in his own head thinking about the attack and how pleased Laurel would be for him to succeed. It's him."

"Wednesday thinks it's Xavier," she said. You shook your head.

"She's wrong. I know she's sweet on Tyler, but-"

"-She's not sweet on Tyler, (Y/n). 'You CANNOT still believe that after all of this...though I guess you were comatose' I've said this since the beginning of the year, you bozo. She's sweet on you, and you two are such idiots running around and pretending like you don't know."

The painful memory of your final interaction before the attack came back in waves, pulling you under and tugging you into the deep. You cleared your scratchy throat, still sore from its lack of use. "Enid, Wednesday made it perfectly clear how she felt about me."

Enid rolled her eyes. "You two, I swear you're going give me grey hair. Oh! Speaking of appearances," she sat up. "You haven't seen how you look yet!"

You frowned, not entirely sure you wanted to. You knew you had facial scars- the sharp slashes to your nose and cheeks were enough to know that now, but you weren't sure how much you wanted to see them. Enid pulled out her phone camera, flipping it around to selfie mode.

It wasn't as bad as you thought- a giant twist of a scar curved around the apple of your cheek before reaching up through the lateral third of your eyebrow and stopping shortly after. Another crisscrossed over the bridge of your nose. Still bad, though. They were noticeable, and those were only the ones on your face. You frowned, and Enid seemed to regret asking to show you them. 'I just messed up, didn't I.'

'Oh my, cara mia' said someone's noise in the doorway. You looked up, hearing her arrive, and there she was. Wednesday stood looking almost nervous, hands crossed over her chest awkwardly, like she was uncertain if she was welcome. You tensed. "You're awake," she said.

You nodded. Then you did Wednesday a favour and turned your own noise off to give her the privacy she coveted. Wednesday sent a look over at Enid who just stared. When the werewolf didn't take the hint, Wednesday cleared her throat.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry," said Enid, standing sheepishly. "I guess I'll just go get some food from the cantina...even though I already ate and want to see how this happens," she muttered. Wednesday sent her a much sharper glare, and Enid scurried out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Wednesday spun to you. "If you died, I would have killed you."

"I know," you nodded. "Enid told me you were here all the time." She frowned.

"Never speak of that again," Wednesday said, seeming almost embarrassed. "Enid wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"She's not really good at keeping secrets. You probably shouldn't have told her anything if-"

"-Did you hear them, when you were in there?" She asked, cutting you off mid-sentence with what she had really been wondering the entire time, but too nervous to ask. You blinked.

"Hear what?" If she had been saying important things to you whilst you were under, you didn't know what she was referring to. The look on Wednesday's face was unintelligible.

"I said some important things, (Y/n)," she said, fidgeting with her fingers. "I sent them through my thoughts."

"You also said some important things before I was attacked, Wednesday. You called me a lost puppy."

"I know," she replied. "I was worried this very thing would happen if I didn't."

You snorted cynically. "Looks like it happened when you did, actually." She looked wounded by that, and now you felt bad. "I didn't mean it that way, Wends, I'm just trying to warn you-"

"I love you too," she said.

Any thoughts or words you potentially could have come back with were lost, slipping through your fingers and tumbling to the floor. Wednesday took a step closer, placing her hand on the bed next to you, flipping it over to show you her knuckles. A few small pink scars littered the skin there. You picked it up in your own, brushing over them with your thumb.

"I meant it. I love you too. Even with your scars- which are magnificent." Wednesday thought for a moment, then looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you with a love that is more than love."

"That's Edgar Allan Poe," you whispered. She nodded, then she swallowed, forcing the words out.

"I see now, that I was...wrong. I have been deceitful, and I have been unkind. I pushed you away when you deserve much more than that- likely much more than me. I cannot express how earnest my regret is, and just how much I want your forgiveness-"

"Yeah yeah, stop talking like an old English guy," you said with a laugh, pulling her scarred hand to your lips. You sat up a little bit more, and though it hurt, you pressed your lips to her palm. When you pulled away a moment later, she kissed you full-force. Her hand moved to your neck, playing with the hair there and delivering the perfect amount of gentle longing that made you fall back against the pillow.

She pulled away all too soon again, but the small smile that teased the corner of her mouth spoke of future ones to come. "You said you were going to warn me of something?" She said in between attempts to catch your breath. You raised your eyebrows, remembering the dire information at hand.

"Oh, yeah, Tyler attacked me," you said, leaning your neck back against the pillow.

"What?!" Wednesday said, pulling away with her eyes as angry as ever. "Why didn't you lead with that??" She didn't want to believe it, but she knew you wouldn't lie.

"I got there eventually, and you needed to apologise!"

Wednesday sighed, shaking her head. Though she would never admit it, she did truly miss your ridiculousness. "Anything else?"

"The master of the creature-"

"-It's called a Hyde," Wednesday corrected you.

"Yeah, that. The master of the creature wears red boots. I saw it in Tyler's vision."

The girl in black stood up, heading for the door. "Thank you, cara mia. I'll be back when this is over."

"Go get 'em tiger." She turned to you, unimpressed.

"Shut up."

"Yeah yeah, love you."

After a moment she sighed. "I love you too."

thank you all so much for your support on this story! i absolutely will be writing again, and am here to stay. i cannot thank you all enough, and as always, PLEASE tell me or message me about any typos as i will fix them ASAP. i'll definitely come back and change this later if i feel like it. i tried not to rush the ending but was also majorly conflicted as to where i should leave it off. so if it bugs me later down the line, i'll change it.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #jenna ortega #jenna ortega imagine

[abc-91]

Aged up Fushiguro Megumi x Catgirl Reader

NSFW

Megumi remembers that moment well, the moment he found a cute catgirl abandoned in the rain. He couldn’t just leave you there; he had to take you home. So that’s exactly what he did. He’s taken very good care of you, always giving you lots of pets and attention, getting you as many toys as you want, and always preparing your favorite meals for you. You’ve been with him for nearly a month now when you start feeling your heat coming on. He’s away at school when it starts, so you’re all alone at home.

When he comes home he finds you mewling on the sofa wearing one of his t-shirts and humping the couch cushions. He feels utterly shocked, and he doesn’t know how to respond. His face turns red, and he reacts the only way he can think of.

“B-Bad kitty!” Your ears instantly perk up and you turn your head. You know you should stop, but the heat between your legs is too strong.

“I said stop!” You whimper in response at his shouting, but you still don’t stop. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you off the couch, causing you to whine to the sudden lack of stimulation. Megumi carries you to your room and puts you in bed.

“Bad kitty! Don’t do that!” His face is bright red and he’s trying to seem stern despite his obvious embarrassment.

“If you’re going to do something like that then do it in your room!” He leaves the room and tears start rolling down your cheeks after being yelled at by your owner. You curl up in bed, putting one of your pillows between your legs and humping it desperately. You’re whining and crying softly. You know it was wrong to hump the couch, but you couldn’t help it. You just wanted your owner to come home and take care of you, but he just yelled at you instead.

Megumi can hear your quiet mewls and whimpers from the living room, and he feels somewhat guilty. He realizes that you’re probably in heat, but he’s too embarrassed to do anything. In fact, he doesn’t really know how to help you. He simply walks to the bathroom and takes a shower to try to calm down. When he gets out of the shower, he can still hear your whining and crying. He feels horrible for yelling at you and is very concerned about you.

That night he lies in bed for a long time, listening to your soft noises of pleasure and sadness. Eventually you quiet down and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. He goes to check up on you, gently creaking your door open. Megumi sees you curled up in bed drooling as you sleep. He feels relieved that you're resting now, but he still feels very worried about you.

The next morning he wakes up to the sounds of your whimpering again. He gets out of bed and knocks on the door.

“Kitty? Are you alright? Are you hungry?” He doesn’t get a response other than mewls. He lets out a soft sigh.

“I’m going to go out, but I’ll leave breakfast for you in the kitchen if you get hungry.” Megumi makes breakfast, eating his portion and leaving yours out on the counter. He then gets dressed then leaves.

You’re still desperately humping your now wet pillow when you hear another knock on the door.

“Kitty? I got you something. I think it might help you.” Megumi slowly opened the door and walked in with a bag in his hands. He sees that you're grinding on the pillow relentlessly and it makes him turn even more red.

“G-Gumi, help~” You beg softly with tears in your eyes which makes him even more nervous.

“It’s okay, kitten. These should help you.” His hands are a little shaky as he reaches into the bag, pulling out two small boxes.

“Uh you seem a little preoccupied, so I’ll just open them for you.” He nervously opens one box, and shows you the pink and white object that’s shaped sort of like a microphone.

“Here, kitty. If you move this switch it vibrates.” Your eyebrows furrow and you whimper softly, not understanding what the object is for.

“I’ll just leave that for you to figure out…” He opens the other box, taking out a strangely shaped object.

“And you can uhm- you know- with this one.” Megumi awkwardly sets the dildo on your bedside table with the vibrator. You don’t really understand the purpose of the two objects, but you’re far too horny to ask before he starts to leave.

“I’ll leave you alone now, kitty. I hope you like what I got you.”

He awkwardly leaves the room, feeling embarrassed and nervous. You never stopped humping your pillow while he was there. He can still hear your whines and mewls for hours on end.

It’s around noon when he hears you shouting,

“Gumi, help!” He rushes into your bedroom to find you crying and grinding against the pillow.

“K-Kitty?”

“Hurts! It won’t stop!” You whine softly and he notices that you still haven’t touched the sex toys he left on your nightstand either.

“I-It hurts? Did you try the toys?”

“D-Don’t know how, ah-“ You look so desperate and it breaks his heart. He nervously walks over to the bed and grabs the vibrator.

“It’s okay, kitty. I-I’ll help you use them.” He sits on the efge of the bed.

“Can you get off the pillow and lay down on your back for me?” You nod and lay down like he asked.

“Please, Gumi! It’s so hot! It hurts!” Tears stream down your face, and he reaches a hand up to wipe them with his thumb.

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you now. I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday; I know you couldn’t help it, right?” You nod and mewl.

“I’m going to help you now. Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” Megumi moves the vibrator to your clit and turns it onto the lowest setting. You meow loudly and arch your back.

“Ah- More Gumi!”

“Is that helping, kitty?” You nod rapidly and whine.

“Want me to turn it up?” You nod again without fully grasping what he means by turning it up, but you soon let out a purr when he turns the setting on the vibrator up.

“Feeling better yet, kitty?” You whimper softly and your legs start to shake. It doesn’t take long for you to climax. You mewl loudly and he shushes you softly. You’re sensitive, but you need more.

“Gumi, more~” You beg softly and he turns the vibrations up higher again.

“Better?”

“No! More!” Megumi turns the vibrator onto the highest setting, causing your body to shake.

“Ahh~” You moan softly while trembling. You’re close to orgasming again. Megumi looks at you with a mixture of concern and embarrassment. He was worried about you, but is it really okay for someone to be using sextoys on their hybrid like this? His cock can’t help but stir at the sight of you moaning and whining in pleasure like this, which only makes him more ashamed. Your eyes roll back into your head.

“M-More, please Gumi”

“I-It’s as high as it can go…”

“No! I need more!” He looks over to the dildo sitting on the nightstand, and grabs it.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay kitten?” You nod without understanding what is going to happen. A loud mewl escapes your mouth when the tip of the dildo nudges against your entrance. He slowly slides it in, making you squirm at the unfamiliar intrusion.

“Shh, kitty. It’s alright.” Your hands dig into the sheets as he starts gently thrusting it in and out of your needy hole while the vibrator continues buzzing on your clit. You feel your orgasm building up, and you can’t hold back anymore. Your back arches and you cum, soaking the sheets yet again. He slows down slightly as you come down from your climax, and he looks at you softly.

“How are you feeling kitty?”

“B-Better, but I need more.”

“More? Want me to move the dildo faster?” You assume he’s referring to the object he’s thrusting in and out of your hot cunt, so you nod eagerly.

“Okay, kitty.” Megumi starts to thrust the dildo into your heat at a more intense pace, causing your head to fall back on the pillow. He hears you mewling and whining as you clench around the dildo.

“F-Feels good… need more!”

“M-More?” He tries to move the dildo faster.

“Like this?” You shake your head.

“What do you want then kitty?”

“I-I don’t know. It’s just not enough.” You cry softly and he panics since he’s moving it as much as he can.

“Uh okay… I uh-“ You whimper and squirm.

“I don’t think it’s big enough… and it’s so cold.” You whine out and he feels ashamed of what he’s about to do.

“Don’t worry, kitty. Your owner is going to take care of it, okay? Just stay still.” He moves the vibrator and dildo away from your desperate cunt, making you whimper in disappointment.

“Shh, just a sec.” You watch as he discards his clothes, leaving him completely naked. Seeing him like this only manages to make your neediness increase. Your thighs rub together on the bed and you mewl. When your eyes wander downwards over his body, you see a large, bulging organ that you don’t have. It looks similar to the dildo he was using on you, but it’s thicker, longer, and more pinkish. You whine desperately and spread your legs for him, figuring out on your own what he’s going to do.

“Oh, my smart kitty. Good girl.” He climbs into bed with you, kneeling between your thighs.

“So pretty. I’ll help you; I promise.” Megumi grabs the base of his shaft and starts to gently rub his cock over your wet heat. You mewl and he grunts softly. He then lines himself up with your entrance, slowly pushing his thick length into you. The stretch stings slightly, making you whimper.

“Oh, princess. It’s alright. It’ll hurt a little at first but I promise it’ll get better.” He gently wipes your tears and pauses his movements for a moment to let you adjust. It doesn’t take long for you to start whining and trying to push yourself down on his cock, so he chuckles and helps you by sliding the rest of his length into you. Megumi gently kisses your temple after he bottoms out.

“Big, Gumi! It’s big! I’m full!” He thinks your rambling is adorable, and he grabs onto your hips.

“Do you like it, kitty? Or is it too much for you to handle?”

“Ah- N-No! I like it!” He chuckles and partially slides out, before sliding back in. You gasp.

“Do you like it when I move like this, kitty?” His voice is a little strained, but still tender.

“Mhm!”

“Want more?”

“Please!” He keeps thrusting in and out of your cunt and he starts moving at a faster pace. Your thighs tremble and you purr.

“Good girl, my little catgirl really is the best kitty for me.” His words turn you on even more, and you can hear him groaning softly into your ear due to the way your heat sucks him in.

“S-So full, Gumi!”

“I never knew my kitty had such a greedy cunt. Sucking me in so well.” He groans, grasping your hips a little tighter as he slams into you harder. You can’t even respond since you’re too busy moaning and purring. He feels you clamping down on him harder, causing him to moan loudly.

“Are you going to cum for me, kitty?” You nod and mewl.

“Go ahead, be a good girl and cum all over your owner’s cock.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your thighs tremble. You cream on his cock and he continues slamming into you relentlessly. Megumi kisses you lovingly as you come down from your high and strokes your hair when he pulls away.

“Feeling better, kitty?” He sees you nod, which makes him smile.

“How about I try to see if I can fill you up more?” *Before you can respond, he grabs onto your thighs and pushes them up against your chest. He leans his weight against you, pinning you in a mating press. The new position causes his cock to hit places deep inside of you and for you to experience more pleasure than you knew possible. You purr and he groans in your ear loudly.

“Feels so good, kitten.” His cock pistons in and out of you, tip slamming into your cervix with each thrust. Your walls flutter around his cock.

“Aw, is my kitty going to cum again already?” You nod and a few tears roll down your face.

“I’m close too, kitty. Want to cum with me?” He hears you mewl in response.

“Just hold off for another minute, can you do that?”

“M-Mhm.”

“Good girl. I’m almost there I promise.” He grunts louder while your cunt squeezes his cock tighter as you try to hold off on your orgasm. Megumi grows closer to climaxing with each drag if his cock against your walls.

“Oh kitty! Cumming!” He buries his cock inside of you and stills. You moan and release around him as his load shoots against your womb. You feel a warm, hot feeling spreading in your stomach from his cum spraying inside of you, which makes you whimper more. He holds you tightly until he finishes filling you with his seed. He relaxes and pants softly, but keeps his cock fully sheathed inside of you.

“Good girl, kitty.” He kisses your temple.

“I love you so much.

“Love you too, Gumi.” He leans away slightly and lets your legs down from your chest, but he then goes back to resting on top of you.

“Do you feel better?”

“Mhm, but I’ll probably get needy again soon.”

“That’s alright, kitten. I’ll help take care of your heats from now on.”

“Thank you, Gumi. I’m so lucky to have you as my owner.”

“Aw, thank you, princess.”

“Gumi, am I going to get pregnant with your kitties now?”

His face turns red as he sees the adorable look in your eyes.

“Uhm, well.”

“Aw, Gumi, I want babies with you!” He’s even more embarrassed and nervous now.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea…”

“Why not? I wanna have kitties! Please! I’ll take good care of them, I promise!”

“Oh sweetie, I know you would. Maybe we can keep trying for kitties then.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ���　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

#megumi x you #jjk megumi #megumi imagine #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi smut #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro smut #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x y/n #megumi x y/n #hybrid #catgirl

[seonghrtz]

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ✶ sukuna ryomen

꒰ true beauty ! ꒱ an arrogant prince falls under the spell of an enchantress, who turns him into the hideous four-armed beast until he learns to love and be loved in return.

❛❛ in the end, she was his salvation and his downfall ❜❜

pairing. prince!sukuna ryomen x (belle)fem!reader.

contents. the beauty and the beast alternative universe, fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers (?), he fell first he fell harder, royal!au, sukuna true form as the beast, occ sukuna.

amy's note. hi sweetie, this is amy!!! this is the first story in the fairy tale series, starring sukuna ryomen in the beauty and the beast universe. initially i was going to put sukuna in the cinderella story, just because of the fandom memes (jjk x disney princess), but i think he as an arrogant beast who has never loved anything would make much more sense and fit in better. anyway, that's it, i hope you like it!!!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

𝕺𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, in a kingdom far away, there was a handsome young prince who lived in a magnificent castle, and even though he had everything he wanted, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and rude. But one winter night, in the middle of a storm, an old woman came to the castle and offered him a simple rose in exchange for shelter from the cold and rain. Disgusted by her ugliness, the prince scoffed at the offer and sent the old woman away. But she advised him not to be deceived by appearances because beauty lies within people and in their hearts, and when he sent her away again, she was transformed into a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, as she realized that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she turned him into a hideous four-armed monster and plagued the castle and everyone who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous appearance, the prince hid in the castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she offered was enchanted. It would bloom until the twenty-first year, if he learned to love someone and it was reciprocated by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be undone, otherwise he would be doomed to remain a monster forever. Over the years, he fell into despair and lost all hope. After all, who could love a monster?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The day began with a flurry of activity in the small village. Residents greeted each other as they went about their morning chores, and others opened their shops. Y/n, a beautiful young woman, made her way through the crowd with one goal in mind: to get to the village library. After buying some fresh bread and gathering the missing parts for her father's latest invention, the young woman made her way to the small library to return the book she had borrowed last week.

"Good morning, Mr. Higuruma." Y/n said as soon as she saw the man from the shop holding a pile of books. "I'm here to return the book I bought last week."

"Miss Y/n, good to see you again," the brunette said, placing the pile of dusty books on the table in the corner of the shop. "Unfortunately, the delivery of new books has been postponed until next week."

"Oh, no problem." Y/n approached the bookshelf, put the book she had picked up the week before back in its place, and ran her finger along the spines of the other books, looking for one in particular. "I think I'll take this one!" She took the book from the shelf and showed the cover to Higuruma, who just laughed.

"That must be the tenth time you've read that one."

"But this is the best book, certainly my favorite. Distant kingdoms, battles, and a princess who saves the prince. Sometimes, it's hard not to see myself as the protagonist. Living an adventure and finding her true love, something much bigger than life in the country.”

"Since you like this one so much, I'm giving it to you as a present."

"Mr. Higuruma, I can't accept that!" she looked at him, astonished at the idea, while the man in front of her just smiled.

"You're my most loyal customer. You've read all the books I have in the library. And maybe the only one with a real interest in reading."

"Thank you, that's very nice of you." Y/n smiled happily at the gift and the bookseller's gesture.

"You're welcome. Next time I'll have some new books for you!"

"Thank you, Mr. Higuruma!" Y/n waved, smiled, and left the shop. The young woman stared at the cover of the book, the worn blue leather and the worn gold lettering, it was a simple book, but with an extraordinary story behind its simplicity.

The young girl was so busy studying the book that she barely noticed Gaston's not-so-subtle appearance at her side.

"My beautiful lady!" Gaston said, thickening his voice and stopping in front of Y/n, preventing her from continuing on her way.

"Gaston..." she rolled her eyes and looked away from the book in her hands to the man in front of her.

"My beautiful Y/n, when are you going to realize that we are soul mates and forget about these books, which by the way have no figure, how can you like this so much?" He said, taking the object out of the girl's hands and giving her (or trying to give her) a gallant smile.

"Well, you just have to use your imagination while reading and I think you're reading the wrong signals about us," the girl took the book back and turned away from the man, "I have to go now, have a nice day, Gaston."

Y/n walked quickly back to her house, which was a short distance from the village. When she got home, she left the fresh bread on the breakfast table and picked up the tools her father had asked for before going down to where he was conducting his experiments and inventions.

"Dad? I brought what you asked for."

"Thank you, dear!" The girl's father came out from under the machine and took the object his daughter had offered him.

"Dad..."

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you think we'll live here for long?"

"Oh, dear, when I become a great inventor, we'll travel the world!" Her father stepped out from under his invention, ready to finally put it into action. "Let's hope it works, dear!"

As soon as the machine was turned on, the parts began to move and a sound was heard, the axe on top moved down and cut the wood on the bench.

"Dad! It works! Your machine works!" the young woman said excitedly.

"And the axe didn't fly away!"

"Dad, you're going to be a great inventor!" The young girl hugged the older man, finally her father's dream would come true and he would become a great inventor.

"Oh dear! I must run and pack my things to go to the city!" The old man said excitedly, pacing back and forth, "You don't mind being alone for a few days, my child?"

"Of course not, Dad. Go after your dreams." The young woman smiled openly and hugged her father once more. "Come, let's pack your things for the trip."

Together with her father, the girl went up to the house and helped him prepare the small suitcase along with some snacks for his trip to the city. Ever since they had moved to this small village in the countryside, her father had been working tirelessly on various inventions that had failed one after the other, causing his reputation as a madman to grow among the locals. However, she had seen him fail and never give up, that was his dream, to become a great inventor and help people with his inventions and there was nothing that would stop him until he managed to make his inventions work. And if his invention surprised the judges in the competition and managed to win first place, maybe Y/n would not have to settle for a life in the country while her father could work on his "crazy gadgets".

The young woman stroked the horse's copper-brown coat while her father checked the bag with some tools.

"Be careful on your way, Dad." Y/n hugged him and helped him onto his horse.

"I'll be back in a few days, don't worry about me!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

The next day, Y/n awoke in high spirits, hoping that her father's trip to the city would be smooth and without danger. She put on a simple blue dress and headed for the kitchen, but before she could prepare breakfast, a knock on the door echoed through the house, along with a voice she knew well. On tiptoe, Y/n reached the door and looked through the peephole, seeing Gaston from an unfavorable angle.

"My dear Y/n! Are you home?" Gaston thickened his voice and puffed out his chest, even though no one could see him, "I have an offer you can't refuse!"

The young woman took a deep breath and opened the door with a fake smile on her lips. "Good morning, Gaston. Don't you think it's a little early for one of your proposals?"

"Oh, my beautiful lady, it's never too early for my irrefutable proposal!" Gaston said as he walked past Y/n and sat down in the dining room chair. "You know, my dear, I think you've noticed by now that I'm the best suitor in the village. It would be a shame for you to let me go. And lately, I've been thinking of certain ways to take our relationship a step further."

"Our relationsh–" The young woman's speech was interrupted by Gaston, who abruptly rose from his chair and spoke again.

"Think about it, a little house in the country, a small herd of cattle, a plantation, seven, no, ten children with my beautiful face, and you know what else I see?" Gaston looked at Y/n, but before she could answer, he continued, "My beautiful wife greeting me after a day's hunting.”

"You've been using your imagination a lot..." the young woman whispered to herself.

"And do you know who my wife is that I see in this beautiful future of mine?" Gaston approached the young woman, pressing her against the wall.

"How could I imagine?"

"It's you, my beautiful Y/n."

"Oh, Gaston!" Y/n held back the urge to make an expression of disgust at the scenario the man in front of her was describing, "I'm... flattered...? Yes, flattered by such affection, but I think this is wrong, you know, I think you've made a mistake.”

"How can I be wrong? You're the only one in this village whose beauty is on my level.”

"Beauty? Is that all you care about?" Y/n looked at him confused, she knew Gaston was shallow and self-centered, she just didn't get that he was trying to get her to marry him just because she was "the most beautiful girl in the village".

"And what else should I care about?"

"Well..." The young woman took a deep breath, "I think it's time for you to go... oh, I just heard Lefou say he's spotted a huge, fast deer that can't be caught!”

"A huge, fast deer that can't be caught?" Gaston's eyes widened. "Well, call your crazy father later so we can decide about our marriage."

"That won't be necessary because I'm not marrying you!" Y/n closed the door and locked it with all the locks her father had created. Ignoring Gaston's cry that she would be his one day, the young woman turned, leaned her back against the door, and slid to the floor.

Marry Gaston? It was a terrible nightmare. Not even if Gaston was the last person on earth would Y/n marry him. She had so much to do, so many places to explore, so many people to meet. And if she was going to get married, it certainly wouldn't be to someone as shallow as Gaston; she wanted someone who really liked her and her personality, not her looks.

The girl slowly got up, unlocked the door, and looked outside her house to see if the man had already left and wouldn't come back when he realized the huge deer was a lie. She did, however, notice a familiar copper brown horse galloping quickly toward her house.

"Phillipe?" She left the house, closing the door behind her, and walked toward the animal. "Where's my father, Phillipe?" The girl said, noticing her father's absence and the horse's exhilaration. "Phillipe, take me to my father, please!" Desperate to think of the worst that could happen to her father, the young woman pulled out the cart containing her father's invention and quickly mounted the horse, asking him to lead her down the path to where her father was. Phillipe raced through the dark paths of the forest, causing Y/n to shiver at the eeriness of the forest, while her mind wandered far away, worried about her father's current situation.

Phillipe began to slow down as a huge castle appeared on the horizon. It was so large and terrifying that it looked like something out of a horror book, though it seemed to blend into the desolate landscape around it. But perhaps what intrigued Y/n most was that she had never heard anyone in the village talk about the place ⸻ and it intrigued her even more because the castle didn't seem to be secret at all.

Y/n dismounted and looked around, trying to find the courage to open the gate in front of her. She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't afraid of this dark, unknown place. But the important thing there wasn't to prove her courage, but to find out where her father was. The gate was cold and made a terrible noise when it opened, but that didn't stop her from continuing.

"Hello!" The young woman said loudly as she entered the castle. "Is anyone here?" She narrowed her eyes, trying to see in the pitch black, but quickly found a lit candelabra. "I'm sorry to barge in uninvited, but I just came to get my father! Please... help me find my father!" Y/n walked aimlessly through the castle, following only her faint intuition of where he might be. "Hello? Is anyone there?" She spotted a staircase that seemed to lead to the top of one of the castle's towers. "Dad, are you there?"

"Y/n, my daughter?" Her father's weak voice called out.

Quickly, Y/n left the chandelier on the stone near the wall and ran to her father, who was trapped. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"My dear daughter..." the girl's father coughed before continuing, "You must run before he arrests you too..." Before the girl could say anything, footsteps echoed through the room.

"Who's there?" She looked around for the person who had just entered the scene.

"I'm the one asking the questions, impertinent girl." The stranger's gruff voice sent a shiver of fear down the young woman's spine.

"Please let my father go!" The girl pleaded.

"I'm not in the mood for that."

"What? How can you be so cruel? Can't you see he's in bad health?"

"He should have thought twice before he broke into my castle."

"Please let him go! I promise we will never see each other again!"

"Empty promises. I'm not really interested in that."

"Then..." the young woman took a deep breath, "let me take his place."

"My daughter! Don't do this!" her father said with tears in his eyes. How could he lose his daughter right before his eyes.

"Things are getting more interesting..." the person in the darkness laughed. "A fair trade, the old flesh for the new... uh, I'll take that trade, impertinent girl."

Before Y/n could speak, her body was thrown into a cell. The young woman quickly approached the iron bars and watched as her father was brutally removed from where he lay. Her father screamed her name and tried to get away from the person, but it was impossible to escape.

In the darkness, the girl could see the castle owner's back. The broad shoulders were adorned with black lines that ran the length of his back and, most shocking to the young woman, the four muscular arms that protruded from the side of his body.

Y/n was not only the prisoner of a shady castle owner with a serious personality problem but also of a giant monster with four arms who could finish her off with a snap of his fingers.

Minutes later, the owner of the castle reappeared and abruptly opened the door to the cell Y/n was in. The girl looked up at him, her eyes watering, afraid of what might happen to her from this moment on.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to follow me?"

"Where are we going?" she asked confused and scared as she followed the four-armed man.

"The basement..." his voice came out loud and clear, making the young woman shudder. "Shall I take you to a room, or would you rather stay in the tower?"

The girl had no answer, just followed him through the dark corridors of the castle.

"What's your name?" Y/n asked without thinking and quickly pressed her lips together, regretting her sudden action.

"Dinner will be served at eight." He said, opening a door at the end of the corridor, "If you don't come, you won't eat."

"Do you want me to have dinner with you?" the young woman asked him incredulously.

"It's either that or starve to death. You're lucky I'm giving you a choice..." he rolled his (four) eyes.

"I'm not having dinner with you!”

"THEN STARVE!" The four-armed man shouted angrily, frightening the girl, and slammed the door with a loud bang.

The young woman stared at the door in front of her, feeling tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She began to feel overwhelmed and staggered to sit on the bed. She had lost the two most important things to her on the same day: her father and her freedom. Now, she would have to live with an arrogant and rude being. Slowly, she raised her trembling hands to her face and wiped away the hot tears.

"Who's there?" she asked, startled when she heard a knock at the door. The girl got up and opened the bedroom door to find nothing there. She breathed a sigh of relief, but was startled to see a pot of tea and a cup in front of the door. "Tea?"

"Hello, Miss!" The cup said smiling, startling the girl.

"Itadori, what did I say about scaring our guest?" The teapot said, rebuking the cup's attitude.

"I'm sorry, Nanamin, and I'm sorry, Miss, for scaring you.”

"What... what's going on?"

"Forgive our rudeness," the teapot said, "I am Nanami Kento, I work as a mentor for the young Itadori Yuji, who is the younger brother of the master.

"Master?"

"Uh, Sukuna, the big guy with four arms."

"Sukuna..." Y/n whispered his name. The name actually suited him. "So this is like a magic castle?"

"You could say that," Nanami said, "Anyway, we came to ask you if you would like a cup of tea."

"If you don't mind, I'd love to." The teapot approached the cup and poured the warm liquid into it.

"Miss..."

"Please, just call me Y/n."

"As you wish, Y/n." Nanami said, being quite serious for a teapot, "I apologize for Master's inconsiderate and rude attitude."

"Mr. Nanami, please don't apologize for his actions, it's your master who should apologize, not you."

"She's right, Nanamin!" Itadori said with a cheerful voice, "My brother should stop being such a jerk and start learning not to be rude to people!"

"You two are quite different, Itadori," the young woman smiled at the cup in her hand.

"Let's just say I got the good genes from the family."

"Well, I'm afraid we've talked too much already, we have a feast to prepare. Come on, Itadori."

"Do you need any help?"

"Of course not, Y/n, you are our guest of honor!"

The young woman watched as the teapot and cup left the room, then threw herself back onto the bed. She had just been talking to a teapot and a cup... perhaps the things in there were not the most conventional she had ever seen in her life.

Filled with curiosity about the place, Y/n got out of bed and walked almost on tiptoe to the door, slowly opening it. She poked her head out of the room and looked around to see if anyone was guarding the door to the room she was in. When she realized that no one was there, she left the room, closing the door behind her, and began to wander around the castle with a curious look on her face.

This castle was certainly different from all the castles that appeared in the stories in the books she used to read. The decor was gloomy. The curtains looked as if they hadn't been opened for years, leaving everything in a darkness that the young woman was beginning to get used to.

Y/n climbed a flight of stairs and continued her exploration of the place. When she reached a dead-end hallway, she was about to turn around and return to her assigned room, but a faint glow from the slightly open door piqued her curiosity. Before entering the unfamiliar room, she looked around to make sure no one was around and entered, making as little noise as possible.

The darkness of the room prevented her from noticing the clutter and some upside-down furniture in the corner of the huge room, but also the glow of a beautiful rose near the glass door of the balcony that had captivated her. Before she could touch the glass that held the rose, Y/n felt a large, strong hand grab her wrist.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE?" Sukuna's hand closed tighter around Y/n's wrist.

"I was just–"

"I THINK YOU BETTER GET OUT OF MY WAY BEFORE I KILL YOU!" Sukuna let go of the girl's wrist, not caring how much force he used against her, and turned to look at the rose in front of him.

The words frightened Y/n more than Sukuna's tone. Fearing that the threat would become reality, the young woman ran as fast as she could, looking for an exit from the castle.

When she found the huge door, she opened it without a second thought, feeling an icy wind against her body. Her thin dress wasn't enough to keep her warm in the cold or protect her from the falling snow, but it was all she had and she wasn't going back to the castle just to find something to run away with ⸻ the chances of meeting Sukuna were high and something she didn't want at the moment.

A wolf's howl echoed through the forest, and Y/n tried to run as fast as she could in the snow. Her body was freezing more and more with each passing second, and her head was spinning since the only thing she had eaten during the day was the cup of tea Nanami had offered her. Dizzy, the young woman's vision blurred, and she stumbled over a branch that was in her way. Turning around, she saw a wolf staring at her with a hungry look and wished that the animal in front of her wasn't staring at her. But before she could get up and run away in a lousy attempt to save herself from a natural predator, Y/n noticed a huge figure coming up behind the wolf and picking a fight with the animal.

Gradually, the young woman felt her body tremble with fatigue and the cold, but she soon regained some consciousness when she felt large, muscular arms holding her. "You've come to kill me, Sukuna...?" her voice came out weakly.

"Shut up, you impertinent girl."

Before she could respond to Sukuna's words, the young woman felt her body give way completely, and everything went black.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

When Y/n finally regained consciousness, she felt something soft underneath her and a pleasant warmth, but the sound of an argument brought her headache back. Sukuna's voice, the only one she could recognize, was loud and angry, and he didn't seem to mind shouting.

"I SWEAR, GOJO, THE NEXT TIME YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH, I'LL MELT YOU INTO LIQUID WAX AND THEN BREAK YOU IN HALF.”

"Master, I'm sorry to bother you."

"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT'S WRONG, GETO?!"

"Miss has just woken up."

"So you finally decided to wake up?" Sukuna turned to the young woman, his four arms crossed in front of his broad chest, and approached the sofa where she lay.

"What happened?"

"You fainted"

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About three days."

"What?" The girl looked at him, startled by his answer. Could she have been unconscious for so long just because she hadn't eaten?

"It's been two hours at most, now stop complaining because the food is getting cold." Sukuna turned his back to the young woman, allowing her to notice several scratches along his length, surely acquired in his fight with the wolf.

"Excuse me, miss, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Gojo Satoru, currently your candelabra, but always at your service!" The talking candelabra approached the young woman, "If you would allow me, I would like to take you to the dining room, as some are incapable of doing such kindness!"

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Gojo," Y/n smiled slightly and got up from the sofa, following the chandelier into the dining room. She sat down at the end of the table laden with food and shivered slightly when she saw Sukuna join her in the meal, taking a seat at the other end of the table.

Dinner took place in deep silence, on the one hand there was Sukuna who didn't know how to start a conversation politely and on the other there was Y/n who was in an internal discussion with herself about Sukuna's heroic act of fighting a wolf hand to hand after she had run away. He saved her life even when he didn't have to ⸻ and even after he threatened to kill her.

When she finished her dessert, the girl picked up the glass bowl filled with water and a cloth from the table and slowly approached Sukuna, "Do you mind if I help you with those bruises?" she asked in a low tone, but audible enough for the man to hear.

"Whatever." Though he seemed indifferent to the girl's request, Sukuna moved and turned onto his back, giving her better access to his bruises.

"Does it hurt?" she asked as she dipped the cloth into the water and gently wiped the bruises.

"Not a bit."

"I'm sorry, I'm to blame for what happened to you.”

"I'm glad you know. If you hadn't had the stupid idea to run off in the middle of the night, I wouldn't have been hurt," he said in a rude tone.

"Well, I wouldn't have run away if you hadn't scared me and threatened to kill me."

"And I wouldn't have yelled at you if you hadn't entered the forbidden wing."

"You have never forbidden any wing of the castle, just like you never said I couldn't explore it." The young woman's words left Sukuna speechless. In fact, he had never forbidden her to go to his room. She had done nothing to deserve being cursed and threatened. "You should learn to control your anger. Otherwise, you'll only drive away those who love you." The room fell into such a deep silence that neither of them dared to speak for several minutes. When she had finished cleaning Sukuna's bruises, the girl placed the cloth on the table and turned to leave. "I think I'd better go back to my room. Have a good night," she whispered.

"Y/n..." Sukuna's calm voice brought the young woman to an immediate halt. It was the first time he had called her by name.

“Yes?”

"Have breakfast with me tomorrow."

"Was that supposed to be a request?"

Sukuna rolled all four eyes, "Could you have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

"Yes, we could." she smiled broadly, showing her teeth, amused by Sukuna's frustrated look, "I would love to, thank you for asking."

"Yeah... whatever." Sukuna looked away to some random point. "Go to sleep, impertinent girl."

“Good night, Sukuna.” The young woman smiled openly.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

When Y/n rejoined Sukuna the next morning, her first reaction was to examine the cuts on the man's back. The young woman felt guilty about the injuries, for if she had thought twice about what she was doing, the fight might never have happened, and Sukuna might never have been hurt.

Breakfast was eaten in silence, with discreet glances exchanged. For some reason, after being rescued by Sukuna, the young girl had a new vision of the four-armed monster. It's true that he was rude and arrogant most of the time, but there was something about him that had the potential to be a kinder being. Sukuna wasn't purely evil. She could see that at dinner last night when something started to blossom between them. Sukuna, on the other hand, tried to remember that the girl was kind to everyone around her. He was no exception to her kindness and sweet touches.

"I want to show you something." Sukuna said, controlling his tone, which surprised the young woman.

"What is it?" She said curiously.

"Could you..." he sighed deeply "Could you come with me?"

"Of course!" She smiled at Sukuna's attempt to be polite.

Sukuna led the young woman through the castle, which, unlike the day before, had its curtains and windows open and didn't look so frightening in the light.

"This is... an apology... for scaring you yesterday..." Sukuna's voice was lower than usual, and the tips of his ears turned red as he looked away from the girl in front of him. He certainly couldn't look into the young woman's eyes, not when he thought her eyes were as beautiful as the starry sky.

The four-armed man opened the doors in front of him, revealing to Y/n a vast library filled with books from floor to ceiling.

"Oh my! That's wonderful!" Y/n smiled and looked around, "How did you know I liked books?"

"A hunch."

"Sukuna..." The girl approached the man, "I accept your apology, and thank you for showing me this place. I admire you for trying to change." The young woman's hand reached Sukuna's upper right arm, and she gently smoothed the boy's skin under her hand, sending a shock through Sukuna's huge body. "So, which book shall we read first?" she asked after noticing the sudden and strange silence of the man in front of her.

“We?” Sukuna looked at the woman in disbelief.

"Yes, us!" Y/n smiled, pulling Sukuna with some difficulty to look at the books in the large library. "I think we started our relationship in a very bad and strange way, but I think we can change that... if you want to, of course."

"You are too good for this world..." Sukuna whispered.

"What did you say?" Y/n turned to Sukuna, puzzled by what the other had whispered.

"That you talk too much and that you're very curious," he crossed his four muscular arms.

"Aren't you the least bit curious about the world?"

"The world is a cruel place full of arrogant men who dream of being gods, I don't think that arouses my curiosity.”

"You have a very dark view of the world..." The young woman looked at him in surprise.

"It's just reality..." Sukuna shrugged.

"And why don't you try to change that reality?" The girl ran her finger along the back of the books, "Maybe if you looked for a new perspective, you might be surprised by the result."

"I have a feeling I don't have time for this anymore.”

"And why not? There's a whole world of possibilities out there, behind the bars of the castle."

"Do you think I've been stuck in the castle all these years because I want to be? Ever since they turned me into that four-armed monster, I've been hiding. What do you think would happen if I walked around the village like a normal person? People would hunt me down and try to kill me.

"I'm sorry, I hadn't thought of it that way..." Y/n stared at the floor as she clutched the book in her hands, ashamed that she had never thought of it from that perspective.

"Whatever"

"Why did you turn into a monster?" The girl's words were out of her mouth before she could think twice. "Oh, I'm sorry for being so pushy."

"An old witch cursed me..." Sukuna shrugged as he sat down on one of the sofas in the library.

"And there's no way to break the spell?"

"It's more complicated than you think..."

"Sukuna... why are you hiding under this rude and arrogant personality?" The young woman approached him and sat down beside him.

"I've always been like this, so stop giving me a hard time." He rolled his eyes and looked away from the girl.

"You can trust me, I won't tell anyone. Everything you tell me here will stay here." She put her hand on Sukuna's hand, which was resting on his thigh.

"Which book did you get?" he asked, diverting the subject.

"One of adventure and romance," the young woman smiled, respecting the man's decision not to talk about his past, "would you like to read it with me?"

Sukuna sat down on the sofa with a false expression of disinterest and watched as Y/n smiled excitedly as she opened the book, ready to tell her favorite story to the man next to her.

Neither Sukuna nor the young woman noticed the passage of time, and they were only slightly surprised when Geto, the clock, and Gojo, the candelabra, entered the library to announce that lunch was served.

They ate lunch and dessert in silence, both afraid to break the pleasant atmosphere between them. When they returned to the library to finish the story, the young woman noticed the snow falling outside the castle.

"Sukuna... instead of reading again, why don't we go outside and enjoy the weather?" The young woman suggested with a slight smile on her face.

"Do you want to go outside?"

"Come on, it'll be cool!"

After they were properly warmed up (this was the first time the young woman had seen the boy with some kind of cloth covering his upper body), they both went out side by side into the castle's huge garden. Slowly, the girl walked away from Sukuna, and suddenly, in her actions, she bent down and picked up a handful of snow in her hands, forming a ball, and then hit the four-armed man in the face.

"Is this a request for war?" Sukuna bent down to form two snowballs with his four hands.

"Are you telling me you're too old to have fun?" she smiled, hiding behind a tree as she made another snowball.

A snowball fight ensued, with the young woman laughing every time she hit Sukuna with a ball. Y/n ran through the snow, laughing awkwardly, until she felt her body thrown to the ground and pinned by a body more than twice her size.

"What? Have you run out of things to do, you impertinent girl?" Sukuna smiled sideways, bringing a blush to the girl's cheeks beneath him.

"If you stand over me like that, it won't be as much fun..." Y/n looked away.

"Ah, but I find it very funny," he laughed anasally. One of his hands reached for the girl's chin, pulling her face (gently) so that she was facing him again.

"You have beautiful eyes..." the girl whispered, but because of the short distance between them, Sukuna was able to hear her perfectly.

"All four eyes? Or just a pair?" He smiled provocatively but was secretly curious to hear the girl's answer.

"Hm, I meant all four."

Sukuna's heart skipped a beat and he felt a warm feeling grow in his chest. He knew from the moment he saw her that his heart had chosen her, it was as if it broke into song every time she appeared in his field of vision. He knew he was lost the moment she was kind enough to take care of a monster like him and tend to his wounds. But there was still a problem. There had to be reciprocity, and he knew it wouldn't be possible to be loved, not by someone like her. In the end, she was his salvation and his downfall.

Sukuna stepped down from the young woman and lay down on the snow beside her, looking up at the clear, cloud-filled sky. "My parents never loved me. They said I was useless, a scum, a terrible curse in their lives. They never cared about me or Itadori."

"You deserve so much more, Sukuna, I can see it now." Y/n turned her head to meet the man's face in profile. "It can't have been easy, but I'm glad that you're here now," by my side, she added mentally.

“Y/n…”

“Yes, Sukuna?”

"Is there anything you've always dreamed of doing if you were in a castle?"

"Ah, well, there's only one thing I always dreamed of when I read fantasy books..."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✶

"That dress looks magnificent on you, miss!" Shoko, the wardrobe, said with a slight smile on her face, she had chosen a long, voluminous yellow dress that looked like gold.

"I love the dress," the young woman smiled sweetly and smoothed the skirt with her gloved hands, "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. Thank you for helping me, Shoko."

"Go ahead, dear." Shoko said with her calm tone and a lazy smile on her lips, "Have fun with Master Sukuna."

Y/n left the room, feeling her heart beating hard against her chest. It was as if the organ was ready to jump out of her body and run away. Perhaps the girl was worried about the extent to which her feelings had grown since meeting Sukuna ⸻ and especially after the new vision she had after being saved by him. Though he had his monstrous appearance and rough manner to keep his vulnerability from being exposed, the girl knew that deep down, Sukuna could be good and kind.

"Not bad." Sukuna smiled sideways as he met the girl in the hall. He was wearing one of his prince suits, which had been transformed for this very situation.

"Can you really dance?" she asked, trying not to sound so doubtful about the supposed waltzing skills of the man in front of her.

"Since I was five years old." Sukuna replied, taking the girl's hand and placing it on his shoulder while holding her other hand tightly. His lower arms found a place around her waist together with the upper one that was already there. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She said with a smile.

The music echoed around the room, and Sukuna led Y/n, swaying from side to side until the girl got used to the dance moves. Their eyes met for a moment, and Sukuna lost himself in the depth and brilliance of the woman's eyes before him. The man had always found her beautiful, ever since that dimly lit night in the tower when they first met, she was certainly the most beautiful woman in his eyes, there was no beauty that could compare to hers. As time passed, Sukuna realized that her outward beauty was perhaps only comparable to her own inner beauty, which managed to be much more beautiful. Y/n was much more than a pretty face, her manner, her personality, and her admirable kindness and empathy were some of the things about her that enchanted him every moment he spent with her. And sometimes he thought that maybe he could have a place next to her, even with his monstrous appearance and questionable personality ⸻ she always made him want to be the best version of himself, even if he didn't know what that was yet.

"Y/n..." Sukuna's voice came out with a softness that startled him, "I want to take the chance to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything you want, I'm all ears."

"I..."

"MASTER! MASTER!" Gojo, the candelabra, ran toward the couple, who were lost in their own world.

"What is it, Gojo?" Sukuna's voice came out harsher than the tone he had used before.

"The castle is being attacked!" Gojo said in despair.

"By whom?" Sukuna's hands tightened slightly around the girl's waist, pulling her closer to his body.

"I think they are villagers, and your father is with them." Gojo turned to the young woman.

"My father? Is my father here?"

"Yes, but it looks like he's under arrest."

"Gojo, take Y/n to a safe place. If they want to come, let them come."

"What? But what about you, Sukuna?" the young woman looked at him worriedly.

"Don't worry, just do as I say." Sukuna slowly released the woman from his arms. "I'll take care of any disturbances, just stay safe."

"But I don't want to leave you."

"You're not leaving me, you're just protecting yourself from danger. That's what's best for you."

"I can decide what's best for me!"

"I'm well aware of that." Sukuna laughed weakly, "Just let me take care of it, and I'll get back to you safely."

"Promise me?"

"I promise."

The young woman followed Gojo to one of the farthest rooms in the castle, promising the chandelier that she would stay there until everything was settled. As soon as Gojo left, Y/n paced the room, thinking of a plan to rescue her imprisoned father. Sukuna and the castle staff would be busy fighting the townspeople, and it would be the perfect time for her to act in secret.

Determined, she opened the glass door leading to the balcony and assessed the distance; fortunately, she wasn't too high up to take a fatal fall. She opened the wardrobe and took out all the cloth she could find, tying the end of each into a tight knot to make a makeshift rope. With the rope in her hand, she threw it across the balcony, tying one end to the railing. A little clumsy, this being the first time she had done anything so radical, she jumped off the balcony, holding tightly to her rope, and climbed down calmly, looking straight up. Once on the ground, Y/n ran as fast as she could, looking for an exit ⸻ or entrance ⸻ that would lead her to the castle gates.

"Dad!" she cried in a low tone so as not to draw attention to herself when she spotted a cart stopped near the entrance to the castle.

"Daughter?" Her father's weak voice caught her attention.

"Dad!" she ran to the wagon, worried. "Are you all right?"

"I wonder if you're alright! Did Gaston manage to save you?"

"Gaston?" she asked as she searched for a stone to break the lock.

"Yes! When I returned to the village, I asked Gaston and the others to help me free you from that monster."

"Dad, Sukuna is not a monster!" The girl used all her strength and smashed the stone against the padlock, breaking the object and freeing her father.

"How is he not a monster, dear?"

"He's kind and brave, he can be polite when he wants to be. I realized that he's not a monster." The young woman hugged her father.

"Oh dear, you're in love with him..." the older man said more like a statement than a question.

"What? No, we're just friends." She looked away, embarrassed by her father's words.

"I think we'd better stop Gaston then, he's come with the intention of killing him," her father said worriedly.

"What?" she looked at her father wide-eyed, "Father, stay here, please!" The woman grabbed the hem of her dress and ran to the castle entrance, watching the chaos unfold around her. The townspeople were fighting the castle furniture, which was actually its bewitched inhabitants.

"Miss!" Gojo's voice caught the young woman's attention. "You're supposed to be in your room. What are you doing here? Master Sukuna will kill me if he finds out you're not safe!"

"I have to find Sukuna," she said desperately, climbing the stairs, "Gaston will attack him, I can't let that happen!"

"But Miss, that's dangerous!" Gojo tried to stop the girl, but to no avail.

"And Sukuna is in danger!"

The young woman ran until her feet hurt, and when she reached the hall where she and Sukuna had danced minutes before, as if they were the only two in the world. However, the sound of a gunshot and an agonizing scream caught the girl's attention and pulled her out of her thoughts.

“SUKUNA!”

"Y/n?" Sukuna turned to the girl, looking frightened, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Gaston..." the young woman whispered as she saw the brunette stand up and point his gun in Sukuna's direction.

Without thinking, the young woman ran up to Gaston and threw herself on him, knocking the gun out of his hands. Y/n stood up and threw the gun out of Gaston's reach.

"Oh, my beautiful lady! I've finally found you! Your father has been worried about your disappearance!" Gaston stood up with a smile, "If you'll excuse me, I have a monster to kill!"

"He's not a monster, Gaston!"

"Oh dear, don't tell me you're going to defend that monster?"

"Like I said, he's not a monster. And if anyone is the monster here, it's you, Gaston!"

"What did you say?"

"That you are the monster here!"

"You bitch–" Before he could finish his speech, Gaston punched Y/n in the face, and as the girl fell to the floor in surprise at the sudden impact, the man kicked her in the stomach, sending her rolling across the floor of the hall. And before Gaston could do anything, Sukuna punched him in the face.

"I'll make sure you never lay a finger on her again." Sukuna grabbed Gaston's neck and led him out onto the balcony.

"Please! Please don't kill me!"

"You should have thought twice before you touched her with your filthy fingers."

"Sukuna!" The young woman's voice made Sukuna lose focus on the man he was holding by the neck. "Don't kill him!"

"But he-"

"Please"

Sukuna took a deep breath and looked back at the man, who was almost out of breath. Sukuna left Gaston on the ground, coughing to catch his breath as he turned and headed for the girl on the ground, but something hit him in the side of his body. He staggered backward in fear, seeing the dagger in his waist, and fell with someone else. Gaston, who was behind Sukuna, overbalanced and fell off the balcony, letting out a pained and desperate scream.

"SUKUNA!" Y/n ran over to the man crouched on the ground.

"Are you all right?" Sukuna asked, reaching for the young woman's warm cheeks."You should be safe. Why are you here?"

"I was scared..."

"How could an impudent girl like you be afraid?" The man smiled provocatively as he lay on his back on the floor, feeling the blood run down his side.

"I went to save my dad," Y/n controlled the urge to cry, "and I wanted to know if you were okay."

"Did you really think I would lose to a guy like that?"

"Sukuna... I'm scared..."

"It's okay, I'm here. I promised I wouldn't leave, I'll keep that promise."

"I want to be with you... by your side." The young woman leaned down, resting her cheek against the man's bare chest.

"Y/n... I have something to tell you." Sukuna felt his heart beating heavily against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"Do you..." Y/n stood up in surprise and looked at Sukuna, "Do you love me?"

"Very much."

"I... I love you too." A broad smile formed on the girl's lips.

Sukuna's hand reached Y/n's face before reaching her neck and pulling her into a soft kiss. Sukuna's heart, which had been celebrating the mutuality of the girl's feelings, melted as soon as the young woman's soft, delicate lips met his ⸻ a warm, comfortable feeling settled in his chest. When they pulled away, Sukuna found his forehead on hers, and their breaths became one. Slowly, Y/n pulled away and opened her eyes, surprised by the sight before her.

"Sukuna... you..."

"What about me?" The man looked uncertainly at the woman before him.

"You no longer have four arms and four eyes!"

"What?" He stood up quickly and looked down at himself. The wound from Gaston's dagger had disappeared, as had a pair of arms. Around him, the castle was angelic and glowing again, shedding its monstrous appearance.

The spell was broken.

And he was free again.

"Thank you..." Sukuna hugged Y/n tightly.

"Why do you thank me?" The young woman broke the hug and got up from the ground, standing in front of Sukuna.

"For loving me even when I was a monster." His voice was lower than usual. Maybe he wasn't quite used to all this new feeling.

"As I said, you deserve many of the good things the world has to offer."

"Speaking of which, I think we can get to know the world now, as you said, look for new perspectives."

"We?"

"And why shouldn't we?"

"You really want to take me with you to see the world?" Y/n looked at him excitedly.

"I promised to stay by your side, didn't I? And by the way, I don't think I could have a better partner than you to look for a new perspective on things." Sukuna smiled and pulled Y/n around her waist, pressing their lips together once more in a sweet, quiet kiss. "I want you by my side, forever."

"If you thought that impertinent girl would ever let you go, you thought wrong." Y/n wrapped her arms around Sukuna's neck, bringing their faces closer as she smiled, "I love you too much to let you go. Whether you're human or monster, I'll stay by your side, forever."

"Just so you know, there's no turning back. You'll be by my side forever from now on." Sukuna smiled teasingly.

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea." The young woman quickly sealed her lips with Sukuna's.

Sukuna was free of a spell that condemned him for his past actions, and now he would fall under the spell that was the love he felt for the girl in front of him without any regrets.

© SEONGHRTZ, 2024ㅤ⸻ㅤall rights reserved. please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

#꒰ 🪷 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ ⤿ 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ! #☆ . . seonghrtz !! #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna fanfic #sukuna ryomen fanfic #sukuna ryomen fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[aphroditesmoon]

lacrymosa [part 1]

clarisse la rue x fem!hecatecabin!reader [boarding school au]

PART 2

summary: you were sent to a prestigious boarding school to be rid from your father as a burden, but when strange things begins to happen upon your arrival, you wonder what truly lies behind the school walls. And as you attract attention from an infamous student, your plans to lie low is disrupted for the semester.

warnings: basically pjo plot in a different font, wlw relationships and what that entails, artist!reader. warnings will be according to the chapter.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: part 2 will hv more clarisse, also I've never been good at finishing series, but here's to an attempt! Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

The violent wind coming from outside of the car window sent a sharp shiver down your spine. You readjust your sitting position, pushing your school bag further away from you.

"Would you like to close the window, miss?" The driver asked, sparing a glance to your way. "No, it's fine." You assured him.

You have always liked the cold, it calms your nerves in a way. And for a day like this, you need all the help you can get.

Your father hadn't even been home to see you off for the last time. But you were kind of grateful for that. Usually you'd find it upsetting. But it was a clear decision that he purposely wanted you out of his line of vision when he had registered you into this boarding school.

Prestigious and highly acclaimed, he called it. Those were just polite words for strict and overbearing.

You have stopped wasting time trying to figure out why he hates you. Your mother dying from your birth was only the tip of the iceberg. Your whole existence is a burden to him, no matter how hard you've tried to change it.

I wonder if I'll even miss the hostility he's always given me, or the empty white walls of his mansions that have seen me at my worst and at my best. Those thoughts shouldn't matter anymore, you told yourself.

You've never been happy in that house, but familiarity, sometimes, was better than nothing. You fiddled with your crimson red tie that came with the uniform. What you could tell from the way you're dressed along with the down payment your father had to pay for you is that this place is an exaggerated babysitting place for rich kids with attitude problems.

You've been sent to many places away from your father. Summer camp, Spring camp, summer school and all that. But nothing this far away.

As per your research, the school seemed to be located far from the city and near the mountains up north. There are two buildings divided by gender that stands a few meters away from each other. Not that it'd be a problem for you. You've never been interested in boys much.

It was sunny earlier on the road, but the nearer you are to your destination, the cloudier the sky gets. "Looks like it's about to rain." You mumbled to yourself.

"That's normal here, miss. The weather here's always cold." The driver spoke from the front. You hadn't realized that he heard what you said.

It was a few minutes later when you finally see a large building from a distance. The view lived up to it's reputation even from a far. You feel your heart sinking into a stomach, the anxiety worsening.

This was it. This will be your home for the next 2 or 3 years.

Your driver speeds up once drizzling rain begins to fall down from the sky. You allow him to close the window from his seat and lower down the ac.

Feeling your fingers pruning up, you rub your palms together for warmth after reaching for your bag, pulling it closer to you.

The weather wasn't going to be a problem, and hopefully the people here won't be too.

---

When the car slowed down in front of the entrance, you let yourself take in the view of it all, girls ranging from your ages to younger, walking past of sitting by the stairs. All of them wearing the same thing that you are.

You didn't mean to make the driver open the door for you, but he did anyways as you're too distracted to stop him.

He moves straight to the back to retrieve your other bags as you step out of the vehicle. Some of the girls stopped and stared at you, knowing how rare it is to have new students here.

You couldn't tell what lies behind their long glares and gazes, but you had a feeling that they were eyeing you up like a predator does to their prey. Focusing on the large cream and white colored building staring you down, your heart whispered out a hopeful wish that you could just get back in the car and drive off.

You fix up your plaited skirt and turn towards your driver. "Do you need help to bring these in?" He asks.

You shook your head, immediately taking them into your hands. "No, I got it. But thank you." He smiled warmly as he shut the car hood close. "Have a great year, miss." He tells you politely before walking back to the driver's seat.

And that was the last familiar face you'll ever see for the rest of the semester. You lift up your hand in a tiny wave as you watch him reverse and drive off from the school ground.

You see him wave back before he finally disappears for good.

The staircase made it harder for you and your bags, and if you were expecting any kind eyes to offer some help, none came to it. Instead they all looked at you like you were stupid.

You counted the steps under your breath, stopping when you reached number 5, and then starting back again from 1. It was also an effort to keep your anxiety together, but at certain times like these, you wondered if breathing exercises are all lies made up by a psychiatrist to worsen someone symptom and continue to drive them crazy.

After a couple series of 1 to 5s, you finally made it to the top of the stairwell and into the open doors of the school.

If the rain outside hadn't been freezing your toes, inside was much more brutal. The school is air conditioned, of course it is.

When you said you liked cold, you didn't mean the frozen kind. The strawberry pink socks you're wearing aren't doing you any favors either as you breath out a tired sigh, full hands dragging your bags with you until you reach a tiny counter with the label "office" above the glass.

A teacher, or a guardian, sits inside, working on some paperwork. She looked up when she heard the rolling sound of the wheels on your bag and offered a small smile.

"You're new here, I take it?" You nodded your head and pursed your lips tightly. "Can I have your name?"

You gave her the information needed, from yoir name to your birth certificate. And once she's done compiling the necessary paperworks into a file, she stacks it in the shelves behind her.

"Here's your class schedule, and here's your dorm key." You slid the key onto your pocket and slipped the paper under your arms as you listened to her explaining how the dorm building is in a complete other side of this place, and that you'd have to drag your bags back down the lengthy staircase and walk another 6 minutes towards the other building on the left of the school. Not to be mistaken with the boy's dorms on the right.

You ignored the continuous staring from the other student as you forced yourself down again, and into the left.

The road to the dorm was nicely designed, a straightly drawn black and white concrete pavement in squares with grass on its side. It made the place look more homely. But of course, it wasn’t really gonna fool anyone.

The dragging became easier on the ground. You thanked the gods once you got to the other building once you spotted an elevator. Your first thought was, oh thank fuck for these rich assholes. And your second thought was, oh these are some real rich assholes.

There are less staring here since mostly everyone is already in school. You took your time walking once you're out of the elevator, reading the large signs of the dorm level names.

There are 20 levels to be accurate. And yours, unfortunately, is level 20.

You stood up straight in that elevator for what felt like a whole 10 minutes until it dinged open. Finding your room was much easier, you didn't have to walk very far to find your door. You used the key given to you to unlock the doors and pushed your bags into the room first before you.

You halted for a minute when you met with two strange girls from the inside.

Your roommates apparently have not gone to their classes yet and are still here. They looked at you expectantly as you stared right back.

"Uh-" your daydreams broke. "I'm new here." You announced.

One of the two laughed slightly and shook their head. "We know, we were waiting for you. I'm Harper, and this is Olivia." They extended their hands and you shook them without question.

"So, where'd you come from?" Olivia asks. She had beautiful green eyes and wavy blonde hair. Harper on the other hand, had dark hair and bold blue eyes. Next to each other, the two looks quite the pair. You began rearranging your bags on your side and taking out important things needed for your classes as you answer their inquiries. "New York."

"A city girl, that's nice. The difference here must be jarring." You snorted whilst you hang your clothes on to your small closet. "Very."

They walked out with you once you were done unpacking, leading you back to the school.

"The teachers won't mind you being late, with you being new and all that. But make a habit out of it and you'll get a penalty for it." Harper explained. "Penalty?"

They both nodded and kept on walking up towards the entrance. "Attendance is very important, this isn't public school, lying about health problems to get out of class or skip and disappear for more than 3 times, you could get expelled."

That is insane, you thought. "I didn't know they're that strict." Harper smirked and shrugged at that. "Yeah, I mean unless you're a legacy student, or your parents donate a lot for the school, you won't get many benefits."

Of course, even among the rich, the most privileged still get to escape justice and fairness. "Are you both legacy students?"

"No." Olivia snorted. "What's your locker number?" She takes a peek at your papers and moved right to your locker, opening it with ease.

"Thanks." You tell her while shoving your books inside of it.

"There aren't many legacy students here." Harper spoke from your side, referring back to your question from earlier.

"There are only certain families with histories deeply rooted within the school walls, like Luke Castellan or Silena.”

Your brows raises at those names as the three of you leaned back on the lockers. "Let me guess, they're brats who can get you expelled?"

"Worse." Olivia corrected with a sarcastic smile. "They can do whatever shit they want to you, and will not get expelled for it."

"But don't worry, half of them are decent, just don't piss them off and they'll leave you alone." You nod in understanding, knowing that it was your plan anyways, even if they hadn't warned you.

"Luke's not even entitled or mean, he's actually pretty nice. He helped me take out a book from the library once." Olivia added, wiggling her brows.

"You're just saying that because you like him." Harper scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Even if I didn't, he's still not an ass." The bell rang the minute her sentence was finished. The two girls groaned and started saying their goodbyes before they parted ways to attend their classes.

"Meet up back for lunch?" Harper initiates. "Sure." You told her before following her directions to pre Calculus.

Your brain still hadn't fully registered what just happened. You just made two new friends, and that is a relief. Though you enjoy your alone time along with some quiet and peace, that doesn't mean you don't get lonely or feel isolated. Having bad social skills doesn't exactly equate to joy wanting a social life at all.

You walk into the half filled classroom and scan the space for an empty seat.

Some kids up front started whispering to themselves as they watched you from the corner of their eyes, but none of them tried speaking to you directly.

You flinch when you heard the teacher's voice, booming through the classroom as she enters right behind you. "You're the new girl?" She drops her bag onto her chair and looked you directly in your eyes.

"Yes." The teacher hummed to herself and turned towards her other students. "Do we have any empty seats at the back?" She asks loudly.

"There's one, but it's Chase's." A boy responded. "He's not in today, is he?" He shook his head at her.

"Alright, you can sit there temporarily, I'll ask the boys to bring in an extra table and chair for you tomorrow." You thanked her and walked right to your seat.

Grateful to be seated at the last row by the window, you slumped against the chair, relaxing your back.

The kids at the front stop wasting their time twisting their heads to stare at you, and as the class begins, you tell yourself that maybe this isn't as bad as you thought it'd be.

-

Your first class ever had been less exciting than expected. You had spent the last 20 minutes of the class trying not to doze off.

Barely any sleep came to you last night, considering how nervous you were for this day. All the worries you've had were for nothing, so far it's all been a bore, and all you wanted to do was to crawl back on to your bed at home and escape all of this strangeness.

Get your shit together, you scolded yourself. You've been all alone your whole life, how different is it now?

The girl on the seat next to yours had craned her neck in your direction, trying to peek through your notebook. Instinctively, you closed over it with your arm.

She did not need to see how there are zero equations in your notebook, all replaced with doodles of flowers and frogs.

When all is hopeless, your passion is where you turn to. Life is suffering in parts, but you find that being able to make it into art, makes the suffering less painful, or at least, more manageable.

Your father had never liked how you prefer to spend your time in art class over piano. In fact, when you were much younger, he even took the initiative to throw out all of your sketchbook. You had to find time to practice your drawing when you aren't at home, knowing his ignorance for your privacy.

But here, hopefully, you'll have ample time to draw and paint.

Once the class is dismissed, you make your way straight into the bathroom, trying to get into a booth before it gets crowded. You caught a glimpse of your reflection from the mirror and cringed at yourself. For some reason, even when you're not doing anything, the school air still finds a way to turn your hair frizzy.

You ran into the small space with open doors and knocked it shut as soon as you're in.

You could hear footsteps entering in right after you're done peeing. A cacophony of running sink water and empty chatter fills your ears as you stood up to fix your skirt and your socks.

The zip of your skirt seemed to have an issue getting stuck on a piece of string, holding it back from fully zipping up. You lifted it up higher and pulled the string out before using your teeth to rip it off of the zip and waving it onto the floor.

There was a moment of silence outside the door just before you were going to exit it. But a loud sound of slamming doors and laughter stops you at your place.

"Lock the doors." You hear another female voice command. She was not shouting, but she had a bold voice that seemed fit for a leader, straight to the point and confident.

Any noise of giggling or chatting immediately died down the moment the girl and her friends stepped in, and now you wonder if getting out would be a good idea at all. So you stayed quiet inside the bathroom.

Your palms are held against the door while you lean into it, trying to hear her clearer.

"What did I tell you last week?" The girl spoke again. She sounded upset or the second worst thing, disappointed.

Another voice rose up in response, meeker in comparison. "You said to have it by Monday."

"It's Wednesday today."

"But I have it now!" The other girl pleaded. "I don't care. I asked for it on Monday, you're two days late." The silence that came after her words was worrying. It was only when she spoke again that you felt your racing heart slowing down.

"You know what you're gonna do right now?" She asks. Silence. "You're going to hand me the money, and then you're going to give me 20 on the ground, right here."

20 what? You frowned in confusion. Money?

You expected resistance, begging, or even defiance from the other girl, but you only heard a resigned sigh from the other side of the door.

The door creaked slightly. You tried to balance yourself away from it when you accidentally slipped. Your fingers reach for the door handle to pull yourself up, and just when you thought it couldn't get worse, the door slams back on its hinges. You cursed yourself internally.

"What the fuck." The first girl snapped. "Booth number 2." She called out. "Get out of there right now or I'll break the door now."

Your breath hitches at the direct interaction and your hands hesitate to unlock the booth. But you'd rather get it over with than risk being taunted in a toilet.

You unlatch the lock with your fingers and slowly pull open the door. The first face you're met with is the one you assume who had addressed you seconds ago.

She had a naturally terrifying expression, with her brows knitted together and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. The bronze skinned girl connecting her gaze to yours.

The staring did not last as she soon started eyeing you up and down like she's analyzing every bad decision you've ever made.

But when she lifts her head back up to your face, you noticed that her frowning had lessened slightly. "You're new." She states aloud.

"How'd you know?" You ask her. "Anyone who's been here for more than a week would have the mind to run out of the bathroom as soon as they heard me." She answered coolly, taking a few steps nearer to you.

"What's your name?" She asks you. You tell her your first name.

She hums in acknowledgement before repeating your name, letting the syllables roll against her tongue. "I assume you haven't been making any friends yet, have you?"

You tried not to look to her side at the girl that was currently half squatting on the floor. "You're making her do push ups." You think aloud, ignoring her question.

"What? Oh, her? She's not important, and she's lucky i’m only making her do 25." The girl waved off like it's a silly joke. "I thought you said 20?" The other girl muttered under her breath.

She snapped her head at the younger girl and glared at her. "One more word and I'll make it 30."

Turning her head back to you, the anger she bore dissolved. "It's a good thing you've met me," she started. "In this place, it's all about making the right type of friends, just in case and not enemies."

"I don't plan on making enemies." You tell her. She was trying to intimidate you. Or at least, ruffle your feathers.

"No one does, but they just do it anyways without realizing." She answers with a shrug.

"And I suppose, if I'm with you, I won't fall down that road?" You didn't mean for it to sound insulting or sarcastic, but when she raised a brow in response, a ghost of smirk over her face, you realized that it was too late to take back your words.

"No, you won't. Because I am that enemy that you should be avoiding." You wondered if she is one of those people that's all talk and no bite, but the way she's folding her arms together as she stands inches away from you, radiated something much more sinister than you'd expect from a typical bully.

"I have to go." You say suddenly, a sense of urgency filled you when you remembered that Harper and Olivia would be waiting for you in the cafeteria. "I won't tell anyone about this." You added, trying to make sure there'd be no bad blood between the two of you.

"You can tell anyone you'd like, it wouldn't matter." She replies, stepping away from you to lean her back on the sink counter.

You clicked your heels away from her and made your way out, taking off the locks before you could swing the door open. You could feel her gaze on you as you left, but didn't twist your head back to confirm.

It didn't matter who she was. A few hours from now you'd forget you even met her, and just like always, you'll blend in with the crowd and be out of her sight.

---

"Where have you been?" Harper inquired once you sat next to her.

She had half a donut in her mouth as she asked this. "Don't talk with your mouth full." You chided her. She groans and mumbles something else you can't understand but chews the food until she's finished before she speaks again.

"We waited for like 10 minutes, you know recess isn't that long." You took a bite of your own sandwich and shrugged at her like nothing. "I was in the bathroom, there was a line." Harper nodded in understanding, but Olivia made a face of disgust as she toyed with her food.

"I hate the bathroom here, the dorm bathrooms are better." She said.

"What if you really need to pee?" You ask in disbelief. "I hold it in."

"What if you had explosive diarrhea?"

"Well, that would suck." Harper chokes out laugh, trying not to spit out her donut. You joined her with a chuckle, shaking your head at your friend.

"Your fear of public bathrooms will be the death of you." Harper quipped after taking a long sip of water. "I think it makes me stronger." Olivia argues.

"Well, I think it's gonna mess with your bladder." The brunette argues back. You listen to their back and forth until the bell rings again, indicating the end of recess.

You were a bit bummed that your classes aren't aligned with theirs, your nerves are much less triggered when they're around, a sense of familiarity of a sort.

Though, there was nothing you can do about it. You say your goodbyes at your lockers and parted ways again for your last 2 classes. The rest of school time was made bearable with the reminder that you at least shared rooms with your two new friends, and so there was nothing to worry about at all actually.

A part of you feels safer when you're around them. Though your mind is constantly bringing up the girl you've met in the bathroom. Her brown eyes and the way she looked at you.

She didn't strike you as someone admirable, but you had to admit, her features were remarkable. You had pulled out a pencil and a paper for a quick sketch of her eyes during Literature class.

It only hit you then, that you haven't even asked for her name. She knew yours, but you didn't know hers.

What would it matter? You asked yourself. If all goes well, you'll never see her for the whole semester at all. And she'd be nothing more than another face in your sketchbook.

You paid attention to the lesson, but your hands just needed something to work on while you were listening. Tapping your fingers repeatedly on the table was getting old, so you got productive and drew up a little something.

You had managed only half of her face on the paper by the time the class ended. Slipping the book into your tote bag, you follow the rush of students leaving class and heading back to your locker to switch your books for the last class.

-

It was 8pm when you were finally in the dorm elevator, back against the cold silver metal, relieving the warmth that radiated off of your body. The gym here is open all day and night, and even if the only equipment they had was a treadmill, you intended to utilise them fully.

Working out helps to take your mind off things, and it tires you out enough to help you sleep easier at night.

And so while everyone went back to their dorms, you stashed your bag by the gym entrance and tied your hair back up and went ahead for a good 40 minutes run.

You kept your eyes on the elevator level, watching the number get higher and higher until it eventually reached 20. It dinged open and allows you out with your poor tired feet and worn out expression.

It was quiet on the top floor, nothing like you’d predict what with the hour still being early. The small light bulbs above your head led you straight down the long corridor until you reached your room.

You took out your key and slashed it into the keyhole and heard your friends’ voices evolving from muffled noises into a clearer state as you pushed the door open.

You expected the girls to scold you over your absence again, as you do make it a habit of going places without letting them know, but what you didn't expect once you enter your dorm room, is for them to genuinely fret over your late arrival.

"You can't just disappear without telling anyone!" Olivia exclaimed, her large green eyes staring into your soul as you took your uniform off. "I was at the gym." You explained.

“In your school clothes?” Harper scrunches her nose in disagreement. “Hey, it's convenient.” You retorted.

"Were there other people there?" You shook your head no. "Well, maybe next time we'll go with you. I know you're not used to the unspoken rules here, but there are seriously more creeps than you can imagine in this place."

They were both sitting on their beds as they're talking to you, fully dressed in their matching pajamas like twins.

Harper had a face mask on as she rested her head on her pillows, her elbows used to help her sit up. They had music playing in the background, a song you recognized as Tourniquet by Evanescence. “I love this song.” You say randomly.

“Don’t change the subject.” You look over at them in confusion once you're finished changing.

"I didn't know it'd be such a big deal, I'm doing what everyone else does."

"I know, but I'm just saying, maybe we should all just play it safe for the semester. We don’t want another Samara accident." Harper reasoned.

You walked over to sit by the edge of her bed and asked her who's Samara.

"Samara Turner. She's a senior from last year. Some kid found her passed out by the back garden, her eyes were rolled back, and she was basically frothing from the mouth. When the ambulance came, it was too late. She was gone."

“Are you just making this up to scare me?” You ask them suspiciously. “No!” Olivia denies. “It's a real story, the teachers covered it up real good for future students, not even the news got a hold of Samara's fate.”

"Does anyone know what really happened?" You questioned them.

"The police ruled it as an overdose, but I can't imagine any type of drug running through her veins. And also, in the garden? That's just weird." Olivia says, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You guys think someone drugged her?" Harper shrugged and pursed her lips, inconclusive.

"Either way. It happened when she was alone. What was she even doing in the garden late at night? No one knows. But everyone will point their finger right back at her and say it's her own fault." You understood what they meant. This place isn't as picture perfect as it seemed, just like any other place, it has its holes and flaws.

"Okay, the next time I'm going anywhere other than my classes, I'll let one of you know." Harper and Olivia smiled and looked relieved. You could tell they were satisfied by your answer. "And if we're going anywhere, we'll tell you."

"Okay." You assured them.

You've never really known what it was like to have people worry over you this way. Most of the time, people were grateful when you minded your own business and hid away. And sure there is a little bit of annoyance that comes with being scolded like a child, but it also felt good to have someone care for you this way.

You folded your knees onto your chest, repositioning yourself on her bed. It is only after you move closer to her that you notice your sketchbook on her side table.

"Where'd you find that?" You jolted up, eyes widening..

"Oh, this is another thing we wanted to ask you about." Harper exclaimed, stretching her arm towards the book and passing it over to you. "Clarisse came over here like 15 minutes ago, said you dropped this."

"Who's Clarisse?" You frowned.

"Oh that's funny, you don't know who Clarisse is, and yet she's talking about you like you've been friends for ages." Harper says it like a mother hen catching her daughter red handed, but you're only further confused.

"No, seriously. Who's Clarisse?"

Olivia sighed from her bed and waved her hand exaggeratedly. "Curly hair, dark skin, looks like she can dropkick you in 6 different ways." Instantly, something in your brain clicked.

"Oh, her." Their expression changed into curiosity as they await for you to add more.

"I...met her in the bathroom. She was making a kid do pushups. But we barely talked, I just left."

"Yeah well, she asked where you were when she came by, and we told her we didn't know. And then she gave me this." You opened the book and found that the page with her face on has been ripped away.

Something eats away at your heart when you saw the torn pages, but you said nothing and instead just tossed the book onto your own bed. "What's her deal anyways." You huffed.

"Legacy students, they're all a little entitled like that, her more than others." Olivia answered.

"Oh, she's entitled alright." You muttered to yourself and rolled your eyes.

"I think I'm just gonna go catch up on homework now, unless there's anything else you two want to nag me on." Harper snorted and shoved you playfully but still smiled.

"No, no more nagging." Olivia concluded.

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