#and in the end they didn’t have to face that tragedy

[lemonlover1110]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

Toji Fushiguro

Pairing: Firefighter!Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: A question has the power to ruin a whole marriage. After you ask if he's having an affair, Toji is so upset that he can’t look at you for too long. Until a tragedy happens and he’s reminded that he can’t fathom the thought of living without you.

Warnings: MDNI, firefighter!Toji, talks of cheating, house fire, silent treatment, hurt/comfort, smut, oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, choking, breeding kink, cream pie, shower sex, semi-public sex (fire station bathroom), pregnancy reveal (at the end)

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“I missed you, honey.” Toji plops down on the bed, throwing his arm over you. You bite down your lip, holding back tears as you think of the worst. Your husband is a firefighter, he’s always worked long irregular hours– But he feels distant lately, leading you to believe something is up. Something that’s heart wrenching, even if you’re just wrapping your head around it.

You really can’t help but think of the worst, even when Toji has shown you nothing but love. He’s the best husband you could ask for, yet you find yourself scrolling through his phone while he sleeps. The only thing that Toji’s done is work… Yet you wonder if he has someone else since he’s barely home. The fact that you’ve read how firemen cheat a lot doesn’t really help you either.

His thumb begins to caress your cheek before he whispers, “Are you asleep?”

You don’t answer, letting him believe that you are. He whispers the same three little words before kissing your forehead, making it infinitely harder for you to hold back your tears. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, holding back a sob as tears begin to stream down your face. You can’t fight them back no matter how hard you try. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks, feeling your hot tears on his fingertips. “Did something happen? Why are you crying?”

“I’m fine.” You answer, turning so you’re not facing him. But it’s obvious that you’re not fine, if you were you wouldn’t be crying. Toji wouldn’t usually push you to tell him if you’re in a bad mood, but you’re crying so something is clearly wrong and he wants to help. He wonders if it’s something he did wrong, and if it’s that, he wants to fix it.

“Let’s talk so I can help you.” He sounds concerned, and you begin to feel dumb for crying. Toji pulls you close to him, kissing your shoulder, his hands going under your shirt so his thumbs can trace lazy circles on your skin. 

“Toji…” You begin, and he patiently waits for your next words. Time feels eternal to him, wondering what’s bugging his precious wife. You sit up on the bed, taking a moment to gather your feelings. You don’t want to become a sobbing mess while speaking to him.

“What’s wrong, honey?” He asks, following your lead and sitting up as well. He rubs your back, attempting to help you calm down. You take a deep breath before you spit the words out, knowing that dragging it out will make the moment even more interminable for the both of you.

“Are you having an affair?” The words are incoherent since you talk too fast. Toji furrows his brows, confused as to what you said. He asks you to repeat what you just said, slowly, and you regret repeating it so he understands. 

“Am I…– What?” His face contorts, offended by the mere question. The mere thought would be a disgrace to Toji, and he’d repent a thousand times before thinking again. You bite your tongue, not daring to speak again. He scoffs, “This is… Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t waste a second, but that doesn’t fix the mess that you just caused. You don’t know what you’ve just caused, it could just be the downfall of your marriage. Maybe any other time Toji would be understanding and reassuring, but you’re not seeing that he’s doing all this for you.

“Do you really think so little of me?” He begins and you frantically shake your head, wanting to make it clear that you didn’t mean it. Your words won’t leave your throat though, and that’s not helping your case. He scoffs again. “I devote my whole life to you, and this is what you ask me…”

“Toji, I– I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve just been seeing a lot of how firemen tend to cheat, and you’ve just been away lately so… I just thought–” You’re all over the place, and Toji grows even more annoyed with every sound that leaves your lips. He’d never think that he would feel like this about your voice, but he can’t stand to listen to it.

“So you just thought I’d be a dirty piece of shit and do that to you. Got it. So nice to see what the love of my life thinks of me.” Toji answers, standing up from the bed and grabbing his pillow. He can’t sleep next to you tonight. The couch will do for tonight… And for a couple of days after that. 

Your bottom lip quivers as you think of how to stop him and how to properly apologize. You’re in the wrong, you know you are, but you can’t speak up. Toji sighs before he begins to walk out of your bedroom. You’ve had many arguments, but never did they end up with him walking out of your shared bedroom and going to the living room to sleep. He tries to talk it out before going to sleep, and if that doesn’t work, you sleep with your backs facing each other (even though in the morning you wake up cuddled up). He’s clearly upset, and you have no idea how to solve it this time.

He slams the door shut, and you blankly stare for a minute before laying back down on the bed. The crying doesn’t stop though, instead it gets worse since you know you’ve fucked up.

Toji leaves the kitchen and goes to the backyard when you begin to walk to him. He leaves his morning coffee on the counter, a hot cup that he just served to get his morning started. You didn’t expect him to react this badly but you understand. If he had accused you of cheating, you wouldn’t be too forgiving either. 

A sigh leaves your lips knowing that your day just started but it’s already a shitty one. You pour yourself a cup of coffee before going to the glass sliding door to watch what your husband does. He cleans up anything that looks out of place, doing stuff that neither of you ever do. 

You start off your day without speaking to each other, and you think of ways to make it up to him. Thankfully, you have all the time in the world to think about what to do, until you finally land on cooking his favorite meal and taking it to his job. He works a long shift today, and he didn’t pack anything to go. Knowing him, Toji will just end up eating instant or something of that sort. He’s content with it but you know he’d prefer something made by you.

So you cook something for him, one of his favorite meals, saving up the dish that he absolutely loves for dinner. You never really liked the saying that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but it’s fitting for Toji. You make an effort to dress up and look good for him– In other words, you’re doing everything in your power to make him happy with you again. 

All eyes are on you when you get to the fire station. Toji seemingly didn’t hold back on your argument from last night, and you feel as if everyone is judging you. You can’t exactly be upset at him for it, you’ve been cursing yourself since last night for bringing it up. But you can’t help but feel insecure.

Lately you feel as if you’ve changed a lot from the woman that Toji loves, and the fact that he’s been working so much doesn’t really ease your nerves. Yes, you should’ve communicated with him better instead of straight up asking if he was having an affair, but you weren’t thinking straight when the question left your lips. It shouldn’t matter what they think anyway, you’re here to amend your problems, which half of their partners wouldn’t even bother.

You get to the kitchen, finding some of his co-worker but not him. Their eyes fall on the bag you hold, and they begin salivating at the mere thought of the food that’s inside. If Toji doesn’t want it, they’ll take it. 

“Is he in the training room?” You ask after a simple greeting. They nod in response, and you put the bag on the counter. You point at it, warning them, “That’s for Toji. Don’t touch it unless he doesn’t want it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They answer, mentally praying that Toji isn’t hungry– Or that he’s too mad that he rejects it. They don’t care about the cause, they just want to eat Toji’s food. 

Just as you expected, Toji works out in the training room, wearing his uniform pants and a black undershirt. He lifts himself up, a grunt leaving his mouth which lets you know that he’s been at it for a while. You don’t mean to interrupt him, leaning on the door frame watching him workout. It’s a rare sight… And it’s certainly doing something to you. You feel your face and body get warm, erotic thoughts filling your mind.

You force yourself to look away, you’re here to apologize to your husband, you can’t let other thoughts fill up your mind. Your main and only focus is getting Toji to forgive you. You end up clearing your throat, and Toji’s eyes land on you. He lets go.

“Why are you here?” He doesn’t bother to greet you. Your presence isn’t welcome today, at least that’s what he makes it sound like. He needs time away from you to calm down and gather his thoughts, but he can’t exactly do that with you here. “Are you keeping tabs on me now?”

“I’m just dropping lunch off for you, Toji. Nothing else.” You answer. You bite down your lip, knowing you should say more; you should apologize. You have no idea why, but apologies are so fucking hard. You know you’re in the wrong, but no matter how horrible you feel, admitting you’re wrong just doesn’t come easy. You did it last night without a problem, but today it’s hard.

“Is that all?” He asks, and you shake your head. You have more to say, you just have to take a moment before saying it. Toji watches you, waiting for your apology.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night. I shouldn’t have said that.” You say, and Toji isn’t satisfied with the answer. You shouldn’t have just said that, the thought shouldn’t have even crossed your mind. “I don’t know what came over me… I just feel so insecure as I get older and change. I’ve been changing in so many ways, and I feel so different from the woman that you once fell in love with.”

“And you just thought that I’m so horrible that the slightest change would make me look for someone else?” He’s getting even more upset. You have valid reasons to feel the way you’re feeling, and he partially understands but Toji can’t find himself to tell you that he somewhat gets it. He just hates that you even thought he’d do something like that to you when he would burn the world just to see you smile.

“It’s not like that, Toji—“ You take a deep breath. “I’ve just been in my head, and you’ve also been working a lot and I’ve felt you distant which doesn’t really help… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t understand how upsetting it is to hear my own wife say that. I’d do just anything for you and–” He begins but he can’t bring himself to finish his sentence. An exasperated sigh leaves his lips and he shakes his head. “I need time. Just leave. I’ll see you at home.”

“Toji…” You begin, but you end up nodding. “I left some food for you in the kitchen. Love you.”

He hums in response, going back to his work out. Now that stings. 

Toji regrets giving his wife the silent treatment the moment there’s an emergency in his home. His heart completely stops beating for a moment, regretting not talking to you for a couple of days. He feels as if the firetruck moves slower today, which makes him want to get out and run to you to assure your safety. 

A million thoughts run through his head, wondering what happened. But that’s not what bothers him the most. The thought of your last interaction ending in you telling him you love him and him not answering back will haunt him forever. If something happens to you, he’d never forgive himself.

There’s a couple of neighbors huddled up outside, watching the flames that are on the left side of the house. Toji doesn’t really have time to watch, he runs into the house to search for you. He feels as if his heart is in his throat, ready to leave his body until he finally finds out. You’re passed out on the bathroom floor but thankfully away from the fire.

He throws you over his shoulder and carries you out. He gets you to the paramedics, and stays by your side, knowing that everything else is under control. Time goes so slow yet so fast while the paramedics check you, and while you’re out of danger, he’s more nervous than before. The saddest tears spill from his eyes, yet they hold so much relief when he’s assured that you’re okay. The situation could’ve ended much worse, but thankfully you’re okay. 

Toji has many questions about the situation, wondering what could’ve possibly happened for you to pass out on the bathroom floor like you did. But he doesn’t worry about the details, he doesn’t care that half of his house is burned, he’s just happy that you’re safe. Your safety is all that matters. 

When you gain consciousness, you’re bombarded with love from Toji. Toji is off work for a week to make sure that you’re okay, after all, you did faint in the bathroom which caused half of your home to burn down. Toji’s love is weird though, at least compared to before. Toji isn’t verbal with his love, he shows it to you physically. However, the week that he stays by your side, Toji doesn’t touch you in any way. 

Toji views you as fragile, even though you assured him that you were okay after going to the hospital. It’s as if he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that you’re okay, and it irks you. Maybe it irks you more than it should because whenever you try to initiate something with him, he turns you down.

When you kiss his exposed shoulder, hugging his waist from behind, giving him some sort of hint that you need to feel his touch, he stops you. He cuts you off with a yawn, telling you that he’s too tired to do anything. It leaves you frustrated in so many ways– Not having sex isn’t the part that annoys you the most, it’s the fact that Toji is coddling you. 

Toji doesn’t let you do anything he considers mildly dangerous, and he won’t talk about any topic that might upset you. Your argument before the fire hasn’t been resolved yet since he dismisses it every time you try to apologize for it. 

Toji acts as if he’s guilty of something but he’s done nothing wrong. 

“What are you doing here?” Toji asks. Last time he said similar words, his tone was harsher, his anger clear, but right now he’s concerned. Did something happen? You look fine as you sip on some tea… He just can’t wrap his head around as to why you’re here.

“I think we should have a talk.” You answer. Maybe this could have waited until later, but he’s on a twenty four hour shift and you feel as if your thoughts are getting the best of you again. You watch as everyone scatters out of the kitchen, sensing that the topic that you’re going to talk about is something serious.

“You’re just here to keep an eye on me, huh?” He jokes, followed by a lighthearted chuckle. You roll your eyes and he begins to walk away, “I’m going to take a shower, we can talk at home.”

You stand up, following behind him, calling out to him, “Toji, c’mon. We both know that you’re not going to talk when we’re at home. It’s quick.”

Your words go ignored. Toji gets to the men’s bathroom, practically shutting the door in your face. You cross your arms, staring at the door. He knows you’re too much of a prude to enter the men’s room. You think about how Toji only takes ten minutes in the shower, but you have a feeling that he’ll take at least an hour today. You think about leaving– But no, you’re going to talk to him now. Whether he likes it or not.

You look both ways before barging into the man’s bathroom, and you feel your face get hot, embarrassment taking over you the moment you step a foot inside. There’s luckily no one inside, so you have no reason to actually be embarrassed. You lock the door behind you before looking for Toji. Your ears follow the sound of the water droplets that hit the ground until you land on the closed curtain. 

“Toji.” You call out his name, yet he doesn’t answer. If it’s not him, you could crawl into a hole and die of shame, but you know it’s him. There’s no one else in here. “Toji Fushiguro, I swear–”

You shut your eyes before you take a deep breath. You begin to get undressed, getting more and more irritated by the second. Once you’re completely bare, you open the shower curtain and enter the shower. You almost squeal at the cold water, but you get used to the feeling quickly. He lets out a low laugh when he feels your arms wrap around him, feeling your warmth behind him.

“You should warn a guy. I almost punched you but then I felt a pair of boobs press against my back.” Toji says as you press a kiss on his wet back. He heard you call out his name, he knew it was you. Toji isn’t deaf even though he loves to pretend like he is hard of hearing.

“I’ll fucking kill you. I called out your names a couple of times.” You tell him. He’s smiling as he turns around to face you. He kisses the top of your head as you hug him tight, and it feels like the first touch you’ve gotten from him after some time. It makes you feel warm inside, a smile unwillingly coming to your lips. “Now you have to talk to me.”

“Isn’t that what we do daily.” Toji answers, and your bottom lip sticks out.

“About serious matters, Toji.” You respond, and a sigh leaves his lips. He can’t escape this– Although he isn’t exactly upset with the situation. “C’mon. I’m fine, am I not? We can talk. You were upset before.”

“Yeah… But I overreacted.” He replies. He had the right to be upset, but he regrets not saying that he loves you back. He can’t forgive himself for almost letting your last real interaction end with him just humming when you told him you loved him. “You tried to talk to me and I was… A little bitch.”

“A little bitch, really?” You can’t help but giggle. He could’ve used any other words to describe himself. “I’m glad you came to your senses.”

“But look what had to happen for me to use my brain.” Toji’s fingers caress your back. You press a kiss on his chest before your hands go to the back of his neck, pulling his head down so you can kiss his lips. 

“You were rightfully upset… You did drag it out a bit though.” You tell him, and he laughs. He did. He had your perspective and he still treated you harshly. He can’t help but think that this whole incident wouldn’t have happened if he treated you better in that moment. He also thinks that you’re hiding something from him about your health because last time you were honest with him, he had a bad reaction.

“Are you really okay, though? Is there anything wrong with your health?” He asks, and you shake your head in response. It’s the truth, you’re more than okay. But it isn't so easy to believe that, after all, you wouldn’t have fainted if your health was completely fine. 

“I’m more than okay.” You reassure him. You press your lips against his again. “Why are you so… Distant?”

“What do you mean distant?” He furrows his brows in confusion. If anything, he’s closer to you than ever. You bite down your lip before you say,

“This is the longest you’ve held me ever since our argument… You don’t try to touch me anymore.” 

“I…” He begins, and you watch his eyes tear up. You didn’t mean for that to happen. You peck his lips, hoping that it’ll make the tears go away. He smiles before telling you, “I’m just an idiot.”

“Is that all you have to say?” You ask him. He can’t bring himself to say it. He felt too guilty to touch you. He could’ve avoided it all. A simple kiss just takes him back to that moment– He feels unworthy of you and of your touch. But right now he feels different. He should’ve told you he loved you back. All his hopes and dreams with you almost slipped away, and he’s at fault for that. He hums in response, that’s all he’s willing to share. 

“Did you lock the door before coming in here?” He changes the topic. A mischievous look comes to your face, which is the answer to his question. He doesn’t waste a second before his lips land on yours, his tongue moving past your parted lips and into your mouth. You pull him closer to you as your tongue presses against his. 

Toji’s hand goes down and grabs a handful of your ass before he practically pushes you against the wall of the shower. The kiss gets more heated by the second, and every ounce of shame leaves your body as you feel his hot hands on your now cold body. He manages to set your body on fire even in such cold water.

“I need you so badly.” You mutter when he pulls away from your lips, kissing your jaw following down your neck. His hands fondle your breast as your hand goes down to his erection. Even in cold water you get him so fucking hard. His index finger and thumb pinch one of your nipples, while he kisses down your neck and to your chest. His mouth wraps around your other nipple, and he sucks.

You begin to stroke his cock, eager to feel him inside of you. You need his touch now more than ever. You’re needy. Toji’s hand goes down to your cunt, two fingers running through your folds, making your thighs squeeze out of pure excitement. Toji unlatches, getting down to his knees to do what he should’ve done a long time ago.

He kisses your clit before his tongue runs through your folds. He’s fucking missed your taste– And the way you softly moan when his tongue moves on your cunt. His tongue focuses on your clit while two of his fingers tease the entrance of your cunt. 

He pushes two fingers in, making a breathy moan leave your lips. Your hand slaps over your mouth, remembering the place you’re at. They can’t hear you, you’re safe, but panic still sets in. Toji stops flicking your clit to tell you, “I need to hear you, baby. Want you to be loud.”

“Not here, Toji.” You whisper, cut off by a moan as his fingers curve so they brush against your sweet spot. Toji’s mouth doesn’t waste time going back to your cunt, quickly getting used to the taste and not being able to stay away from it for too long. You can’t help but mutter, “You’re doing so good– Fuck…”

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. Toji does everything in his power to make you feel on cloud nine. The best way he knows how to apologize. You can’t argue with it, not when you’re on the verge of screaming his name because he’s making you feel so good.

He’s working you up, leading you up to your climax. The pressure on your lower abdomen builds up and just as your release nears, he pulls his fingers out, leaving your cunt to clench around nothing. He rises from between your legs, his lips messily kissing yours again.

“Need to feel you around me, baby.” Toji’s voice and actions are filled with desperation. You can’t judge him because you feel the same way. Toji runs the tip of his cock through your folds before reaching the entrance. He slaps the tip on your cunt, teasing you. He would almost make you beg for it, but he can’t wait any longer. He slowly pushes himself in, hissing as he feels your cunt take him in.

He gives you a moment to adjust to the sudden change before he begins to thrust in and out of you.  You’re struggling, holding back moans in the back of your throat. It’s hard when his cock feels so perfect inside of you.

“It’s so good, Toji.” You’re so quiet, he fucking hates it. He loves when you’re loud, letting him know just how good you feel because of him. It’d be so embarrassing for his co-workers to hear, but fuck, is it painful to not hear your sweet voice.

Toji’s hand goes to your throat, lightly squeezing. His index and middle finger go up and reach your lips, and as soon as your mouth slightly parts, the two fingers enter your mouth. His lips go down to kiss your shoulder before he bites down. He can’t help but tell you, “You feel so perfect around me, baby.” 

“Toji-” You sound so pathetic. He wants to hear you scream his name, but he knows you won’t. It’s surprising that you’re even doing this with him. He takes his fingers out of your mouth, moving them down to play with your clit. You moan his name again, but louder.

“Need to tell you how much I love you.” Toji’s lips go to your ear. He moans in your ear as he feels your cunt squeeze around him, and fuck, he knows he won’t last long. You’re just so nice and warm around him, he swears this is heaven. “Need to give you all my cum, baby. You’d like that? You want my cum, baby?”

“I need your cum, Toji.” You begin to squeeze around him. Toji loves to tease you about knocking you up, and it always riles you up. You shut your eyes as your hands go into his shoulders and your nails dig into his soft flesh. You’re so close to your release.

“I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll knock you up.” He watches your face filled with pleasure. It’s taking everything in him to not lose control.

“Toji!” You see white, reaching your climax. He holds on to you as your legs become weak for that moment. 

He keeps moaning into your ear and telling you, “Need to knock up your sweet little pussy.”

His thrusts become unregulated. He doesn’t want to stop now but he does have to go back to work before an emergency pops up. He wishes he could spend all day beside you, making you feel so good. Toji finally moans your name, as his warm cum fills you up.

You spend a moment in silence, hearing the water hit the ground before he pulls out. You quietly clean yourselves up, and you almost gag knowing that you’ll be smelling like a three-in-one old spice body wash for the rest of the day.

“How am I going to sneak out of here, Toji?” You ask when he turns off the faucet. He shrugs in response. Maybe getting in the shower with him wasn’t the best idea. Your wet hair is a dead giveaway at the fact that you were doing something that you weren’t supposed to be doing. 

Toji gives you the towel that he was going to use, while drying himself up with the towel that was meant for his hair. He picks up your clothes from the floor, setting them down on the sink. “Just ignore them. We weren’t the first people to do this, and I doubt we’ll be the last.”

“It’s still embarrassing.” You respond, and Toji furrows his brows in confusion before a chuckle escapes his lips.

“Good thing it wasn’t my idea. Let me remind you that you came in uninvited. Plus, they should be understanding since half of our house is getting renovated.” Toji answers, making you roll your eyes. Your bedroom and bathroom is still intact, it’s really no excuse.

“Yeah, whatever.” You aren’t exactly too upset since things are back to being somewhat normal. You begin to put your clothes back on, as Toji mindlessly watches you. You tilt your head to the side before asking, “Is everything okay?”

“I know I’m all talk and shit about knocking you up but…” He begins, and it’s an unexpected topic. You’re fighting back a smile as you hear him say, “Don’t you want to start a family soon?”

“Oh, Toji.” You finish putting on your shirt, stepping closer to him and kissing his cheek. It's a weird response… Is that a yes? He thinks so at least. “I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Huh?” He’s scared of what you’re going to say next. “What…?”

“When I went to the doctor, there wasn’t anything wrong with me exactly… Nothing concerning.” You begin, and he grows impatient as he waits for you to get to the point. “I was feeling dizzy and all while cooking so I thought going to the bathroom and washing my face real quick would help me, but I fainted.”

“Yeah, I know that. You’ve told me a couple of times.” He interrupts you since he’s too impatient. “What are you keeping from me?”

“I’m pregnant.” You blurt out, and Toji’s eyes widen. Are his ears deceiving him? He stares at you in shock for a moment before you repeat, “I’m pregnant, Toji.”

“I–” He’s speechless. He can’t say anything, but he can wrap his arms around you and kiss all over your face. This news is the best news he’s gotten in his life– Sure he was expecting this to happen a couple months into the future, but he certainly isn’t upset about it. He tells you over and over again, “Thank you, my love.”

You were worried about his reaction because your life isn’t all that ideal right now, but he’s over the moon. And so are you. Toji’s nose is nuzzled in the crook of your neck as he holds onto you. He holds still for a moment, until you finally tell him, “Go put on some clothes, Toji. Half of your dick is still hanging out.”

“Wait for me so I can escort you out.” He responds. It’s like he wants to parade you after fucking you in the bathroom. 

He smirks at you. That’s exactly what he wants to do.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro smut #toji fic

[suugarbabe]

Unexpected | m.r x reader

prompt: Hii! How are you? This is my first time sending an ask and I just wanted to say that I love your writings! May I ask for a enemies to lovers with Mattheo Riddle? The reader is from the golden trio and they get into an argument with a lot of chemistry and tension. Thank you and I'm sorry for my bad english.

maybe enemies to lovers, like they hate each other and then realize that they are soulmates and then have to figure out what to do. some angst but ends i fluff please 

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: slight angst feeling, fluff, e2l, soulmate trope, some heavy petting

an: so there's no argument like the prompt asks (sorry) but when I started writing it just kind of flowed out this way so hopefully it's still okay.

“Go on, show us again,” Ron Weasley was shaking a turkey leg in your general direction, asking to see the words that appeared on your arm this morning. In the wizarding world, on the day you were going to properly meet your soulmate, the first sentence they speak to you, excluding their name, will appear on your forearm in their handwriting. 

It was incredibly annoying to you that Ron and Hermione got this mess out of the way the first day on the bloody train. To your and Harry’s amusement, neither were originally excited about the match, but after the chaos that ensued for the four of you by the end of that year they were inseparable. Nothing brings two people closer than tragedy. 

Things got even more frustrating for you when Harry and Ginny realized they were soulmates, leaving you the lone wolf in your foursome. Entering your sixth year this year you were hopeful that maybe you would finally be able to find out who your soulmate was, roughly three fourths of those leave Hogwarts knowing who they’re intended to be with, and you would rather Avada Kadavera yourself then leave your seventh year soulmateless. 

You grabbed the sleeve of your jumper, tugging it up to your elbow, sticking your arm out in the middle of the table for your three friends to view. There on your arm read a singular sentence, do I intimidate you, love?

Hermione sat back on the bench, “His handwriting really is awful, whoever he is.” You scoffed at your friend, “Not exactly my biggest concern, Mione. More worried about why he thinks he would intimidate me? Who would even think that? By this point in our school life you’d think any of us were more intimidating than the majority of the student body.” 

“Yeah, except Slytherin,” Harry snorted, Ron following with his own round of laughter. But you weren’t laughing, you were looking at Hermione who was sporting the same grimace and worried eyes that you were sure your face looked like. 

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then looked at the two of you. “It was a joke, y/n/n,” Harry tried to ease the tension that was building. “Yeah, I mean, y’don't really think your soulmate might be…one of them,” Ron was anything but subtle with his tone of disgust, as well as his entire body turning around to face the Slytherin table. 

Ron’s actions didn’t go unnoticed by a particular group of Slytherin boys. “Staring problem, Weasley? Got a crush?” Malfoy shouted across the dining hall, earning laughs and teasing hollars from his friends. 

“Oi, Malfoy, got a present for you,” you stuck your hand in your school bag, pretending to roam around before pulling your hand back out and lifting it high in the air, giving Malfoy the middle finger. His face immediately turned into a scowl. The boy next to him, however, pretended to catch your gesture in the air and put it in his pocket, winking at you in the process. 

You rolled your eyes, turning to Hermione who had a look of disgust on her face, “Riddle’s ego really is massive innit.” All three of your friends' heads began to nod. “I swear if he didn’t verbalize how much he bloody hated us I would think he was flirting with you y/n/n.” 

“Shut it, Weasley, don’t you put that on me,” you pointed your finger at him, tone joking but words serious. He put his hands up in defense, laughing along with the rest of your friends as you all gathered your things and headed towards your first class. 

Unbeknownst to you, a similar conversation was being had at the Slytherin table. “Glad to see meeting your soulmate hasn’t deterred you from trying to flirt with anything that breathes,” Pansy took a sip of her pumpkin juice, teasing the curly haired boy across from her. 

“Dunno what you mean, Pans,” the dimples on Mattheo’s cheeks popping out as he smirked. 

“Show us your arm again, cousin,” Draco’s words causing everyone to look at Mattheo now. The younger boy scowled, rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. There on his arm, in beautiful loopy script were the words you’ve got to be fucking joking.

Theo couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a foul word in such pretty handwriting.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeve back down, “Yeah, well let’s just hope the bird is someone I can tolerate.” 

You let out a long groan, hands rubbing up and down your face as you leaned your elbows on your knees . Hermione was sat next to you in the common room, rubbing up and down your back, “The day’s not over quite yet, y/n/n. It wouldn’t appear if you weren’t gonna meet them today.” 

“Yeah,” Ron put on his best attempt at an encouraging smile, “maybe they’re another Gryffindor and you’ll meet them before we go to bed.” Harry nodded next to him in agreement. 

You stood up, grabbing your jumper off the arm of the couch and throwing it on, “M’gonna go for a walk.” 

Hermione’s lips downturned, “It’s nearly curfew.” You sighed, looking over at Harry. “I’ll go get my cloak,” he sighed, standing and walking quickly to his dorm room. 

After Harry’s return you thanked him, spending an extra twenty minutes convincing Hermione that you would be the utmost cautious and affirmed to Ron that you would stash the cloak if you were to be caught. 

Now you were quietly climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower. When you got to the top, you did a quick look over the railing. With no sign of Filch anywhere you dropped the cloak, laying it on the floor so you didn’t have to sit on the bare ground. 

As you got comfortable you dug in your shirt, pulling out a spliff. Hermione would murder you if she found out you smoked, however the year you all had to study for your O.W.L’s, you were so stressed you ended up buying from Theo Nott.

He promised to keep it to himself and you promised it was a one time thing, but you found yourself buying from him every couple months. You weren't sure if she would be more disappointed in your smoking, or you interacting with someone in the forbidden Slytherin group.

You mumbled a short incendio before taking a long drag. You blew the smoke out slowly, watching it ripple through the air and up into the night sky. You looked up at the stars, knowing the day was likely to be over soon and wondering if you were the only witch that was destined to not run into their soulmate like everyone else. 

You were lost in your thoughts and self pity. So much so you didn’t even hear someone come up the tower steps until they hit the top. You scrambled to your feet, ready to cover yourself with the cloak when you realized it wasn’t Filch, but a boy instead. 

The dark of the night made it difficult for you to see exactly who it was at first, that and the fact that every time he took a step forward you seemed to take a step back until your back was against the stone wall. When he finally stepped into the light, your breath caught in your throat. Standing in front of you, signature smirk adoring his face was Mattheo Riddle. 

You stayed rigid against the wall as he got closer to you. His fingers brushed yours as he took the spliff, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling. His eyes never left yours as he turned his head slightly, blowing the smoke into the night. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your black sleep shorts and house jumper. When he looked at your face again he locked eyes with you, almost like he was trying to read what was going on in your brain. 

“Do I intimidate you, love?” The words seemed to leave his lips without a second thought and you felt like your chest was going to cave in. There was just no way, absolutely bloody not that he said those words, the words you had been anticipating someone to say all day. Him of all people that could’ve spoken them. 

He raised his eyebrows at you, clearly looking for you to answer. Instead of some sputtering response of nervousness like Mattheo was expecting, your face just dropped. 

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Mattheo’s face went white after you responded, and that was all the evidence you needed to confirm that Mattheo fucking Riddle was your soulmate. He hated you. You hated him. How could two people that despise each other be destined to be soulmates?

"What are you even doing up here?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting into your hip. His smirk only seemed to grow, "I think the better question is what are you doing up here, partaking in drugs no less? Little miss golden girl."

You rolled your eyes, "What's that supposed to mean, Riddle?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, "It's Mattheo. And you know what it means. Wonder what everyone would think if they knew little miss perfect liked to come up to the astronomy tower to get high."

"Why would anyone believe you over me?" You were acting a little cocky now, but Mattheo was right in the aspect that you and your friends were seen in an overall more positive light than he and his.

However the look on Mattheo's face made you think he knew something you didn't, "I guess I could just have your dealer tell everyone, or are you buying from someone besides Nott these days?"

He was irritating you on purpose now. You grabbed the spliff back from Mattheo, going to sit where you were before but now leaning your forehead against the railing, “This is got to be some kind of mistake.” 

Mattheo could only snicker as he went to sit next to you, hanging his arms over the raining as he looked over the grounds, “S’destiny love, no mistake about it.” 

“Thanks so much, you’re being really encouraging about this whole thing,” you rolled your eyes, holding your hand out to him. He took it from you, filling his lungs with smoke again, passing it back and forth throughout the conversation. 

Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “At least we’re both fit.” You snorted at this, “Who said I thought you were fit?” He scoffed, “Please, I’ve seen the way you ogle me.” You found yourself laughing, a true full belly head thrown back laugh before you looked at him and he thought the smile you were wearing was actually kind of cute, “How would you know that unless you were ogling me, hmm?”

Mattheo opened his mouth to respond, but found he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse before you were speaking again. The sigh you let out let him know how stressed you really were, “Our friends are not going to like this.” 

He nodded, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke, “Merlin, no. They’re going to bloody hate it. But s’not like it was really our choice.” You knew he was right, and you knew he was trying to be comforting, but the tone in his voice let you know that he was just as worried to let his group of friends know as much as you were. 

You opened your mouth to respond to him when you heard the all too familiar jingle of Mrs. Norris’ collar sounding like she was ascending the stairs. Your eyes grew wide as you and Mattheo both jumped to your feet. It looked like Mattheo is contemplating jumping over the tower railing when you grab his arm to push him flat against the stone wall. 

He looked at you with utter confusion as you grabbed the cloak before turning around and pushing your back flush against his chest. “What are you-”

“Shut it,” you cut him off, indicating to him to wrap his arms around your waist as you threw the cloak over the pair of you. As the cat walked on to the tower landing you felt Mattheo’s arms tighten around you, doing his best to pull you impossibly closer. 

He was decently taller than you, having to duck down slightly so the cloak covered you both properly. His face was tucked in close to your neck. His breath warm and tickling your skin as Filch followed after his beloved pet, glancing around for anything out of place. 

When he was satisfied, Filch turned around to leave, letting his cat lead the way. You waited a few beats, making sure they were nearly to the bottom of the staircase before pulling the cloak off the two of you and pushing Mattheo’s hands off of your body. 

“Thing comes in handy, that,” he pointed to the cloth in your hand. You chucked, “Yeah, m’sure your lot would get a lot less detentions if you had one.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we can’t all be like the golden quartet.” 

You scoffed slightly at this as you headed down the stairs, Mattheo close behind you, “We didn’t give ourselves that nickname, you know.” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah but m’sure you all don’t mind it. Definitely gets you some favoritism.” 

You stopped at the end of the corridor, Mattheo running into your back at the action and cursing. You turned to face him, “You know, my friends and I have endured a hell of a lot of shite over the last couple years, maybe we deserve a little break when we’re actually able to do normal bloody teenage things.” 

As much as you were trying to be harsh with him, be the slightest bit intimidating, his height gave him all the advantage. Mattheo knew what you meant, what you were saying without saying the words themselves. “I’m not like him. Don’t clump me in your same category of hatred. He’s done things to me too,” his eyes reflected a bit of hurt as he spoke and you knew he was telling the truth. 

Everyone in school assumed Mattheo was just like his father, held the same ideals and wanted the same things for the wizarding world. The look you were seeing on his face told you otherwise. Your frustration quickly fizzled, instead turning into something closer to pity, “M’sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he deadpanned, “Let’s just get back to our common rooms.” You walked together in silence until you had no choice but to split off. You agreed to meet each other in the courtyard during lunch the next day and you were racking your brain on how you were going to break this news to Harry, Hermione and Ron.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. When you broke the news to your friends about who your soulmate ended up being it wasn’t exactly well received. Hermione was worried, but understanding of the fact that you had no choice in the matter. Harry was upset, but again was trying his best to be mature and said he wouldn’t interfere with you spending some time with Mattheo to get to know him better. Ron took it the worst, which you wished surprised you but he did have a flair for the dramatics.

You were first waiting for Mattheo on a bench in the courtyard, but you couldn’t stop your legs from bouncing, therefore you found a place beneath a tree, attempting to read the same three lines of a book Hermione had loaned you the other day. 

When Mattheo found you and finally sat down next to you, you shut your book immediately, letting out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank Godric, you’re here.” It didn’t go unnoticed by you the way a pair of dimples christened his cheeks, “Miss me already, pretty girl? S’barely been twelve hours.” 

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to resist the pink that tinted your cheeks at the nickname he used, “Not at all, I’ve been sitting here for the better part of twenty minutes, mind you. Thought maybe you decided to ditch me.” Mattheo shrugged, “M’always late. You’re gonna have to get used to that. And I would never ditch you, we’re soulmates, love. You’re stuck with me for life.” 

He had a childlike grin on his face when he said that latter part and you couldn’t help the slight notion of butterflies that seemed to flutter in your stomach or the smile that appeared on your face.

All last night you thought it was going to be difficult to fall for Mattheo, but maybe the universe knew something when it paired you two together. 

“So how did your friends take the news?” You tried to keep voice neutral, but you really were worried about their responses. Mattheo leaned back against the tree, “They were shocked for sure, Draco took it the hardest. He was more worried about having to spend more time with Potter than me being with you though. Told him that would probably be more rare than he anticipated. W’bout yours?”

You nodded, “Not as bad as I thought, actually. Mione was understanding, as always. Harry was actually pretty good about it, but very skeptical. Ron actually took it the worst, but he’s just protective. Basically like me brother.” 

“How d’ya mean?” 

You leaned back against the tree yourself, shoulder to shoulder now with Mattheo. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and you wondered if his skin was always warm to the touch, “Both my parents are aurors so they travel a lot. They didn’t think it was safe for me to go with them, so Ron’s mum offered for me to stay at theirs whenever it was needed. Turns out it was needed more times than not growing up.” 

Mattheo nodded, listening intently as you spoke. You both started asking surface questions about each other; favorite color (he said black), favorite hobby (quidditch), favorite class (free period). 

When both your friend groups came looking for you after lunch period Mattheo asked if you would go to Hogsmead with him over the weekend. You agreed, finding yourself wanting to get to know more about him. Over the next two months you went to Hogsmead with Mattheo at least one day during each weekend. 

You slowly learned that his favorite candy was fizzing whizbees, having to stop at Honeydukes every trip for him to grab some. You learned that he was actually very intelligent even though he tried to seem like he wasn't, as he was passing all of his classes even though he skipped half of them. You learned that even though Draco was older than him, he felt like an older brother to his cousin. And maybe your favorite thing that you learned, purely on accident, was that if you squeeze just above his hip that he was incredibly ticklish. 

Throughout all of this you still hadn’t kissed. You kept telling yourself (and your friends) that you didn’t want to, but the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself yearning for it. There were times of lingering touches; his hand on your lower back as he guided you into a building, his fingertips brushing yours as you walked, his leg pressing against yours while you sat next to each other in the courtyard or at the Three Broomsticks. 

Hermione, the ever observant friend that she was, noticed your shift in attitude towards Mattheo even before you did. So when she cornered you in the common room, demanding you tell her your true feelings it was almost a relief to let it all out. 

“I think I might actually like him, Mione. Like, I know that sounds like something an insane person would say, that they like Mattheo Riddle, like romantically, like someone who isn’t just some daft bimbo, but there's just so much more to him that he lets people see.”

Hermione can’t help but laugh, “I get what you mean. Harry and Ron are coming around, you know. They see how happy you look when you’re with him.” 

You tilt your head slightly at this, “What do you mean how happy I look?” 

Hermione just shakes her head with a smile, “Like you’re with your person.” You can’t escape the blush that creeps up your neck and covers your cheeks. Hermione’s giggling at you now, “Have you still not kissed him yet?” 

You scoffed, “Godric, no.” She pushed your shoulder playfully, “Well why not, y/n/n? Don’t you want to?” 

You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers, “I mean…I think so? But he just hasn’t really…gone for it, you know?” 

She nodded in solidarity, “Oh I know, trust me. I had to make the first move with Ronald. Maybe you have to do the same thing?” 

You contemplated her words. They invaded a space in your brain for the rest of the night, then the rest of the next morning, and through dinner, and even now as you stood leaning against the railing in the astronomy tower waiting for Mattheo to meet you. 

When you heard him coming up the steps you turned only to see him with the sweetest smile on his face. “Hey pretty girl,” he greeted as he enveloped you in a hug. “Hi, Teo,” you had donned the nickname on him your third or so time at Hogsmead. He gave you a good squeeze before letting go, his arms still lingering on your waist with yours around his neck, “What’d you wanna talk about?” 

His question was innocent, no implications in his voice that he expected anything beyond you wanting to see him. With Hermione’s advice in the back of your head you knew you needed to just act, as any more talking might lead to you psyching yourself out. 

You slid your hands down from his neck, grasping lightly to the lapel of his blazer. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the action, the smallest of smirks on his face. 

Without giving yourself time to overthink you pull him into you, lips crashing against yours. He’s shocked at first, but just for a moment before he responds, walking you back until you’re pressed against the stone wall.

One of his hands slides up your body, ghosting over your stomach and the valley of your breasts before settling lightly on your neck. The implication of the hand gesture makes you whimper slightly and Mattheo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the curls.

When he finally pulls away you find yourself chasing his lips and he smiled at the reaction. “I think I could kiss you forever,” his forehead is resting against yours, lips still so close you can feel his breath on your own. “Yeah?” you laugh a little, smile only increasing when he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Yeah, pretty girl. Forever.”

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #golden era #harry potter

[chuluoyi]

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, reader pining on gojo, mentions of injury, comfort

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #hurt/comfort #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru imagines #gojo x you

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

#singin in the rain ot3 #i might write more idk but listen like you can probably imagine the rest of it #old-timey polyamorous shenanigans on a boat #pretty straightforward stuff #there's singing there's dancing and somehow don managed to 'accidentally' book cosmo in an adjoining bedroom etc etc

[perlelune]

All Too Well | Rafe Cameron

A tragedy in your family forces you to return to the one place you fled from years ago. Your hometown of Outer Banks.

Warnings: NON-CON, Mom Reader, Pogue! Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Blackmail, Threats, Child Abduction, Gun Use

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

You sigh as you pass the familiar town sign. Welcome to the Outer Banks. Paradise on earth.

Right, paradise on earth. Until it became hell for you.

You let your gaze wander across the coastline, soaking in the crashing waves and glittering sand. The fresh sea breeze whisks inside the car, its soft, familiar flutter over your face bringing bittersweet memories alongside it. As you take in your surroundings, you’re struck with the realization of how little has changed over the years. Same houses. Same trees. And perhaps, you ponder wistfully, even the same people…

A mix of confusing emotion flows through you at that prospect.

Most of your life was spent here, precious memories having taken place on that very beach you just passed. Lazy days hanging out with your friends, doing whatever it is you wished. Hanging out, goofing off, getting high and enjoying endless summers.

Before mesmerizing blue eyes found yours at a beach party. It’s when your downward spiral began. How sweetly things started. How sourly they turned.

You can still feel the ghost sensation of his fingers around your neck, pressing until you could hardly breathe. Yet another fit of anger. Brushed off like so many until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

Eventually you grew tired of the whirlwind of emotions, of how he always had an excuse, some sort of twisted justification for his horrible actions. How somehow nothing was ever his fault. But yours. Always yours.

And once you found out that you had more than your own well-being to worry about…the decision was made for you. Of course, you needed to run like hell and never look back. It wasn’t just about you anymore. You had someone else to protect, from his mood swings and temper, but most importantly…from becoming just like him.

A heavy breath drops from your mouth as you clutch the steering wheel. The unpleasant flashes are chased away with a sharp shake of your head. You steady your rising pulse. You promised yourself not to not sink into that hole again. That hopeless, desolate place where you’re trapped in the dark and no one can hear you screaming. You’re stronger now. He can’t hurt you anymore.

This was four years ago. All that stuff is in the past. Buried and forgotten. Thankfully.

Your son’s hitch-pitched voice tugs your focus from the backseat.

“Can we go to the beach, mom?” he says, bouncing in excitement. “Please, please, please.”

You swipe a glimpse of him in the rearview mirror. Here he is. Your entire life, on the cusp of throwing a tantrum in the backseat of your car. Your three year-old son, Parker.

Your focus shifts back to the road.

“We have to go visit some friends first, sweetie.”

“Okay…” he pouts dejectedly.

“Once we’re settled in, we can go.”

He beams at that. A smile creeps upon your lips. While raising Parker on your own has been a challenge, you wouldn't change a thing. Seeing his bright, gummy smile everyday makes it all worth it.

You make a few more turns before finally reaching your destination. You soak in the striking sight of the house as you climb out of your car. It’s a lot bigger and nicer than the ones surrounding it, an uncanny sight in the Cut. It still surprises you that JJ didn’t move to Figure Eight. With his flourishing boat renting business, he can basically do anything he wants now. And you know he’d likely get a kick out of pissing off the 

Kooks by moving to their side of the island. So you’re a bit shocked that he chose to keep roots there. 

You suppose, in the end, he will always be a Pogue at heart. 

You pick up your son from the back seat. A yawn escapes from his mouth before he wraps his arms around your neck and begins to doze off. You can’t blame him. This was his longest trip since he was born. He clings to you as you make your way to the front door. 

The door opens, a familiar blond welcoming you with a bright smile.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he drawls. 

“Are you sure it’s okay if we stay? We can go to a motel.”

JJ huffs his disapproval before ushering you inside. 

“Nonsense. Why stay in a motel when we have plenty of room here?”

Your eyes dart about the place. It’s clean and though the decor screams ‘bachelor’, homey vibes ooze from the space. Memorabilia from JJ’s travels are littered across the shelves as well as pictures of him and the Pogues beneath his surfing board. Melancholy hits you again. You’ve missed so much.

You shoot him a teasing grin.

“Plenty of room, huh? Sounds like someone’s gone full Kook.”

JJ rolls his eyes at your playful taunt. “Do you have any bags?” he asks.

“In the trunk,” you reply, handing him your keys. “I didn’t pack much since we won’t be staying long.”

He takes your keys, concern flashing in his blue eyes. “Which I still don’t get. I could kick his ass for you, so you don’t have to leave again.”

“It’s fine, JJ. Parker and I have a great life in Florida. I just got promoted. I’m saving up so we can move to a bigger place in a few months. Things are good. Really good.”

“I still think you should be here with us.” You supply no answer as he strolls to your car to get your things. You know JJ would tussle with him if you let him, has tried to in the past. He’s your best friend and has always been overly protective of you. It’s exactly why you need to leave once everything is handled. You refuse to let him get tangled up in your mess. It was never his to fix. 

You pad further inside JJ’s home. Astonishment flutters through you as you find another familiar face by the kitchen counter. 

Her long blonde mane swings at her back as she rushes to you. 

“Is that my nephew?” she whispers in an attempt not to wake up your toddler.

“Sarah,” you greet cheerfully.

She bends to get a better look at him. Her expression lights up.

“He’s gotten so big since the last time.”

The sound of Sarah’s voice tears Parker from his slumber.

He rubs his eyes, a broad grin appearing on his little face when he recognizes her.

“Auntie Sarah…”

“Hey buddy,” she chimes.

He jumps into her arms and the two of them giggle as she hugs him.

“I wish I could visit more often,” she says.

You nod in agreement. Sarah used to visit the two of you in Florida on a semi-regular basis, but she had to stop once a certain somebody became a bit too curious about the impromptu trips she was taking several times a year.

“Me too, but we both know it’s not possible.”

The two of you share a knowing look.

JJ reappears with your two bags in his hands.

“Shall I show you and your offspring to your chambers, m’lady?” he says, mimicking a horrible British accent. 

You shake your head at his antics. Though you’d never admit it aloud, you kind of missed them. A lot.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” 

He flashes you a broad grin.

“Hm, I think the word you’re looking for is wickedly handsome.”

“That is more than one word,” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “Just handsome then.”

You sigh as you follow him upstairs. Pleasant surprise courses through you at what you witness when he opens the door to the guest room. 

The interior is warm and welcoming. The blankets have rockets, moons and stars on them. There’s even a nightlight and a few toys lying in a corner. It’s a lot more than you expected and a swell of emotions mounts inside you at the sight. 

“You just had to go overboard, huh?”

His shoulders heave and fall in nonchalance.

“Only the best for my best girl.”

You plop down on the bed, drinking in the animal paintings on the walls. 

“Did you paint that yourself?”

He sits next to you, leaning back in a relaxed stance.

“I did. Mostly. Though Sarah, Kie and the others insisted on helping.”

“You know we’re not staying.”

He studies you, a small smile tugging his lips.

“A guy can hope.” JJ licks his lips, fingers dragging over the colorful blanket. “I just want you to know you have a home here if you ever decide to come back.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Blue eyes lock with yours, silence stretching between the two of you before he speaks again. 

“I really missed you.”

“Me too,” you say. “Are you and Kie still…?”

“We broke it off a few years ago.”

Your eyes round. They seemed so into each other at the time. Though you surmise, people can change over the years. You aren’t teenagers anymore after all.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. We’re better off as friends,” he states casually. He holds your gaze and smiles. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“Alright Master Yoda, when did you get so wise?” you quip.

He joins his hands, his expression solemn.

“A stupid kid, I am not anymore.” You laugh and his smile widens. “Believe it or not.” He pauses, appearing lost in thought. He then offers, “You should come to the Bonfire celebration tonight.”

“I don’t know…”

Your brows knit. You returned out of necessity. Hanging out isn’t exactly at the top of your list of priorities. 

JJ gives your shoulder a light shove.

“Come on. It’s at the Boneyard, just like old times.” His expression turns serious. “Everyone’s really missed you. It’s not the same without you around.”

He gets to his feet. Your stomach knots when he retrieves an urn from under the night table and hands it to you.

Your chest tightens.

“Are those her…”

“Yeah. Her last wish was to be at sea. Maybe you could do it tonight?”

Your fingers press firmly around the curved edges of the urn, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I should have been there, JJ,” you mumble.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But if I-”

“No, you can’t blame yourself for every little thing. I won’t let you.” Noting your trembling fingers, he takes the urn from you, placing it over the night table. He cradles your face and wipes the tears spilling down your face. “She knows how much you loved her. That's all that matters.” He wraps his arms around you and you sink into his embrace, soaking his familiar sea-salt smell. It’s somehow barely changed since you last saw him. “It was an accident. No one could have done anything. Especially not you.”

You sniffle, swallowing a fresh surge of tears. You may not have been close to your sister, but you still resent that you couldn’t be together before she passed. She barely got to know her own nephew. 

She deserved a lot more from you. A lot more that you weren’t able to give, which you hate yourself for.

You just couldn’t risk it. Not when one look at him would suffice for most people to guess who Parker’s father is. Starting with those piercing blue eyes. The same as his father’s. 

Accidents are accidents. But you can’t help but wonder if being with her would have made a difference. No one even really knows what happened. Just that she was in her house - you parents’ house - and fell. Then she stopped breathing. By the time she was rushed to the hospital it was too late.

Your sister was gone. Ally is gone.

A harsh truth your mind is still wrangling with.

“I don’t know if I can come. Parker’s still so small-”

“I’ll watch him.”

Your head snaps up. You find Sarah in the doorway, your son in her arms. As soon as he enters the room, the little boy gets excited. He starts running around and grabs a toy from the pile to play with.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Are you kidding?” Sarah exclaims. Her gaze softens as she looks at your son. “I missed the little guy so much. We’ll have a ton of fun.”

You peer at Parker. He’s found a dinosaur and a soldier and decided to have the two apparently fight in space. You have to admit, JJ’s house is much more kid-friendly than you expected. Perhaps, you can probably release him into his aunt’s care for a few hours. You have no desire to turn into one of those helicopter moms who need their children under perpetual supervision. Parker too, may benefit from some time with Sarah. He never gets to see her after all.

“Well, I guess if you don’t mind,” you say. 

Sarah perks up at your response. 

“See? Everything’s sorted out,” JJ says brightly.

The moment they see you, Kie, John B and Pope hurtle a ceaseless string of questions your way. Your life in Florida. Your job. Your dating life. The weather. How the beaches are there. No inquiry’s off-limits, too strange or personal. They constantly speak over each other, their excitement at seeing you again clear as day. You try to answer everything in between your laughs. JJ was right. It’s good that you came. 

You needed to see them. It doesn’t hit you until you listen to Kie’s bubbly, passionate rant about the foundation she created to clean up the ocean floors. You missed the Pogues. Deeply. You were so absorbed in being a mom that you never took the time to ponder that loss. 

“Guys, you have to give her time to actually answer,” Sarah jests. 

“It’s okay,” you say, waving your hand in nonchalance. Your handle on the urn between your arms tightens. “There’s something I need to do anyway.”

Quiet falls over the group, their lively chatter instantly dying. You see it in the Pogues’ eyes. All your friends are acutely aware how it guts you to do this. 

Kie takes a step forward. She hasn’t changed a bit. Brown curls cascade at her back. Her pretty face is scrunched in concern. 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You shake your head. This isn’t something the Pogues can help you with. You glance at JJ who stands a few feet behind her. His expression mirrors hers. You’ve used him as a crutch enough times. Too many times. 

You give a tremulous smile.

“No I…I need to do it alone.”

She nods as you stroll towards the rolling waves. Your slow steps trail prints into the sand as you soak in the flaming sun spilling over the horizon. Diamonds sparkle above the mesmerizing water, lights dancing over the infinite stretch of blue. 

You open the urn. Water licks your toes as you move forward. 

As you watch her ashes swirl to the bottom of the ocean, a strange emptiness fills your chest. None of it feels right. She should be here laughing. Or doing something stupid with the Pogues. Doing stupid shit was her specialty. 

Her sunny smile flickers in your mind. 

You don’t notice the tears until their salty taste slips past your lips. You quickly wipe them as soon as you do. You can’t let Parker see you cry. He would ask why, in that sweet little voice of his. “Why are you crying, mommy?”

And you’d be stumped, incapable of producing a suitable answer for him. 

“Princess?”

You freeze. The deep voice feels snatched right out of your worst nightmares. You turn slowly, denial still keeping you mute. 

Your heart drops. 

It really is him, you realize, dumbfounded. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, dizzyingly tall and wickedly handsome in khaki shorts and a seersucker buttondown. A very Kook getup. Not that you’d expect anything less from Rafe Cameron. 

He chuckles at your reaction.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His smile widens. You feel sick. He points at his chest. “Shit, am I…the ghost?”

Ignoring the rising tide of panic overflowing your insides, you brush past him. 

He follows you, his long legs easily keeping up with your hasty strides. 

“I was gonna offer my condolences but…Really? You don’t even say ‘hi’ anymore?”

“Hi, Rafe.”

Your stomps are halted when he stands in your path.

He bends so the two of you are at eye level. Your breath catches beneath his stare. You somehow forgot. How blue his eyes are. And something else strikes you as you look at him. 

Those are your son’s eyes. 

“There. Did you lose your manners in…Where do you live now anyways?” He snorts but there isn’t a hint of mirth in his tone. “It’s not like I’d know since you changed your number on me.”

Your stomach flips. “It’s good to see you, Rafe. But I was just leaving.”

When you try to get past him again, he grabs your arm to keep you from leaving. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Why the cold shoulder? After all these years…this is what I get from you, princess?”

A lump forms in your throat. 

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say. 

You try to shake out of his grasp but his grip on you tightens. 

He gets in your face, his gaze narrowing. 

“I haven’t seen you in four years. And this is how you treat me? W-What did I do to deserve that?” You turn your head, tears gathering in your eyes. His fingers latch around your jaw, digging painfully into your cheeks. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Someone pulls you back from Rafe, sliding between the two of you. 

You gasp as you stumble back. 

“Leave her alone, Rafe,” JJ grits out, standing in front of you protectively. 

A derisive snicker bursts through Rafe’s lips. He glares up and down at your friend, disdain burning in his eyes.

“Still hanging out with those Pogues, I see.” He laughs as JJ crowds his space, his jaw clenching. “You tryin’ to get into something, Maybank?”

“Maybe I am,” JJ replies.

One could cut a knife through the thick layer of tension coating the air between the two men.

You wedge yourself between them. None of them looks away from the other, a nonverbal duel still occurring right before your eyes. 

You heave out a long sigh.

“Guys. We aren’t kids anymore. That’s enough,” you say. You unleash an annoyed sigh when they don’t move and grab JJ’s hand. “JJ, let’s go.”

“Still her little puppy dog, I see,” Rafe sneers. “Too bad she never gave you any treats like you wanted, huh Maybank?”

He blows JJ a mocking kiss, wiggling his fingers and openly taunting him. 

Sensing his urge to pounce on Rafe when he tenses near you, you tug JJ further away. 

“He’s not worth it,” you whisper.

“Good night, princess. I guess I’ll see you around,” Rafe yells from afar. 

“No, you won’t,” you respond, shooting daggers at him with your eyes. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

The events of the evening leave you rattled. For the entire night, you toss and turn in bed, the sound of Rafe’s voice, even deeper after all these years, invading your every thought. You thought you were safe. Freed. But frankly, one look from him had you feeling weak. Defenseless. It yanked you right back to four years ago. Back when you still hung to his every word and thought he held the moon. When you thought that, perhaps, Rafe Cameron was just misunderstood. And you, the only one capable of solving the riddle he offered. You truly were a naive teenager then. 

Guys like Rafe never change. It took you entirely too long to accept that fact. You'll never make such a mistake ever again.

In the morning, JJ leaves to run some errands, leaving you alone with Parker. You plant a kiss atop his head and stroke his blond curls. His tiny fists are curled against the pillow, his lids twitching while he lightly snores. It soothes you, the sight of him soundly sleeping. He’s innocent and happy. You would do anything to keep him that way for as long as possible.

You climb out of bed and make your way downstairs. You get started on breakfast for your son, mashing ripe bananas and oats as you follow along a tutorial online. It’s where you learnt everything when it came to caring for Parker. The internet has been a life-saver in more ways than one. 

You pause your whisking when the doorbell chimes. 

Your brows knit. You’re not expecting anyone. Neither is JJ. A delivery, perhaps? But he didn’t say there would be one today.

You flinch as the sound erupts again. 

Your heart starts to race. Something isn’t right. You can feel it. 

At first, you elect to ignore whoever’s on the other side. You’re alone with your son. You won’t let some stranger who can’t catch a hint inside the house.

But it doesn’t matter. 

The bell rings again. You’re paralyzed. You take tremulous steps to the entrance. Whoever it is, you plan on telling them to kick rocks. You suck in a wide lungful and nudge the door open by a tiny crack. Your eyes fly open in shock at who’s on the doorstep.

Immediately, you try to slam the door closed. He doesn’t let you, placing his foot against the doorjamb as his large hand curls around the wooden edge of the door to keep it open. Fear seizes your throat as he looms over you.

“Rafe? What are you doing here?” you say, trying your best to quell the tremor in your voice. 

He licks his lips and drinks you in.

“Well, we didn't get to finish our talk last night-”

Of course, this is the moment your son chooses to groggily drag his feet down the stairs. 

“Mommy, I’m hungry…” he complains while rubbing his face. 

Your heart drops to your feet. 

Rafe’s eyes grow wide. For a minute, he’s too stunned to utter a word, a million thoughts seeming to go through his mind. You use his surprise to nudge him outside. He doesn’t resist, shock still written on his handsome face. 

You close the door and slump against the wood. 

“Who’s that?” Rafe blurts out once he finds his ability to speak again. He’s pointing at the door as his breaths grow heavier. It doesn’t matter that your son is now out of view. Some doors can never be shut again once they’ve been opened. This is one of them.

Your shoulders heave and fall in feigned nonchalance.

“Nobody.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t fuck with me, okay?”

You nod and show him the front yard.

“Let’s talk over there.”

He won’t let it go. Just like he never did with anything when you were together. You watch him pace across the yard as he grips his head. It almost seems like you’re not here, a spiral of emotions clearly sucking him in. You stand back warily. You remember those spirals, how destructive they could turn. 

“Fuck, Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath. He takes a deep breath and whirls to you. “You know what I’m gonna ask.”

You cross your arms, pulling the cardigan closer to your shivering frame.

“Rafe. I need you to calm down…”

He slaps your hand away when you try to touch his arm. 

“No you…Y-You don’t get to tell me to calm down, okay? Because it’s fucked. Fucked.” You jump as he gets louder, uncaring about anyone hearing him.  “How old is he? Three? Four? Is he my-”

“His father’s in Florida,” you blurt out. As soon as the words roll off your tongue, you curse inwards, your mistake dawning on you. Why did you say Florida instead of some other random state like Missouri or Massachusetts? You’re gonna have to move. Again.

Rafe’s jaw flexes before a chuckle of disbelief leaves him. 

“Really? You expect me to believe this load of crap? That kid in there looks just like me.”

“It was a one-night stand.”

He squints at you.

“I know you. You don’t do one-night stands. You’re not that kind of girl.”

“Well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think. Maybe I’ve changed.”

That mere suggestion seems to have his blood boiling. 

“I want a paternity test.”

Your stomach plummets.

“No.”

He gives a slow nod, a smirk blooming on his lips.

“Then I’ll court-order it, sue you for custody and make sure you never see our son again.” 

A chill creeps up your spine. Your voice quakes with fear.

“You wouldn’t.”

His face breaks out into a broad grin. 

“Try me, princess.”

You look at him. Really look at him. A determination is etched in his steely glare. One you haven’t seen in years. Not since he relentlessly pursued you until you yielded to his advances. It flattered you then. It terrifies you now.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he announces. “And don’t try to run away from me again, you understand? You won’t like what happens if you do.”

Your throat goes dry. When you don’t answer, Rafe’s hand shoots up and latches around your throat.

You whimper as he seethes, “Do you understand?”

“I-I understand, Rafe,” you stutter, your body shaking in his grasp.

He pats your cheek, seemingly satisfied. 

“Good. See you tomorrow, princess.”

Even as he releases you, your chest is tight with dread.

He starts walking to his Jeep. You remain glued to your spot, feeling as if a hole just opened in the ground and you were being swallowed in its depths. 

Rafe’s gaze rakes across your shuddering frame as he starts his car.

He bends over the window and smirks.

 “Oh by the way, you still look good…Didn’t get to say that last night,” he tosses flirtatiously before driving away. 

When night comes, JJ scowls at you while you’re frantically packing. Since he came back, he has tried to convince you to stay. 

But your mind is made up. You refuse to wait for him to have the confirmation he needs to force his way into your life again. You know exactly what the test will say. There’s been no guy other than Rafe. No one before or after.

He left you so bruised, so riddled with wounds that never closed, that you never opened your heart to anyone else again. And definitely not your legs. 

“You should have called me when it happened,” JJ says.

“Call you for what? So the two of you can swing on each other?”

You glance at your son, napping across the large bed. He has no idea what’s going on. No idea his father was here just a few hours ago. A silver lining amidst the dusky clouds threatening to rain hell upon your life. A life you cherish. A life you worked so hard to build. 

A life you just lost. Coming back here was a mistake. You knew it from the beginning. Had that sinking feeling all along. But you were so chock full of guilt about your sister that you didn’t have it in you not to fulfill her last wish. She deserved that at least.

…And now, you’re fucked.

“This doesn’t change anything. We can’t stay.”

“But…”

You whip your head up and whisper to not wake Parker.

“It’s his kid. You know how much sway he has now. How much he could fuck up our lives. Not just mine. But everyone else’s…including you, JJ.”

Annoyance flares in his eyes. You can tell he doesn’t like to be reminded of that. 

“But you don’t have to do this alone. I can-”

You clutch his arm and shake your head.

“No, I already involved you enough. If we go now, he won’t be able to find us, ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”

His frown accentuates. Unsaid words crowd the air. You feel their weight in his silence. Still, none leave his mouth. He heaves out a deep resigned breath instead.

“Just text me when you’ve crossed state lines, okay?”

“Of course. Tell Sarah and the Pogues I’m sorry. I’ll call her once Parker and I are safe.”

He wraps his arms around you. You sink into the embrace, committing that comforting warmth to memory. 

“I can’t believe you’re already leaving,” he says. 

You swallow the onset of tears tickling the back of your eyes. 

“Yeah…Me too.”

When you’re slinking down the road in your hatchback as stars twinkle above you, you genuinely believe you are out of trouble. You didn’t even wake Parker, just lifted him from bed and gingerly placed him in the backseat. Heavy sleeper as he is, your son did not stir. You believe the two of you are safe, sound and on your way back to Florida. That for once, you bested him. All's well that ends well, as they say.

But perhaps you escaped the frying pan to jump right into a blazing inferno. 

It is what occurs to you as you’re hailed by a cop car on your way out of town. The moment you get a glimpse of the sirens, the blood drains from your head. You can never catch a break, it seems. At first, you ponder if you should ignore it, keep on driving. You almost do it. But as the vehicle cuts right across your path, you’re left with no other option. Your nerves flare at the sight of the blue and red lights glaring in the pitch blackness, illuminating the large trees flanking the road.

As Officer Shoupe steps outside the car, your gut wrenches. He chased you and your friends across the island so many times when you were a teenager. You weren’t the most fond of him back then. Now you’re downright on the verge of soiling your car seat as he takes long, threatening strides towards your car.

He knocks on your window. You sigh and lower the glass. You place a hand in front of your face as he blinds you with his flashlight.

“Ma’am. Get out of the car,” he orders.

“I don’t understand. I wasn’t speeding-”

His hand ghosts over the holster of his gun. Your pulse quickens. The clear threat hangs in the night air, stifling your breath.

“I won’t say it again. Get out.”

You take shaky steps outside of the car, raising your hands the entire time. Your son’s in the backseat. You find yourself praying, hoping that he doesn’t wake up and see you like this.

Unspilled tears collect in your eyes.

As he speaks into his walkie-talkie, your heart stops. 

“I’ve got her, sir. You were right. She was trying to leave.”

It doesn’t even surprise you when you see a familiar Jeep arrive on the scene some time later. Of course it was all him. Of course he anticipated you running away, again.

A surge of queasiness mounts within you as his towering frame leaps out of the drivers’ seat and he stomps in your direction. You feel the bear trap closing in on you, the claws sinking deep. Inescapable.

He opens the door where your son is having an oblivious nap and barks at you, “Get Parker and come with me.”

When you refuse to move, he seizes the back of your neck and slams your face against your car window. You squeak as the coolness of the glass seeps into your cheek.

“I said…Get him,” he hisses, pressing something cold against the base of your spine. You go still. You never had one pointed at you before but you’re fairly sure you know what object is kissing your back right now.

As the muffled metallic click of the weapon ripples through the night, a stray tear skips down your cheek.

A gun. Rafe has a fucking gun. Disbelief floods your chest.

Not even your worst nightmares could you have conjured something this sick and evil.

His lips drag along your earshell as you sob. “Get our son,” he articulates. “I won’t repeat myself, princess.” As soon as he allows you some space, you rush to pick up your son from the backseat. He’s thankfully still asleep. You adjust him in your arms as you gulp down a sob, reluctantly making your way to Rafe’s Jeep. He instructs you to put him in the backseat. He then nudges the gun against your hip, quietly heeding you to climb into the passenger seat of his car. 

Your heart shrivels inside your chest as he hops into the car too and slams the door shut.

“All these years and you still haven’t learnt to listen,” he scoffs, irritation bleeding through his tone. His wrath is palpable. Sizzling, red, hot fury you feel all the way to your bones.

He hates you. Who knows what he’ll do if you provoke him any further?

Terror makes your voice slip out hoarse, hardly more than a whisper.

“W-Where are you taking us Rafe?”

The gun - the goddamn gun - is still in his hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose and slaps the steering wheel. 

“I should kill you for this, you know?” he hisses, turning the key in the ignition with his other hand. The engine revs as he turns the car around. He dives onto the road. Any fickle hope you harbored dwindles into the night. 

You lick your dry lips.

“Rafe,” you try again.

His eyes flare dangerously, the gun twitching in his hand.

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.” A mirthless chuckle bursts through his lips. “S-So what now? You take my son from me, for four fucking years…and I’m the bad guy? I-It’s somehow my fault?”

You swallow past the thick lump in your throat. Tears flow down your face as shaky words bounce off your tongue. “You scared me, Rafe…sometimes.” You glance at the gun and sniffle. “You’re scaring me now. Please just…p-put away the gun.”

He slams his hand into the steering wheel as you gasp.

“Don’t fucking try telling me what to do,” he warns. He draws a long inhale, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opens them again, there’s a peculiar determination burning in his gaze. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna drop off our son.” The corners of his lips curl upward. “Then Mommy and Daddy are gonna go home and have a little grown-up talk.”

A chill shoots through you.

“Rafe, please. Don’t do this. I’m sorry. O-Okay, I admit it. I lied. But please, don’t-”

“Shut up!” he roars, causing you to fall quiet. “You’ve lied to me enough. I don’t want to hear another word coming out of your lying whore mouth until we get home.”

The commotion nudges your son awake.

“Mommy…”

Your nerves thrum in panic. You bend over the backseat and cradle his face, slotting a false smile onto your lips. “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” you urge. 

“Yes, Parker, go back to sleep,” Rafe repeats, his tone veering on sarcastic. 

“Who’s that, mommy?” your toddler inquires, tilting his head.

“Just go back to sleep,” you say, singing a tremulous lullaby to lull him back into slumber. Relief sits inside your chest when his eyes close.

He makes a first stop at his friends’ house. Your heart is ripped outside your chest as you watch Rafe’s friend - Topper or something you believe his name is - take your son away. They exchange words in the dark as you gawk in horror. You only have vague memories of Topper and now he has your son. A scream scalds the back of your throat, one you’re too terrified to let loose.

When Rafe returns inside the car, he is eerily quiet. You nearly find yourself wishing he’d talk, even if it’s to yell at you again. The silence is so unlike him, so profoundly unnerving.

But not another word escapes the confines of his tight lips as he drives.

Tannyhill comes into view and your heart sinks.

The persistent threat of the gun is the only reason you follow him inside. Whenever you drag your feet, he shoves the barrel into your back even more, reminding you what you’re risking if you don’t do as he says. You’re a sobbing, weeping mess by the time you’re in the Camerons’ lobby.

He places the gun on a nearby table and removes his belt.

“So, w-what was the plan exactly? Did you plan on never telling me?” You tense as he loops the belt around his knuckles, prowling forward. 

The golden ring on his finger glints in the low light of the lobby. 

“Did you plan on having that Pogue raise my son?”

“I…”

A sinister smile spreads over his face.

“You know what? I think we’ve been apart too long. I think I gotta remind you who the fuck I am, princess.” Your blood curdles at his words. You dart across the lobby but Rafe catches you, hauling you off the ground before slamming your body across the marble tiles without ceremony. Pain explodes through your limbs. He drags your limp frame to the railings. Your insides lurch as you feel leather bite into your flesh when he ties the belt around your wrists. He attaches the belt to the railings, restricting your arms’ range of motion.

Helplessness skyrockets inside you. A fresh wave of tears rolls down your cheeks.

“Rafe, please…”

Rafe pulls his zipper down. Impatience grunts leave him as he wriggles out of his pants and boxers, freeing his already rock-hard cock. He yanks your shorts and panties down until the bottom of your body is completely bare to him. 

His pupils swell at the sight of your bare cunt, leaving only a thin ring of blue in his dark gaze. 

He lines himself with your entrance, pressing his wet tip against your dry lips. He breaches past the tight ring of muscles as you stiffen. An immediate burst of pain scatters through you. Tears dot your lashes as heavy breaths rush from your chest. 

It’s clear it’s taking tremendous effort for Rafe to force himself inside your unprepared core. Sweat collects on his brow as he pins you with his broad frame. 

When he pushes more of himself inside you, your eyes roll back. You don’t think the agony could worsen but somehow it does. 

Your bound hands clench into fists, your nails sinking into your palms. 

“Rafe, please, it hurts,” you whimper. His fingers cinch around your throat in response. Your core burns, your lips parting in a soundless scream as Rafe bottoms out inside you. Your vision blurs with tears. Pure hatred oozes off his husky tone as he starts moving inside you. “You don’t get to complain. I don’t want to hear another fucking word from your mouth, do you hear me?” He drags his cock out and slams it inside your aching walls again. “This is what you deserve so you’re gonna fucking take it. Take my cock until I’m done with you.”

You’re in hell as Rafe grunts like an animal in rut above you, uncaring of the strangled sobs leaving your throat. 

The expression on his face is downright terrifying, empty of anything but burning rage. In every single thrust, you feel the intensity of his loathing for you. How much he craves to punish you for everything. 

To your utter disgust, your cunt grows slick around him, easing his crude assault. 

As he notes your arousal coating his length, he lets out a bone-chilling laugh. “So wet already, huh?” Hand still wrapped around your throat, he bends to whisper into your ear. “I always knew you were a slut.” Your breath hitches as he buries himself even deeper, touching a sensitive spot that sends a fresh wave of pain through you. “That’s why I had to keep you in line.” He drops a soft kiss on your cheek as you tremble beneath him. “Sluts like you need a firm hand.”

You’re nothing but a ragdoll under Rafe as he uses you as a vessel for his pent-up anger and frustration. Every time you graze your peak, your body jolting uncontrollably, he pulls out of you out of the blue, pinching your swollen clit until you cry out and reminding you that you’re not allowed to come, that you don’t deserve even a sliver of release.

You’ve always known Rafe was capable of terrible things. But this…This is worse than anything he’s ever done to you. This is the point of no return.

Every time Rafe ruthlessly pounds into you, a bullet-like sensation rips through your flesh, tearing apart any semblance of normalcy, safety that you had. Hot tears skip down your cheeks. You will never feel safe or normal again. 

“Did you fuck that Pogue?” he snarls, his warmth breath flowing over your face. You’re so dazed and fucked out, on the cusp of passing out, you can barely keep your thoughts coherent, let alone speak. 

“Don’t tell me I already fucked you dumb, princess?” he sneers, annoyance and a sick dose of mirth mingling in his hoarse timbre.

When you fail to provide an answer, he bangs your head against the railings. Pins and needles drill into your skull. He wrenches your head back, pulling on a fistful of your hair until your scalp stings.

“When I ask you a fucking question, you answer,” he seethes. His voice lowers as his eyes dive into yours. “Did you fuck that Pogue?”

“N-No, Rafe,” you wheeze out, your voice weak and defeated.

The marbled floor chafes your back as he steadily ruts into you again, grabbing under your thighs to fuck you even deeper as you weep in silence beneath him. 

“Good. You’re mine and no one else’s. Do you understand? That fucking pussy was always mine…and still is.” He unleashes a drawn-out purr, lips parting as you clench around him. “Fuck you’re tight. How the hell are you so tight?” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He lets go of your neck to focus on your hips, corralling them firmly in his large hands so he can fuck you with abandon. “God, I missed this,” he moans. His gaze narrows. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just cause you’ve got a tight pussy.” 

His thrusts grow sloppier over time. Rafe chases his high while you pant helplessly beneath him. When his warmth spills inside you, a shuddered exhale leaves you. He remains nestled between your bruised walls, his heavy body covering yours as his spent leaks between your ass cheeks, pooling beneath you. He plants a slow, soft kiss on your lips, a disturbing contrast to what he just did to you. 

He cups your cheek and strokes the side of your head. 

“You took four years from me. And I intend to make up for lost time.” A devilish grin splits across his face. Dread fills you as he adds, “Maybe I’ll even put another one in you, make sure not to miss anything this time.”

“Mommy, mommy! Look at me,” Parker shouts from astride the majestic pure breed pony his father appointed for his fourth birthday. 

He waves at you and you return the gesture with a hollow smile. 

“I’m watching you, sweetie,” you reply from your lounge chair by the pool. 

Above the Cameron mansion, the sun shines bright, the sky a dizzying shade of blue. There’s not a cloud in sight, almost as if Rafe paid them off to steer clear on his son’s special day.

Parker trots around the yard with a big, ecstatic smile on his face, his dad cheering him on nearby. The little boy requested a pony ride for his birthday so, of course, Rafe Cameron made it happen.

There aren’t many things Cameron money cannot buy. A fact he loves taunting you with every chance he gets. 

Just like the ridiculous, over the top birthday party he put together, Rafe never misses an occasion to spoil his son rotten since they reunited. Almost as if to show you what you’ve been depriving him of all these years, rub his money in your face and make you feel like a terrible mom. 

You can’t deny that it works. Every time Rafe gives Parker something you never could have provided on your own, guilt chews at you. And it’s clear that he knows it, that smug grin always dancing on his face when he catches you looking dejected. 

One of the moms in the lounge chair near yours lets out a dreamy sigh as she devours Rafe with her eyes. 

“You’re a lucky bitch, you know that? Cute son. Hot husband. What I wouldn’t give to have your life.”

Your teeth clench as you bite down every hateful word searing your tongue. From across the yard, Rafe’s icy blue eyes find yours. He beams at you. A chill travels up your spine. You look away.

“Hm…yeah. I guess I am,” you answer, casting a sour glance at the diamond ring on your finger. The gigantic rock’s shimmer is blinding as it catches the sunlight. To everyone else on Figure Eight, the fancy silver ring is a display of Rafe Cameron’s boundless love and devotion for you. It makes women green with envy. It bruises men’s egos. But you see the exorbitant blood diamond for what it is…An expensive shackle binding you to your gilded cage. A reminder that you’re trapped and there is no safe haven away from him anymore.

Rafe hasn’t failed to find little ways to make you pay since that day. Treating you like an object to satisfy his needs behind closed doors while forcing you to maintain the act of the perfect family in public. Every day you awake dreading he found another way to torment you, some fresh hell to rain upon you.

He never runs out of ways to twist the knife he buried deep within you. Again and again.

When the evening reaches its end, all the guests having vacated the house, Rafe slips behind you as you’re cleaning dishes. 

His large hands sweep over your hips and you recoil.

“Rafe…I’m…Can’t we give it a rest, just for today? I’m still sore from the other night,” you plead, desperation making your voice quake.

Before he can answer, Parker interrupts, trailing down the stairs as he yawns. 

“Daddy?” he utters drowsily. 

The little boy is sporting a brand new pajama his father got him, as he didn’t allow you to keep any of the clothes you got him over the years, calling them low quality and cheap.

He approaches your son at the bottom of the stairs and holds his shoulders, giving him a bright grin. His expression turns fond and prideful as he considers his son. The way Rafe is with his son is a sharp contrast to the way he is with everyone else. The toddler’s become the center of his universe. It nearly makes you feel guilty for hiding him. Nearly. The bruises tattooed all over your skin are a wicked reminder of who Rafe truly is.

“Daddy’s coming soon to tuck you in, okay, P?” He kisses the top of his head. “So go back to your room.”

Parker nods as he lets out another yawn. “Okay.”

“That’s my boy,” he chimes, ruffling his honey blonde curls. 

Parker hops up the stairs. When Rafe turns to you, the smile on his face vanishes.

He rushes to you, his hand shooting up to latch around your throat. His deathly grip on your neck crushes your windpipe. You look at him with wide, terrified eyes, your mouth wobbling. An expression edging on murderous decorates his handsome face. 

He snickers. “You’re sore? You think I give a fuck? I’m putting Parker to bed, then I want you waiting for me upstairs in that red lingerie set I just bought you.” He leans over you, mumbling in a low, threatening tone. “I meant what I said. You owe me four years, princess.” He licks the errant tear sliding down your cheek. “And I plan on getting every single second back.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #pogue!reader #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine

[amuseoffyre]

I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now. 

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.

#good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens #good omens spoilers #gos2 #go s2

[jnkgrnde]

— dating hc’s, clarisse la rue, pjo

summary — dating hc’s w pookie

pairings — clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader (daughter of apollo)

authors note — some of this is inspired by a clarisse fanfic i read the other day w a child of apollo reader ☝🏾

⭑ alr first things first y’all r the definition of black cat gf + golden retriever gf WALK W ME!

⭑ like when u first got to camp clarisse was v.. she thought u were different but in a good way.

⭑ she expected u to act like how an apollo kid would except u were like 5x sunshinier and smilier.

⭑ when u decided to hang out w her more often after u arrived people were starting to question things

⭑ like how clarisse wasn’t throwing you in the lake

⭑ the only reason she hadn’t done that yet was because she was starting to like having you around, even if she didn’t act like it

⭑ you’d talk to her about your day, spar w her, etc etc

⭑ that was up until the night you realized you liked her more than friends

⭑ you were pacing around your cabin, biting your nails anxiously; when you got to camp, you decided to read about your father, and that included all of his tragedies family wise and love wise.

⭑ you didn’t want to continue that tradition, so you came down to the decision of avoiding clarisse entirely.

⭑ it started becoming noticeable after about two or three days.

⭑ clarisse was more irritable, and people noticed you weren’t around her as much. a lot of the time you’d write in your journal about it.

⭑ whenever you were at the archery range, you’d up and leave as soon as you saw clarisse.

⭑ she wasn’t happy about this

⭑ this had been going on for what felt like forever; clarisse trying to subtly look for you, and whenever she found you you always managed to leave as soon as she was approaching.

⭑ she would’ve never admitted this to anybody, but she missed you. how you would talk non stop about your day and always ask how hers was going. she missed the way you would get shy whenever she called you sunshine because of your descent.

⭑ she ended up having enough when she called out for you at the archery range and you blatantly ignored her, which is how you two got where you are right now

“y/n!”

you cursed to yourself as you started walking the opposite direction, not even bothering to put your bow down.

she didn’t let you go this time, running up to you to turn you around. you had a slight look of anger and fear on your face, and it hurt clarisse to see you look at her like everyone else does.

“why are you avoiding me?” you avoided her eyes. you weren’t really prepared for what would’ve happened when or if she decided to approach you. “is there something you wanted to tell me? any explanation? at all?” she persisted. “i just- it’s hard to talk about, clarisse.” clarisse frowned. you almost never used her full name. “it’s just me, sunshine. just you and me.”

you breathed deep to calm your aching heart. “i like you.”

clarisse stood dumbfounded. “what?” “i have a crush on you, and i was scared to tell you because of my dad and his history with love. i didn’t want to possibly get you killed all because i loved you.” clarisse looked at you for a moment then put her lips with yours.

her hand found your waist as you gripped her forearm. why and since when was she a good kisser? it was getting heated so you pulled away. “why did you do that?” you asked her breathlessly. “we have more of a chance of dying solely because we’re demigods. if i have to die early, i’d rather die knowing me and you were together through everything.” you nodded. “okay.” you whispered out.

“okay?” she repeated. she looked at you with so much love held in her eyes. “okay.” you started grinning.

⭑ let me wrap this up before it gets too long lmao

⭑ to reiterate what i said earlier, yall are the definition of black cat gf + golden retriever gf

⭑ whether its in capture the flag or just strolling around the campgrounds, clarisse is very protective of you

⭑ i’d like to believe she would steal some of ur lotion n stuff cs u got GOOD stuff don’t ask me how i know

⭑ you’d also help eachother out w ur hair like braiding them for games etc etc

⭑ she loved ur voice btw. like u had a naturally pretty voice bc of ur dad, so she’d love to hear u talk. bonus points if ur one of those ppl who sing peoples names instead of js saying them normally

⭑ it took her a minute to get used to it, but atp she does not care about pda; she’s showing u off whether u like it or not

⭑ okay thats it clarisse is my girlfriend #confirmed

#clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson fic #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson

[peachsayshi]

(minors / blank / ageless blogs dni)

their past relationships, and how it hurt them:

gojo - was used for his status, his money, his power. he’s a pretty trinket to wave around, a commodity. objectified by his past lover, who he showered with love hoping for an ounce of return but never received it. he was begging for love, hoping it would come but it never did. he had to walk away - he was losing his mind. it was the only time he saw his lover fight for him. plead and cry for him. tell him they loved him. but he knew it wasn’t for him. it was because of everything else they would lose in the process.

geto - saw how they fell out of love with him. when his walls crumbled down and they finally felt the cracks on this romantic’s heart. he told himself being vulnerable would make the relationship stronger, but instead he saw the warmth leave their eyes. he’s irreparable, he thinks. too damaged for anything true. he showed no emotion when they said that he was complicated, when they didn’t have the patience to understand him wholeheartedly. after that, he swore he would never reveal his weaknesses again. he would never be naive with his love - and so he’ll keep it to himself.

nanami & higuruma - knows that their commitment is their love. that’s what they believed and because of their devotion, they trusted too blindly. when their lover betrayed them by carrying on an affair so deep into their relationship (by then they were either engaged or married) they were completely taken aback; shocked, and panicked over what they possibly could have done wrong. they were told that they were too cold, and too analytical in a relationship. that there was no passion or fire. they never saw themselves as rigid, never considered that their genuine love would be the reason why everything fell apart.

choso - he knew it wasn’t working; his former lover was different and he couldn’t fit in their world no matter how he tried. he was the thrill, the escape, the outlet that they needed for a taste of danger. choso simply couldn’t handle the thought of walking away. they claimed they loved him but he’s never felt more alone and would rather this than the latter. his brothers would tell him it shouldn’t be this complicated, and he struggled coming to terms with that. walking away was heartbreaking, and he was left wondering if he might ever experience something real with somebody who mattered.

toji - had love, which makes it so painful. the feeling coexisted with his every need, like the air he breathes and the water he drinks. she was his everything, his world, and his happiness. tragedy tore them apart, an illness that neither of them could see. he fought against the fates, screamed at the heavens above for trying to steal what rightfully belonged to him. and in the end, he lost the battle. he was left with only grief and memories. a broken heart that would never heal the same again.

sukuna - was told he was hard to love. he never claimed to be a saint but he didn’t consider himself a brute or a beast either. navigating romance wasn’t his strong suit, but it’s not like he wasn’t willing to put in the effort. that he wasn’t willing to try. however, nothing was ever enough. nothing he ever did seemed to work. every attempt blew up in his face, so he eventually just stopped trying. what was the point anyway, if he was difficult to love? he might as well stop pretending like he deserves it.

#jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #Gojo x reader #gojo headcanons #geto x reader #geto headcanons #nanami x reader #nanami headcanons #higuruma x reader #higuruma headcanons #choso x reader #choso headcanons #toji x reader #toji headcanons #sukuna x reader #sukuna headcanons #jjk angst

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 4)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

Part 4 Enough

Alastor struggled with the prior expectations others had of him, but you eased them away with gentle hands. And to your great comfort, Tommy’s absence is noticed but not entirely shocking to anyone. With that concern behind him, finally, Alastor gives in to his own selfish wants and asks for your help with his “work.”

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! No pussy eating! No fingering! It took away from the important events and Alastor’s mental health (I know he’s not real but he’s KINDA REAL?) so I didn’t include it. Next time! , Murder, dead bodies, allusions to bad things by bad men, Alastor has had bad times and will have bad times, bad kind of choking, domestic shit, Detective Brady, Obvious Sin」

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream. 

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’). 

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to  finish or he could say he did. 

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons. 

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase. 

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking. 

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first.  His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it. 

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.” 

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.” 

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening. 

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character. 

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…” 

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool,  Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to. 

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall. 

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little. 

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face. 

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path. 

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past. 

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames. 

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ 

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved. 

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new? 

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel. 

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it? 

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home. 

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image. 

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it. 

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals. 

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face. 

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night. 

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a  dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap. 

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much. 

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it. 

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in? 

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight. 

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened. 

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs. 

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date. 

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own. 

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you. 

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors. 

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you. 

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?” 

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat. 

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine. 

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other. 

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck! 

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else. 

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy. 

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return. 

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds. 

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry. 

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both. 

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.” 

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist. 

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far.  And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men. 

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous. 

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning. 

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out. 

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream. 

Part 5 is halfway done 👌

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #human alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin alastor #fanfiction

[futureplayboibunnie]

lil Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader drabble

Warnings: NSFW, depics of violence, blood, some steamy stuff but not too much, sooo much dirtytalk.

You were many things. But you weren't naive.

That wouldn't be an issue if Miguel couldn't talk his way out of hell and right into those pearly gates. His manipulation and sweet talking were just another thing that made you hate him and attracted to him amongst many other things

He was an asshole. He was a powerful Mob Boss. He was your husband and your arch-nemesis. You both loved playing these little games that would send the other down a spiral of paranoia and obsession- it lit a fire under both of your asses. It made you meaner, sharper, stronger

Miguel told his men to take shots at you, haphazardly, making sure they all missed for the sole purpose of scaring you to make you behave and see how valuable his protection was . You weren’t scared, you were pissed and filled with rage. You blew up one of his lackey’s cars, he watched it burn in front of him, if he had gotten into the wrong black beauty of a Lamborghini, he’d be a pile of ashes.

You both poked and prodded, messed and obsessed with every step you made. It was like a Greek tragedy. You outsmarted him some days. He outsmarted you some days.

But after all of it, you were still married, still husband and wife. When he fell for you, he fell hard. You were the daughter of of one of the most renowned gangster in the country, Miguel had to pay his dues to earn his respect- and in the end it payed off. Your father blessed your marriage and that night was a dream above all dreams. The honeymoon was beautiful too, every night was filled with passionate and messy sex and every day he spent with you he fell more and more in love.

But Lord did you test his patience, it was something that you were born to do. He was angry and channelled his rage through many illegal mediums.

Yet you always let him back in.

-

You’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

Waiting up for Miguel.

Waiting for him to come home.

He said he had something to take care of and hasn’t shown his face since. And here you were, waiting for him like a Park Avenue trophy wife. Your wine was making you more anxious than tipsy as you glared at the clock, the fireplace in front of you not warming your body from this strange fear of a man you hate and love. It was nearing 1am.

Then you heard it, the door opening and closing and the rustling of expensive shoes hitting the marble of the foyer, then a jarring clank of keys hitting the holder.

Your breath got lost in your throat, eyes widening when you saw Miguel’s figure. His white shirt was bloodied and his fists were bruised and raw. It’s not his blood, but he did have a cut on his eyebrow. You scoffed as you stood up from your seat.

But that didn’t stop you from both charging at each other, wanting to see each other up close.

“I hate you.” You said with a scowl but what was it all for when you both embraced each other seconds after.

“I believe you.” He said coldly but he knew you meant it. Your head rested on his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo you used earlier tonight. A sweet orchard, green apple. Yet your sweet scent didn’t transfer to yout personality. You didn’t like to sit still and play house.

You were an antagonizing bitch.

He was a heartless bastard.

Yet here you were.

Hating each other, yet seeking each other’s company.

“I hate you.” You repeated much firmly this time and Miguel gripped onto your cheeks and pulled your face up so he could glare at you.

“I said I believe you…I haven’t believed anyone in a long time.” He muttered, but his tone was harsh. Unamused eyes searched yours for an answer but instead he found contempt and sadness.

“You left for weeks….I hated you every second of it.” You spat out but your words couldn’t be brutal when you were this sad.

Miguel’s grip on your face softened, the pads of his fingertips tracing on the outline of your chin. “Now that I’m back…do you still hate me?” He was asking with genuine concern for some reason.

“Yes.” You whispered but your legs started to tremble as the word rolled off of your tongue. Miguel frowned indignantly and huffed out, taking his turn to pivot the conversation to him just ordering you around again.

“I don’t want you leaving the penthouse. I don’t want you outside while I deal with these bastards-“

Your choked breath cut him off. “Is that all you’re thinking about right now? I can’t fucking believe you.” You scoffed, his gall was truly outstanding, of course he had to do this right now. You weren’t purposefully trying to fan the flames to Miguel’s anger but he wanted to treat it like you were, he was already annoyed for ruining one of his best shirts with the blood of subspecies and now he has to deal with you bitching and moaning…and not in the way he liked. “You know what Miguel-“ He directly stopped your words by gripping onto your waist and neck and sitting you on the dining table. You struggled against his hold but it all proved to be fruitless.

“You’re gawking at me like an idiot right now.” You insulted but he was way too far gone now, the crimson of his eyes migrated to a deep ring of burgundy- he was already pissed and you just had to play with him the wrong way.

“You’re beautiful that’s why.” He said endearingly, like he was cooing at you but his serious expression really contrasted that.

“You’re flattering me because you wanna fuck?”

“You asked me if you staying here is all I’m thinking about right now and in fact, it’s not.” Miguel placed a palm on your chest and pushed you flat onto the table, hard. Your eyes were half lidded weapons, scrutinising his every move- and dare he think, he loves it, because he always proves you wrong.

You were his wife, his bitch, his cumdump. You both may hate each other but you always needed each other in this way.

No one else could make you cum otherwise, no one else memorised your body like he did. How couldn’t he? He loved you…once.

You like to think these outbursts are impactful and grand displays of independence but no, you’re Miguel’s lover and you’re gonna act like it.

Hmm. You always looked so pretty in this silk robe, but the fact that your nipples were peaking already under the thin fabric told him all he needed to know.

“I was thinking of you today when I was killing my competition’s men, while I got blood on my hands.” Miguel’s calloused palms splayed onto your smooth legs, feeling up and down teasingly, riding up your robe. You arched against the table already.

Shit, you didn’t mean to.

“The others said that my mind was wandering. I could see their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear a single word come out..” He said huskily, you gasped when he ripped open your robe, revealing your naked and beautiful figure under him. The only thing that could ever get him off. He dipped his head between your legs to were your thin barely there panties were, he ran his nose over the fabric and inhaled softly. “I could smell you.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, you didn’t know what to feel. You were mad but so aroused…and in the weeks he’s been gone you hadn’t been able to pleasure yourself at all. He looked vicious and mean, your husband was ruthless and sometimes….sometimes it was so fucking arousing, you couldn’t help but squirm and struggle underneath him.

“You wanna know what I did? You wanna know who the man you married is really like when he’s not at home?” His head raised up to your ear to mumble hotly, you jolted and struggled when his hand suddenly went to your already sticky folds.

You weren’t sure if you even had a choice, so you stayed silent, your expression akin to that of vacant displeasure….but oh, were you lying. Your face was about to break.

“I shot them in the kneecaps and beat them until they were barely breathing, but would you believe the way they died was by suffocation?” He chuckled lowly, his fingers teasing your already sloppy entrance.

“F-fuck…are you talking about?” You tried to fight back the moans collecting in the back of your throat but you couldn’t help it.

“They drowned in a puddle of their own blood and I put them there.” Miguel rasped firmly in your ear, his tone and body language becoming very intimidating and…scary. “The bastard’s blood got on my fucking shoes.”

Your husband only wanted to protect what was his. His fingers plunged inside of you, feeling up and down, circling around. You whined out.

“One of them I knew, he went to my fucking highschool hermosa. I called him my friend. But the worst thing occured to me, I imagined him on top of you, my wife, the woman that loathes me so. I saw him tasting you in my head and that’s what made me kill him. You. Just because you sit up here in this untouchable palace doesn’t mesn you’re any cleaner than I am. You’re just as depraved as I am.”

His eyes were beating with a scorching red, his lips were curled into a visicious snarl and at this moment, you knew he was right and that made you want him that much more.

You were his lover.

He wanted you to act like it.

Even if that meant being exactly like he was.

Heartless.

-

(I deleted my other mafia Miguel fic because I wasn’t sure if i was gonna make it a bigger fic or not and I felt like if i kept it up it would’ve been confusing or something? I’m playing on the same ideas in this fic dw)

#spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara

[meidnightrain]

TANGERINE MORNING LIGHT❞ - aventurine

summary: a phone call interrupts a morning that is luxurious to you both

warnings: reader is gn, fluff

notes: let’s see if you can guess which song helped to inspire the fic for today! i’m a bit late to the party, this was also inspired by that official art and i tried to give my own twist to it to make it a little different. was supposed to be posted yesterday but something came up with queued posts and it didn’t go through so i’ll have to manually log into do it :(((

taglist(open): @akutasoda , @ryuryuryuyurboat , @toorurs , @yvnaology , @tragedy-of-commons , @staarri , @rainswept , @karagatan02 , @https-mika

“alright, i understand. let’s schedule the interview for today.” his voice was the first thing that you registered in the morning.

AVENTURINE is disheveled; his usually precariously combed hair is now tousled with odd ends sticking out in places, and only a single button on his pajama top holds his shirt together. you can see the slight ridge of his abs when he shifted to turn around, the phone over his ear, and an annoyed expression on his face.  

he is gorgeous in the morning sunlight; he glimmers like gold-spun silk, and you can’t help but admire him in silence, laying on your side as you stared at every inch of him. you’ve long known him, seen the pieces of him laid bare, and seen what makes him tick.  

“how long have you been staring?” you’re broken out of your thoughts; he’s facing you now with a small smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him. you’re practically breathing each other’s air with how close you both are, and you can’t help but curse at him silently for making you feel this way even after dating for so long. you always melted into his touch without a fight; you’re not sure if that was his intention or if you were so infatuated with him that it made you like that.  

“i could have stared longer.” you narrowed your eyes at him, a pout beginning to form on your lips. “i was daydreaming.”  

he’s slightly amused by your response, one of his delicately raised eyebrows arching perfectly. he was perfect; every bit of him was there anyway. “and what were you daydreaming about?”  

“you not going for that meeting and sleeping in with me?” you offered with a cheeky wink, booping him on the nose with your finger. that caught AVENTURINE off-guard while he processed your words before he returned a smug expression, and you could feel his body press into yours. you’d love to think he’ll never forget about what would happen if it all fell down and crumbled into ashes. you’ll both have to pay the price if it all fails, but that's something to worry about another day.  

you’re half asleep this early in the morning. it's somewhat of a luxury to take your time in the tangerine, neon light that is the sunlight bringing along the morning. he was busy with work, busy gambling everything he had to spend his tomorrows with you. he’s not saying he’s in love with you just yet. it's those three words, three syllables, and eight letters that haven’t rolled off his tongue all this while, but he’s going to.  

he’s awake, and he’s going to take his chance, snuggling closer as he breathed in the sweet scent of you. “we have a few hours.” he is warm, and the irises of his eyes are so hypnotizing and alluring that you fall under his spell.  

he knows this is a big mistake to let you in like this—to show vulnerability and yearn for you affection. to indulge himself in your touch and comfort over and over again, like how an alcoholic would always turn back to soulglad religiously without fail. if he was going to be drunk, he’d rather be drunk in your love.  

“and what happens?” your eyes are closed, and you fit perfectly into the space that is the crook of his neck. “if this blows up in your pretty face, my dear gambler?”  

you’re not saying for AVENTURINE to do it anyway, to take this risk even if it would reap high rewards, because rarely was there ever a chance that high gambles would be effortless to pull off. but you knew, that he was going to get the thrill of betting everything he had, which would drove him to such lengths.  

“when was i ever one to back down from a gamble?” stray strands of his blonde hair tickled the top of your head, like feathers brushing across skin. what would you say if he told you that all he needed was you? you’ll wait then for him to say that he loved you. all you needed was three words, three syllables, eight letters, and all the time in the world.

© AVENTURNE 2024. DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD MY WORKS ONTO ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

#🗞️ - honkai star rail fics #—stellaronhvnters. #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #hsr fluff

[writtenbymoonflower]

Book Blues

Your book is sad and Remus is sweet. fem!reader

800 words

cw: crying, brief mention of smut at the very end (if you blink you'll miss it)

It was far too late to be this awake and reading. In your defense, Remus was still awake too. He was downstairs finishing some report for work and you were upstairs, finishing your book. You didn’t have much left, and you were hoping to finish by the time Remus came up for bed. It made you happy that you and Remus could do your own things but still be as connected as ever at the end of the night. 

Still smiling to yourself, you returned to your book. You were right at the climax and you were scraping your eyes excitedly over the words. You could feel the tension of the scene building, and building, and building, until it all came crashing down. 

Something awful happened. 

As you continued to read you could feel tears well up in your eyes and your sinuses clog with sadness. It may be overdramatic to get this upset, but you loved this book! You felt like you knew these characters themselves and their tragedy affected you greatly. You stayed in the same hunched-over position until you finally reached the end through the blur of salty water in your eyes. You leaned against the headboard, hugging the traitorous book tight to your chest, finally allowing yourself to break down. 

It was a lot of tears for something that wasn’t real, but you couldn't help it! The story resonated with you. You choked out soft sobs, sniffling and hiccupping Through your sobs you couldn’t hear Remus’ gentle ascension up the stairs to your shared room. You couldn’t even hear the creak of your old door as he stepped in. You just kept sobbing. It wasn’t a full-on come apart, but it was clear you were very upset. In your curled position Remus couldn’t see the book in your arms, all he could see was your stained face and shaking shoulders. His heart wrenched, he wondered what had made you so sad.

He wondered what he would have to do if it was someone who made you this upset.

He wondered why you didn't come find him when you started crying.

“Hey Dove, what’s going on?” He tried to keep his voice even to not scare you, but you startled anyway. 

“Mm, ‘s nothing.” You reached one hand up to quickly wipe your damp face. He was obviously very nervous, and you felt bad about scaring your boyfriend. But, you still were processing your book and even if you could talk, he might tease you and your heart couldn’t take that right now. 

“If it was nothing I feel like you wouldn’t be crying this hard, Sweet Girl.” He made the short distance from the door to the bed in two long strides before sitting next to you and rubbing your back soothingly. “Come on, out with it.” He was growing more worried and impatient by the second. 

Physical affection wasn’t something Remus required all the time. He loved it, it just wasn’t a constant thing between the two of you, but he felt like right now called for it. He made quick work of uncurling your arms and turning to face you. He started to pull you into a proper hug but he was stopped by the foreign object in your lap. He pulled away to look down.

“Dove, what’ve you got?” He asked, confused. You looked at him with a sheepish smile. He picked up the book in your lap, recognizing it as the one you had been keeping on your bedside table the past few days. His brows furrowed and he looked confused, before realization fell over his features. “Is this what’s got you so upset?” His brown eyes found yours, looking for confirmation. 

“Yes,” You replied, slightly ashamed and ducking to avoid his eyeline.

“You worry me, poor girl.” He gently chided. His mouth was unturned in a teasing smile. “Was your book sad?” He quickly turned sympathetic, wiping your wet cheeks and nose with his sweater sleeve.

“It was so sad, Remmy.” You played hard into his pity. Your hand came up to wrap around his slim wrist and hold his palm against your face. 

“I’m sorry,” He pouted at you, teasing still flickering in his eyes. “Anything I can do to make you less sad?”

“Yes,” You said grimly, lashes wet with tears. “You can buy me another book.” Your face lit up as you finished the sentence.

“Cheeky,” He pulled your face to his chest, wanting to scold you but he was too endeared. 

“You asked, I was just honest.” You quipped, playful.

“Fair enough, I’ll just have to find you one that’s sadder. You’re a lot sweeter when you’re crying, you know?” 

“You didn’t think so earlier, you were scared.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to have you crying for me in another way.” Your cheeks flamed at the comment. “How does that sound, Dovey?”

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders fandom #hp marauders #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin fic

[tornado1992]

The world does not deserve some things.

It doesn’t deserve destruction, hate or cruelty.

Sonic has known this for quite a while, being some sort of fighter for nature or a so called “protector” of it by a lot of people, he’s not so sure about that though.

Just as the world can be beautiful it can become dreadful, the world gives origin to everything in it, and that everything is part of the world itself.

The people that live in it are the part that shows the contrast the most clearly, just as some inhabitants are kind, take care of each other and enjoy the wonders it has to offer, there was a few of them that seemed to spite everything that wasn’t like them, everything they didn’t like, and everything that wasn’t theirs. Sonic knows that, he’s been fighting that enough time to be named a protector.

All things considered, to him the world still meant kindness, endless opportunities, adventure… and it meant freedom.

Then it meant something else.

Between all his fighting and running, he met and befriended a lot of the ones that called him a hero before he could even process the title, some of them energetic, some hotheaded, and some unbothered, they reminded him that even if there was despair or tragedy, the world he knew and loved was still there.

At least it was there to him.

Getting to know all the world meant getting almost as much deception and anger as happiness, every new place meant new sceneries, new ways, and new people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if it meant taking all the damage himself, getting to know everything personally was better than blindly trusting anything he was told, he knew it was worth it; he confirmed it when he went through one of the worst parts to find the absolute best one.

The place wasn’t even bad looking, the nature growing harmoniously beside the artificial work, it gave a peaceful kind of vibe, the people seemed kind and respectful, kids playing and chasing each other while adults looked out for them from afar, even welcoming him with open arms not caring if he was a stranger, “a united and caring community”, no sight of conflict or cruelty came to view, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them. Only kind words and even warm chilli dogs greeted him. He thought this was the kind of place he would fight for.

That thought lasted less than an hour.

It really doesn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to completely change your perspective of a so called perfect community when after thirty minutes of an apparent peaceful environment you notice the sick looking child they suddenly chase down the woods so he doesn’t “steal their food and gives them bad fortune”. Sonic gives them a full minute of doubt, doubt to himself as what he’s hearing and seeing, because that can’t be right, because it must be a mistake. What reason could there be for a kid to “give bad luck”? Why would a kid need to “steal” food? And why would he be called a “curse”?

Some villager takes a long four minutes to explain the reason for all that, falling down to “that mutant was born with two tails”.

Sonic spends the next five minutes looking for the kid, and restraining himself from committing several crimes.

He had to focus, ending a full village’s whole career can wait, what cannot wait is the fox kit that just ran away from a group of kids leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even in the thick forest tundra it’s easy to see the big droplets of blood on the tree branches, the ground, and the tiny bush that kept trembling.

That’s where he found him.

A fox kit, didn’t looked any older than two, but by what he heard he could even be four. He looked way too tiny to be around four.

Big baby blue eyes greet him, a glassy sight, sorrow, confusion and sadness behind them.

The moment the fox noticed the speedster he tried to run, but the bush was too thick around him, and his back was facing a big tree log, he was trapped, the kid flinched every time he moved towards him, whined whenever Sonic rose to stand, and even started silently tearing up while curling around his tiny bruised body when he tried to reach for him. This kid thought Sonic wanted to hurt him.

How much does a kid has to suffer for his first reaction to some one approaching him being to cry, tremble and try to protect themselves?

Sonic can’t decide what enrages him more, the matted brown fur that surely must mean a long time without proper care for it, the bruised skinny body that trembled every few seconds as if it couldn’t stand by itself, the obviously recent bleeding nose that made the fox kit whimper every time he breathed, or the so clear loud sound of an empty stomach.

This was the result of long period of abuse and neglect, and by the way the kid hugged his twin tails while crying, Sonic would even call it torture.

Sonic couldn’t help him without getting close to him, but the kit wouldn’t let him near him without flinching. Putting the kid through more distress was not an option, but leaving him alone wasn’t one either, and the kid needed help, so he stayed. Sitting beside the trembling bush, taking watch in case some of those hollow hearted villagers came back while thinking of a way of helping the kid.

This is not the kind of help Sonic is used to offer, but he cannot just leave the kit alone. Even if he didn’t know anything about taking care of younger kids, even if his first aid kit was almost empty in his plane far away from him, even if the fox cried at the very sight of him, Sonic won’t leave him alone.

He doesn’t remember feeling like this before. Frustrating, he remembers some adults calling it, a feeling of helplessness, anger, and even sadness that consumes one self through the impossibility of effective action, in his case, the impossibility of helping.

And so he found himself, frustrated, sitting on the forest ground while rubbing his eyes with his hand, who knew, frustration is stressful; he kept at that for a few long minutes, until he felt a slight touch in his back. Finding those big blue eyes when he turned his head, a tiny gloveless paw patting him gently, careful with his quills but yet touching them, trying to comfort him.

This kid could barely stand, was obviously scared, at the verge of tears, and hurting from the beating the other kids gave him; and he was trying to make Sonic feel better.

It was clear now, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them because they put all the cruelty and hatred in a kid, an innocent, tiny, and so kind hearted kid. The same village that greeted Sonic with kind words and offered him warm food was willing to let a literal toddler starve, if he wasn’t killed by the village’s youngest inhabitants first. All over something that wasn’t even bad, it wasn’t even his fault.

That won’t do.

Looking less distressed than before but still trembling wasn’t an ideal state to approach the twin tailed kit, but again, the kid needed help, the most urgent now being probably first aid, but Sonic sadly knew that the thing that would calm down the kid more would be something to eat.

Sonic offered him a smile, an attempt to soothe him, standing as slowly as he could not to scare the kid, and running as fast as his legs allowed him to return with four chili dogs was the game plan, managing to startle the kid a little bit with his rushed return, with the most difficult part of the plan being convincing the kid that the food was for him, that he could eat, that it wouldn’t hurt him, that Sonic wouldn’t hurt him.

Words might be useful to communicate that, but they just might, this kid was obviously casted away from society, who knew since when, he might not even understand him, well, if he used words that is, for now he hopes his smile would do (that and him eating a chili dog himself so the kit would know it’s safe).

It took a while, but it seemed like the fox’s empty stomach finally convinced him to eat, his hands trembling as he grabbed the supper, eyes getting a different kind of teary as he took his first bite, his twin tails wagging as he devoured his second chili dog.

Sonic wasn’t much of a baby person, sure they were cute and all he didn’t saw the big deal, all babies were the same. But seeing this little kid, a hurt toddler, starting to smile and wet his eyes over something as simple as warm food.. while a part of him was burning with rage, another part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted to see this kid truly smile.

He wonders how could anyone see this kid with anything but love.

So he stayed around him, always with a smile, but even bandages, chili dogs, and big smiles couldn’t help much with the kids perspective of the word, much less the perception of himself.

The only world the fox knew before Sonic was a merciless one, rejection, hate and cruelty being its main traits, with bad people who would hunt him down, hit him and hurt him because he was the bad one, just for existing in the same time and place as all of them, but not being the same as them. He believed he really was the bad one for some time.

Sonic wouldn’t allow that for any longer, so he took the best part of the world with him and never planned to return it.

His life wasn’t the ideal deal for a toddler, he couldn’t give him a traditional family structure, a roof over his head, or a warm bed, but he also didn’t trusted anyone else to take care of him, he didn’t trusted the world to take care of him. So he would take the job himself, this kid wouldn’t go a day without warm food, he would never lack shelter, and as long as Sonic was around, he would always protect him.

But Sonic still was a hero.

Sonic fought and ran, ran and fought, and when the running and fighting from him alone seemed like not enough, the kit didn’t even doubted risking his own life to help him.

After a life of suffering, as little and scared as he was, at barely four years old, he still wanted to protect the world that wronged him.

The world doesn’t deserve this kid.

But it was the world itself that gave Sonic the title of protector, guardian, and hero; he knows there are things worth fighting for, far more than the things that wouldn’t deserve any kind of protection.

He won’t deny the title, ever.

Because even if some day everything around him comes down, everyone gets mad and bad, and his own hope is questioned, he’ll still have a reason to fight.

After all, this kid is his world.

#miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #wsatw #sth #he loves this kid #kinda based on thatbirdguy s tails ratify au #tailsratifyau #can still be read as the regular canon #tried to make it ambiguous enough but still put some references in there #their art so good u gotta see it #the bros #and remember they are each other’s world #baby miles tails prower #baby tails #they are brothers your honor

[highly-flammable]

While Peeta’s declaration of love for Katniss on national television was certainly in order to gain attention for both himself and Katniss, the deeper meaning to it is way more important.

Peeta, no matter how well he could play the audience, deep down resented the idea of the games. For him, the biggest slap in the face to the Capitol that he could give was to highlight the brutality of it on national television. This was very heavy-handed in his interview in CF, but it is equally a driving force in THG.

In CF, he put the focus on a family being broken up and destroyed, because he claimed he and Katniss were married with a baby she was carrying. But Peeta putting the spotlight on loss is a common element in his first interview as well.

Since he was distant with his family and had already been callously alluded to as good as dead by his mother, he was not going to point out how his family will be losing their youngest son. If you look at Katniss’ first interview, her role as the elder sister who needed to get back to her little sister was the emotional hook. Peeta could not have used his family in order to drive a similar sense of tragedy. Even if he could by lying, I don’t believe he could have brought himself to do that.

Then how does a boy who doesn’t think his family needs him, a boy who is certain he is going to die, make a statement to the Capitol? How does he contribute to the sense of tragedy? By sharing his longing for the one connection he wishes he had. While he didn’t force Katniss to respond to his declaration, what he did do through his interview and subsequent actions (teaming up with the careers to mislead them, staying up all night to watch over her when they have her trapped in the tree, getting her to run after the tracker jacker attack), was making it clear that when he dies, Katniss will lose out on someone that really really loves her. That is the tragedy, that even if she lives, she lost out. He, with all his love and all his best intentions would have made her happy, could have been happy with her, if not for the Capitol.

Knowing Peeta’s character, I am going to say that he even felt like he could make that declaration because he didn’t believe there were any way he could have survived the games. Both of them being alive at the end was obviously an unimaginable scenario so there was no circumstance in his mind where he believed Katniss would be forced to reciprocate.

People have this uncharitable assumption that Peeta did this to get Katniss to be with him, but the truth is precisely the opposite. The two of them being together only became a possibility after the rule change and Katniss coming to find him, and even then, Peeta was pointing out that while they might play the audience, they themselves know it’s an act. The reason he got confused and believed it was genuine later on was because Katniss risked her own life to save his and because on some level it was genuine and he could feel it.

#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark

[heartfullofleeches]

Perfectly Sweet

Yandere Candy Harem + Gender Neutral Candy Witch Reader

Word Count: 10.7k

Summary: After a tragic incident resulting in the loss of your bakery, you awake in a land of sweets desperately searching for a way to return to a time and place that has abandoned you.

Warnings: Light body horror, [candy] cannibalism, hallucinations

A/N: A piece A few months in the makings. I hope you all enjoy :)

-

There once was a witch.

The first of her kind.

“A candy witch? What a silly idea!” 

 She was sure to disagree. 

“It’s my magic. Shouldn’t I have a say in its use? If I can’t do for myself first, I haven’t the heart to do a thing for anyone at all!” 

The witchling was the youngest in a lineage of powerful witches dating back to the founding days of their cozy little town. Her mother was the town healer in her prime and her mother’s great-grandmother fertilized the ground for which their town was built upon. The little witch had big shoes to fill, but neither fret nor shied away from what fate had decided. No – she outright rejected it, and sought to fill her dreams and goals much closer to home - right in the pit of her bottomless stomach. 

If the girl had one claim to fame before her prime, it had to be her enormous sweet tooth. She started her days with two spoonfuls of sugar, and three more by noon. She was not tied to the restriction of the human diet and did as she pleased to satisfy her endless craving. 

“Even tragedy can be sweet if it’s paired with the right treat.” – A saying she swore to remain true to, but behind closed doors the little witch could not carry her own words to heart. As the days of her coronation drew near, she became aware of the whispers around town – how self and cruel she was for abandoning tradition and her people. The kind faces she’d known all her years slowly turned spiteful and bitter – spurning her ambitions, and her turning her back on the community that raised her. The young witch wore a brave face, but behind closed doors she was not as bold as she seemed. She cried and cried, swallowing sugar and honey to ease her pain.

Due to constant ridicule and mockery, the little witch would have given up on everything had it not been for that one person.

On the eve of a new moon, there was a knock at her window. The young child of the town baker came to her with a task capable for her talents alone. With an influx of orders their parents had forgotten to bake a cake for their child’s birthday. Used to the treatment they did not wish to go another year without celebration and fled in the dead of night to the only source who could aid in their troubling times. 

The little witch could hardly hide her annoyance. Lack of a party was one thing, but no celebratory desserts to make up for it? No cake? Pie? Not even sweet bread? What fools the human had the misfortune of calling their parents. Could their kind do nothing without the help of hers? 

Against her own volition, she acted from the kindest of her heart and sought to fulfill their desperate plea. The little witch brought the young baker into her home, and through the night the two created the most extravagant birthday cake the baker nor anyone in town had ever seen. The excitement they expressed wasn’t held by them alone. The little witch had more fun baking with them than she ever had with a member of her blood. The gratitude and joy on the human’s face was something she had never seen before. Something strange. It made her feel odd. They must have slipped poison into her dish, but even that didn’t seem right. 

They treated her as a lifelong friend though their alliance began that very night where it should have ended. Being with that human gave her a toothache unlike any sugary treat could. As their bond grew, the witch would gradually learn that what she tasted that fateful eve was the start of something true. That human cracked the icy cage sheltering her fragile heart and woke her to new desires. 

She wanted to see them smile again. She wanted to make others happy in hopes it’d give her that same strange feeling in her stomach again. She’d never feel that exact  spark from anyone besides her new found friend, but the warmth in her chest was powerful to keep her newfound goals onward. 

The little witch and the baker’s child were inseparable from that day on. The pair grew as one - perfecting the recipes passed down to the young baker and adding a few of their own to the mix. They shared their creations with the town to prove the witch’s dreams were true as any other. Many still opposed, but they could not turn a blind eye to the duo’s efforts. The day of her awakening came and the young witch remained true to her heart – supported by her dearest friend who created an entire buffet of sweets to celebrate their second happiest day together.

Balancing magic and her culinary skills, the then adult witch unlocked feats far beyond that of her ancestors. A witch’s heart was their most powerful tool, and hers was filled with the love she held for sweets, her town, and the baker who changed everything for her. They flourished right alongside her into a kind, strong hearted individual, and later took over their parents' bakery as was tradition in their family. Just as she owed her success to them, they could do little without the aid of their favorite witch and invited her to take ownership with them. She’d be a fool to refuse their offer.

Perfecting her craft in all corners, the witch discovered what wonders her sweets could truly possess with a sprinkle of magic – some more groundbreaking than others, but nonetheless spectacular. Cupcakes that turn hair the same color as their frosting. Hard candies that could cure most illnesses. Cookies that would grant the eater’s truest wish with a single bite. She created an entire house made of sugar and sweetness for her and her dearest friend to live in. The townspeople who relied on the witch’s magic were amazed by the fruit of her hard labor, and the baker couldn’t be prouder which made the witch happier beyond compare. They noticed how hard she worked and only wished there was more they could do for her. The demands of the people piled in by the day, and though she wore a smile everyday they could see the cracks. The witch merely laughed off their worries, and carried on as usual. 

She was happy. They were happy. Everyone in the whole town was happy – but the happy days wouldn’t last forever unless the baker did something to aid the woman they loved. 

Rumors floated around town of normal humans becoming powerful witches over time. They say it only took a brave heart, a dedicated mind, and a wish. What people didn’t was that there was a fourth element involved. The second most important in a witch’s survival.

A strong body.

The baker pleaded with the witch to allow them to learn magic beside her. She had never been able to say no to them. The baker was a natural. Once she deemed them ready to practice, the human would master spells even she had difficulty with. It was no surprise to her considering their passions were one in the same, and if anyone was truer to their ambitions than her it was them. Together, the two were unstoppable. Untouchable. They worked off each other’s weaknesses and knew the other better than they knew themselves.

Which is why the witch was the first to notice. 

It began with a cough. The weather had grown quite chilly so neither thought much of it. A few of the witch’s homemade remedies and they felt good as new. Then - they began sleeping in. They went under spells of fatigue from the littlest tasks. Soon enough, they couldn’t even hold a spoon. 

The witch tried every spell in the book to save them. She took on the manning the shop alone so they were able to rest. It was the loneliest she had felt in years, but she’d do anything to save the human she loved. In the end, it was all for nothing. 

They died in their sleep while she was away from home – fulfilling the wishes of others while hers died alone at home.

The witch did everything she could.

She cried.

She begged.

She ate till her stomach felt like it was going to burst. 

To ease the pain, to bring them back - but even she could not raise the dead.

The cookies she shoved down her throat tasted bland and stale. Nothing was sweeter than the kisses the baker placed to her cheek every morning. She never got to tell them. She never had the chance to express her true feelings.

The witch screamed. 

Tore her hair out and cursed whatever horrible force that bound her to this fate. Made her weak. 

Please….

She cried over and over. 

Take me instead.

Don’t leave me here all alone.

 I can’t do this without you.

You said you’d never leave me.

Why?...

Please…

DON’T LEAVE ME! 

The townspeople gave her time to grief. It was the only mercy they gave. The knocking began. Their whispers slipped beneath her door. They asked her for more. She’d given them everything. Her heart, her love, her sweet, foolish baker- yet they still wanted more.

Selfish.

Greedy.

Cruel.

That’s all their kind had ever been. They took and took until there was nothing left. No… There was still one thing. She wasn’t going to let them take the shattered pieces. She refused to let them walk over her as they had trampled those before her. She’d take back everything they stole and more. She’d create a world catered to her desires. A place made of cinnamon and sugar, with subjects molded from the same ingredients and just as sweet. Creations who’d love and obey her for the rest of eternity. What the witch didn’t know…

Was they’d betray her worst of all. 

.

.

.

“Alright…. I think that’s enough for one year….”

“Awww.. but we nearly reached the end this time, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but – are you really sure this is something you want to hear on your birthday? It’s a pretty tale…” 

“Of course! I want to know everything about you, Sweets. Even old fairy tales in older, duster cookbooks.” 

“Hahaha, Fine….. Stay with me another year and we’ll finish it – I promise.”

“Better wish real hard then…. Who knows how many we have left.” 

.

.

.

“Help me…..”

.

.

.

“Help!” 

Smoke pads your lungs. Hands – hardened and calloused from years of labor pound and claw pathetically against solid wood. In lighter years, visitors would joke it’d take a stampede to tear down the door of your bakery. Fresh tears sting your wet eyes at the painful resurgence of memory. You press your apron tighter over your mouth and nose - sucking what precious oxygen remains as you prepare for what may be your last plea.

"Please, help me! I didn't do it!"

You know they can hear you. Over the crackling pops of roaring flames and the walls caving in around, your voice reigns louder than all. You hear their chants grow louder to drown you out. Accusations of a crime you'd lay your own life before than commit.

"I didn't hurt them! I'd never hurt them…. They were all I had. Please don't do this to us!..... At least let me say goodbye…."

Their chorus continues. Doubt seeps into the shouts of many at your desperate cries, but their verdict remains the same. 

witch….

Witch….

WITCH. 

There's no use. None of them will change their mind. If anyone tries to help you now they'll surely be tied to the same fate. Blinking away tears and the burn from your eyes with one final look at those who had forsaken you, you turn on your heels - rushing back into the flames devouring everything you once knew and loved. There had to be another way out. Every entrance had been board up, but… the windows-

Acting swiftly, you hurry into the kitchen - swiping the satchel used for your deliveries from its hook right before the entire rack is brought down by falling degree.You move as fast as your feet would carry - quickly grabbing everything that wasn't nailed to the floor and small enough to not weigh you down. Jars. Tools. Bottles. Anything to help you restart elsewhere, and remind you what you once had - no matter how much it hurts. 

Stuffing towels and broken dreams into your bag, the growing strain on your shoulder tells you enough is enough. Only one more thing left to grab. Your legs wobble as you approach the counter. Rubble and ash fall around you as you reach out. It's still open to that page. There's dough and flour beneath your nails - same as when you were kids just playing around in the kitchen. You swore they loved those cookies more than your friendship. Still you made them every year-

The batch of freshly made treats sits right beside it - packed away in that star shaped tent saved just for their special day. You were just about to make the frosting when they came. When the news was broken to you in the most ways. You barely had the chance to process it all before they started pointing fingers. All the ingredients are right there. All the memories. All the pain. You realize now there is no escape from this - not here. 

You pick a cookie from the tent - your entire world crumbling around you as you raise your hand to your mouth. Flames lick the ceiling as you take a bite.

Please… take me far away from here. 

A loud snap re-alerts you to your surroundings. A small groan is all that warns of what to come. All at once, the floor beneath you caves in. Feeling the ground disappear from under your feet, your arms instinctively reach for the book on the counter as you plummet. Falling with increasing speed, you clutch the book to your chest as the world above is swallowed by the darkness blanketing your weightless body - a silent scream cast into the void. Smoldering wood joins you as the ceiling to your baker and home finally collapses under the pressure. The last thing you see before your body hits solid ground is the same starless night you've fallen asleep beneath your whole life. .

.

.

"Mmm, so good. These are your best yet!"

"That's what you always say-"

"Because your treats just keep getting better and better. You're amazing, Sweets!" 

"You know, I never figured out why you call me that."

"Isn't it obvious? You make the best desserts in the whole world! Way better than mama's - I swear it's like she mixed up the sugar jar with the salt one." 

"Haha, I guess that makes a little sense-" 

"But - there is one other reason… " 

"What is it?"

"I think that's pretty obvious too…You're the sweetest person I've ever met."

 .

.

.

"Mm…. Ngh…"

Your head feels like it's split in two. You can't move - every limb stiff as stone. Darkness still surrounds you. Even breathing is a labored task that siphons all your strength for a single breath. Breathing…

You open your eyes - clamping them almost immediately as bright light beads down into them - assaulting your shot sense with its rays.

"Ach.." Steadying the air flow through your chest, you wiggle your fingers and toes - channeling circulation to the rest of your extremities as your heels and fingertips dig at soft earth. Rolling onto your side, you push yourself off the ground and upright; the weight of your satchel hindering your movement. You blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the environment, rubbing at the sore joints in your neck. 

"What… happened?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth it all rushed back to you. The fire. The fall. Your eyes dart around, perplexed by the lack of ash and dirt walls around you. Grass scratches your bare legs as you pull them to your chest. The sun's harsh rays beat down on you from above. Tree leaves rustle in the strangely syrupy scented wind. Footsteps imprint in the soft earth - trailing away from where you lie. Did… someone save you? Something feels off. You draw a hand to your face; the freedom of your arms alerting your senses to a troubling particument - more troubling than the one you've found yourself in now. 

Your book. Where is it?

Where is it. Where is it. 

The strength in your limbs replenishes at such speeds it gives you a headrush as you spring to your knees. You sweep your hands across the dirt floor around you, searching the barren land around you before you lose your mind wandering through the forest. Dirt catches beneath your nails as they scratch at the soft earth. The texture of the soil - it doesn't feel right. It squishes between your fingers, rich and moist like it is after fresh rainfall, but there hasn't been rain in weeks nor does the scent of rain linger in the air. All that resides is that sweet stench. A whiff of cocoa passes in the gentle breeze as you wipe sweat from your forehead. 

Your legs fold beneath you like a stack of cards as you attempt to stand. Using a nearby tree as a crutch, you pull yourself to your feet - stumbling on wobbling knees and driving your shoulder into the bark of the tree as you fall against it. A nut wrestles free of its branch from the force and lands directly on your head.

"Ouch!" You rub the sore spot of your skull, looking down and drawing your foot to vent your frustration on the pour seedling-

"Huh?" 

You plant both feet steady on the ground. Where what should have been a seed sits a bright red candy wrapper nestled safely in the grass. Curious, you pick it up- inspecting the foil casing. There's nothing of note besides a star pattern printed right where the seams meet. You wedge your nail beneath the fold, peeling back the wrapper to reveal a piece of candy with a similar crimson color to its outer layer. It fits between your fingers no bigger than a small apple. Drool dampens your lips as your image shines in its reflection. You hadn't had a single thing to eat since breakfast and even then you only ate enough to last you for the period rather than the long day of work ahead of you. Popping the candy into your mouth, you bite down without a second thought. 

Solid and firm on the outside, the candy bursts like the gooey filling of warm pie filling under the pressure of your teeth. Nutmeg and cinnamon overwrite your senses of taste and smell, followed swiftly by the taste of baked apple coated in a sugary glaze. It's been a while since someone has asked you to make an apple pie. For a moment, you think of making one when you return home before it hits you have no home to go back to. You're not even sure where it once stood. It's clear by now you are not where home used to be. Then where are you?

Snap!

Collecting - a twig snaps somewhere off behind you. You turn your head in the direction of the sound. "Hello?"

No one answers your call. Without making a sound, a figure steps out into the tree lining. Lanky and bent at an odd angle; standing just enough into the shade and bushes all you could see was below their chin. Their skin is an odd shade of pink; likeness akin to freshly chewed bubblegum. Couldn't be a sunburn, but you chalk it up to be a trick of the sun. A bright red bow wraps tightly around their neck, poking out from the collar of the puffy sleeve white shirt they wore beneath a striped, chestnut colored vest. 

"Hello….." 

Their voice was low in pitch and wet - revoltingly sweet and syrupy thick just like the air; almost drowning in their chest as they spoke.You swallow your nerves as you pose your dry lips to speak. "Excuse me, but I think I'm lost…. Have… have you seen a book anywhere?"

The figure tilts their head, twin, bright pink pig tails dangling from the sides of their head - drooping over their shoulders like melting wax. Even the angle of their neck is off. How can it bend at that sharply?

"Would you…. like some taffy?" 

You quickly toss the half-eaten fruit in your age as you take a step back. "I think sugar is the last thing I need right now-"

The figure stills for a moment - calculating their next words carefully. 

"Would you… like some taffy?~" 

A tiny giggle erupts from their chest. "No, I already said that. Look, I really need to-"

"Are you looking for this?..." 

The stranger pulls a rectangular item from the bushes - aged leather cover barely intact with its spine. You notice that two fingers on their left hand appear to be stuck together, pinky finger nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, you take a step forward, extending a hand. 

"Yes… That's exactly what I'm looking for..  May I please have it?

"I'll give it to you if you do something for me…"

"Please, it's very important."

"It's been so long since I've had company… it won't take too much off your time"

You chew at your lips. "What do you need me to do?"

"Come closer…I just want to get a good look at you. You're so pretty from afar"

You take a step forward. Just grab the book and run.

"Closer…"

Another. 

"closer." 

You stand right in front of them. You make a grab for your book, but their reflexes are quicker. The figure grabs you, locking you to their chest in an iron tight grip. Their head rests on your shoulder as they stroke their longer fingers down the length of your back - humming with a softness foreign to their tone before then. You bring your arms up to hug them back. It's then, at a close proximity, you're able to see the large chunk of flesh ripped from their neck.

"Thank you…." 

Thin digits run up your arm and face, stroking the line of your bottom lip as they giggle softly. You cringe as a hand latches onto your chin - prying your mouth open.

"Now, eat up~"

Before you have time to react, the creature shoves two of its fingers into your mouth - palm slamming into your chin and locking your jaws around their skin. Opening your eyes, you're met with the swirling insanity of their orbs as your teeth sink into their flesh. Spiraling red and white irises like the swirls in peppermint candies. Their lips seem to almost be melting together - a small hole torn through the outer wall of their left cheek. Crimson blush paints their cheeks - an impossible wide smile reveals cherry red teeth.

You squirm and struggle with all your might - attempting to wrestle yourself from their grip, but their hold is too strong. Their skin melting against the heat of yours makes escape all the more distant. Your teeth slice through the meat of their fingers like hot butter as you're forced to bite down. Their skin doesn't break like normal flesh. Queasiness hits your stomach like a rock as they're completely severed from seemingly non-existent bone. Even worse, you feel the severed digits inch their way towards the back of your throat. Tears prick your eyes as their flesh sticks to your teeth. You try to scrap it off with your tongue, only smearing it into your gums and against the roof of your mouth. Expecting the copper taste of blood - the flavor that bursts on your taste buds unlocks a core memory in your mind from your childhood. 

It's taffy. 

Cherry taffy.

You'd recognize that chewy taste and texture anywhere. The fiend notices the flicker of familiarity in your eyes as your muscles temporarily ease from the confusion. Their bizarre smile stretches as you chew at their flesh almost by reflex - swallowing them near whole. More fits of laughter bubble from their throat as a bubbling warm settles in your chest, spreading throughout.

"Tastes good, doesn't it? I knew you would like me once I saw that page in your book. Humans like candy after all..."

Your limbs lock up as they had when you woke as that warmth spreads throughout your body, creeping back up your throat and out your mouth in a tiny hiccup of laughter that has the taffy creature grinning from ear to ear. Your heart hammers against the shaking cage of your chest - laughter echoing from every corner of the forest. It's soon you realize the laughter is your own coupled with the fiend's cackling shrieks and the far off rattles of the trees.

"Your voice is so pretty… I like you..  I like you!.. Hey, you'll eat more of me, right? Candy is supposed to be eaten by humans. Are you listening?" 

You try - but everything that comes out of their mouth is so funny you can't hear a thing over your laughter.  What's happening? Lost in the swirling spirals of their eyes, the rawness of your throat barely registers in your weary mind as giggles are yanked and pulled from you. The convulsions in your stomach built into a deep ache in your abdomen. The tears in your lashes pour down your face - caught by a sticky tongue that leaves a trail of pink slick up your cheek. 

"Oh!- Giving me a treat? You're too kind… please don't cry… I'll let you rest for now. I'd hate for you to get sick… see you soon…." 

Your body falls back to that weightless, floating state. You can't tell if you're standing, fallen over, or something else entirely. The trees close around you - snuffing what little air passes through your chest. Your jaws hang slack as a hand reaches out from the horde. Your lips close around fluffy air as your vision fades to black out once more. 

.

.

.

"Ta-da!"

Fire snaps and pops within the confines of a handmade pit. In the flames, you see the two of you as children - piling books on top of chairs to steal the matchbox their parents hid in a cabinet too tall for either of you to reach. Where you excelled beyond your years elsewhere, they had always been a master at building the perfect campfire among other things. They were so proud of their skills. Crickets chirp and stars twinkle brilliantly in the pale blue night sky…

Stars?...

"One S'more hot off the stick - courtesy of your bestest friend in the whole wild world."

They take a bite out of theirs, gooey marshmallow fluff oozing from the crackers. They sport a toothy smile, burnt fluff sticking to their lips and teeth. They chipped a front tooth on a jawbreaker right after it had grown in when you were little - yet their smile is without imperfection. They lost the roundness in their face and shape the person next to you has as their condition got worse. While their body failed, their hair and skin never got that pale either - nor did they have horns. Short, stubby little horns peeking from fluffy white tufts of hair framing their chubby, freckled cheeks. It's not them, but at the same time your mind clicks the familiar pieces of a night similar to this and for you that's all it takes. The heat of the fire kisses away your tears. 

A bright blue blanket keeps you joined at the shoulder with them. Tiny yellow dots mirror the shining stars hanging over you. 

"Mmm… s'mores are so good… Hm? What's wrong? We can't all be talented bakers, I'm trying my best here. You look like you've seen a ghost!" 

Tightness grips at your chest. Despite their appearance, it's still their voice if not a bit softer than you recall. "Addie…. You…." 

Their smile falls - sad, tired eyes drooping behind heavy lids. Their voice mellows into a tranquil whisper of what it once was. If it weren't for the stress and the fact you were already dreaming you might've drifted off to sleep as they spoke. "I know…. I just wanted you to have a good dream… I like this place, but you shouldn't be here right now. Maybe someday in the near future you can show it to me again and we can talk more about this.. Addie person."  

"Who are you?"

"I'll tell you when we meet in person. Can you do me a favor when we do? I think my blanket fell off me, but I had such a nice time here with you I don't think I'll wake up anytime soon.. I'm a little cold now, so can you please tuck me back in?" 

"I'll… see what I can do."

"Thank you. I hope we can become closer the more we see each other. It's nice to have someone to dream with. You really should wake up soon…" 

Their fingers intertwine with yours, placing the S'more in your open palm.

"But it doesn't hurt to dream just a little longer." 

You take a bite. Charred fluff explodes from between the crackers and onto your tongue. You always had to stop them from turning your marshmallows to near ash as they preferred theirs. You chew slower to savor the taste as their head rests on your arm. You close your eyes - letting everything melt in.

The taste of burnt marshmallow. 

The chilly night air.

Them.

You chew and chew - opening your eyes to find yourself right back where you once were. Stickiness clings to your lips. They feel a bit chalky too. You scrap it off with your nails, wiping marshmallow fluff onto your stained apron. 

Your book sits a few inches in front of you in the dirt. You pick it up and inspect it from to back, checking each page to make sure everything is still there. There are pink fingerprints on a page detailing a recipe for hand pulled taffy. They curve into the arches of a heart at the bottom of the paper.

Riiing. 

Riiing. 

Somewhere off in the distance - a bell chimes. The instrument falls from the wielder's hand to their hip as they watch you. The bill of what looks to be a mailman's cap blocks you from direct eye contact or even a glimpse at their face. A satchel of better quality than yours hangs at their side - what looks to be a chalkboard dangling from their neck. 

After the last encounter, you're hesitant to speak to anyone you meet in this place, but you have no choice. "H…hello?

Same as with the other once, there's no response at first. The figure takes hold of the board around their neck, dragging their fingers along its surface. They turn the board to you - an arrow pointing to their left. As if to further get their point across, they raise a hand in the same direction. Each of their fingers appears to be a different color. Yellow. Pink. Blue. Green. Orange. They tip their hat at you before spinning on their heels and heading the opposite way.

"Wait!" You toss your book into your bag as you stand - giving chase as they dart around a tree. Wind nips at your exposed flesh as you sprint after them. By the time you reach where they once stood they're already leagues ahead of you. Sharp turns drive a deeper wedge in your distance from them. The faint jingle of their bell grows further and further away the closer you get - your voice drowning out its final chime. 

"Please - wait! I don't know where I am. I just want to go home. Where are you trying to send me? Please, I need your - wahh!"

Eyes straight ahead, you completely overlook the obstacle in your path until it sweeps the air from beneath you. You fall forward as your ankle connects with something hard jutting out of the earth. You throw your arms out to cushion your landing as your body is cruelly shoved into the dirt by gravity. 

"Ow…." Flipping yourself over, you lift up your apron to check the damage to your stinging right leg. The pants leg itself is torn, but your leg looks to be relatively okay besides the start of a bruise. Looking closer - green spots stain the fabric of your slacks around the mouth of the tear in them.  You glance over at the cause of your tumble - blood chilling in your veins. 

Sprawled across the forest floor was an entire human skeleton encased in some greenish, gel-like mass. Its hollow eye sockets gaze apathetically at nothing; arms curled to its chest. They stare straight through you and your shivering self feet away. The sludge that surrounds it almost fits perfectly to its thin frame, but there are some outliers in its shape. Two circular mounts sit atop its head like the ears of some animal. The gel bunches around their arms and neck like the sleeves and hood of a jacket. It seems to mimic both skin and clothing. You swallow the scream in your throat and use the energy to kick yourself off the ground as you flee - stopping dead in your tracks as a tiny voice calls out.

"Please don't go…." 

A tiny sniffle sounds from the body behind you. Its chest rises and falls slowly as its head tilts up to look at you. You freeze - stiff as a board. 

"I'm… not going to hurt you if that's what you're afraid of. I can't do anything really right now. I can't move.. It's getting darker… I just want to go home…" 

Their words strike a chord with you. Against every muscle screaming otherwise, you turn to face them again. "What… are you?"

"My name is Gumi… I'm a boy - if you were wondering. Like most of the things you've probably seen by now, I'm made out of candy. Could you please just stay here until my sister comes? She can help fix me and we can take you back to town. The forest is pretty large though, and I can't remember where I am so I don't know how long it will take her to find us." 

"Gumi…. I'm sorry, you have to understand how crazy this is for me… Let me help you sit up." You walk over to the candy body - scooping your arms beneath his and dragging him over to a nearby rock. Your fingers sink into his squishy flesh as you help him sit upright. Despite being made of sweets, he definitely had the weight of a human being. It's hard for him to sit up all the way - possibly due to the empty space in his abdomen leaving little support for his gummy flesh. There's a red misshapen mark in his chest where a heart would be, the organ obscured by the walls of candy around it.

"Thank you… What's your name?"

You glance at the ground. "Just… call me Sweets."

"Sweets…." Gumi parrots, "That's a nice name.."

"What happened to you?"

Gumi weakly pulls his arms tighter to his chest. "My spine… was taken. There's someone like me out here - a candy person, I mean. Their body can't hold a solid form, so they steal from other people in exchange for things to eat to keep it." 

You place your bag on the ground, kneeling as you search through it. All of this is giving you a headache, but you can't just leave him out here after being stuck for so long. "What do they normally eat?"

"Anything that will help them, really. Sugar, syrup, jam- but there's been talk of them drinking hu-"

Jam. Thank heavens you switched to plastic jars as soon as you were able to get your hands on some. "I have something I can trade. Can you tell me which direction they're in?" 

"W-what?!" Gumi's soft body tenses - falling forward into your arms. "No, it's too dangerous! I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me! Especially not someone who's been nice to me so far…." 

You place a hand on his back, guiding him back against the stone. "Like you said, it's getting darker and we don't know when your sister will find you. I'm sure we can come to an agreement with them. Not to brag, but I'm kind of the best - and only baker in my hometown."

"I…but-..." Gumi trips over his words- searching for a rebuttal, but finding nothing. He sighs. "Okay…. But take my head with you. If anything happens I can distract them long enough for you to get away…"

"Won't that..hurt?.." 

"No…. I'm sitting here without a spine, aren't I? It is pretty gross in my opinion, but my bones can be pulled apart and snapped back together easy. Watch." Gumi places both hands on the sides of his skull, twisting his head and the bones attaching it to his shoulder until it's loose enough to pop right off. His headless body passes his head off to you as it smiles meekly. 

"Creep… I know."

You gently take his head from his hands. "After the day I've had, I'd hardly consider this the worst part. If you ask me, I think it's kind of cool."

"C…cool?" Red bleeds from the center of his face all the way to the ears atop his head.

"Are you okay?" 

"Y-yeah… Nobody, besides my sister and a few others, have ever been this kind to me… The cave they live in is that way."

His body points in the same direction his eyes do. You move his head into one arm as you reach into your satchel. You pull out your book and tuck wit beneath your other arm as you remove your apron. You stuff it into your bag and place his head instead. 

"Is this comfortable for you? I'd hate to trip over something else and accidentally drop you.."

"Yes, but - could you please carry me in your arms. I-if I'm not too heavy of course. Humans have soft skin…. Was that weird to say?"

"I don't think so. I'll gladly carry you, but we should get going now. Can your body watch my book for me until we get back? It's important to me and I'd hate for it to get more damaged than it already is. It's pretty old considering it's a family heirloom" 

His voice softens. "You really trust me with something that special to you?..." 

You smile. "You haven't given me a reason not to." 

"okay…. O-Okay! I'll guard it with my life then." He holds out his hands and you set the book in them - leaving it in his possession. His body hugs it to his chest, waving as you and his head walk off.

-

Walking towards the cave, the silence gets to you before long. "So… you have a sister?"

Gumi looks up at you from the corners of his sockets. "Yeah… a little sister - we think. Her name is Lollie. We aren't actually related, but it's nice to have that bond. She has a bit of a temper, but she sticks up for me and I try to keep her out of trouble."

"That's so sweet… Can you tell me a bit about the town you guys live in?"

"There's not much to say about it..  It's all we've really ever known after watching up one day and finding each other before being picked up by the others. Chip repairs us the best he can when any of us breaks. Kreme makes clothes for those who wear them and made me and Lollie matching bracelets for our birthday. Valentine makes deliveries to everyone and collects things we need from the forest. There are others in town, but a few I don't see often and the rest are… not the kindest"

"Deliveries… I saw someone with a bell and a carrier satchel earlier. Could that be them?"

"Probably… Val can't speak so they carry a bell and their chalk board to communicate with people… We're here…" 

Leaves crunch beneath your feet as you stop before the gaping mouth of a cave. The dampness of the opening rolls off in waves, fanning your face like a dying breath. You catch the scent of artificial strawberries as you readjust Gumi in your arms.

"Well… no time like the present." Breathing in, you take your first step inside the cave. Your steps echo down the narrow passageway as you traverse deeper into the hollow den. Darkness envelops you, but it no longer holds control over you with company - sparkling stalagmites soon brightening the dim path. You chip off a piece of the jagged crystals as you pass by and stick your tongue against the flat surface. Rock candy- grape flavor to be exact. 

The tight walls of the cave open into a room fully illuminated by glowing rock candy. A pool of crimson awaits in the room's center - a deep chuckle bubbling from its murky depths.

"Well, well - you sure took your time, but since you've brought a new face I'll let it slide this time." 

Gumi shakes in your arms. Feeling your hold strength, he swallows his nerves as he speaks. "M, please give back my spine. We'd like to make a trade with you."

"Yes, yes - we've played this little game many times before with that sister of yours.. Allow me to slip into something more… comfortable." 

A hand shoots out from the pool, smacking down on the stone floor with a wet crack. Along with the hands forms an arm - weaving into shape by use of the syrupy fluid it bathes the. It drags itself from the vicious sea of red - pulling the tides along with it. A lower half of a head emerges from the pit, waters depleting as its torso and left arm take shape. You watch as the fluids snake around the stolen spine as the empty space of their chest closes to form mostly smooth skin. Their flesh drips and hangs at their fingertips, right shoulder hanging lower than the left as they crawl their way out and stand up right. Their head finally morphs to shape to the best of its capabilities with what little fluid it has left to work with - the entire left half of their face from eye to jaw missing. 

"That's… a little better. Excuse me for taking so much of your time, but I am almost ready."

There's a slight limp in their stride as they saunter  over behind a curtain of sharp rocks. The slip of fabric meets your ears as they hum to themselves - image reflected on the wall behind them. You see as they slide an arm through the sleeves of a shirt, buttoning it up to the second to last collar. They place a cap atop their head as they step back out to greet you -heeling clicking sharply against the hard floor. 

The figure wears what was once a white nursing coat and hat. Red hand prints dart the entire length of the garb down to where it hangs just above their knee. It rises to mid-thigh with every step they take. They pin a name tag to their chest as they stand before you - red blocking out every letter of the name that was once there besides one.

M. 

M sighs. "Ha… Much better. I do pray my appearance doesn't alarm you much, but considering you are carrying the head of this whiny little creature I'm sure my looks hardly bother you. Maybe..  interesting you perhaps, hm?"

You nervously chuckle. "About the trade…." 

They clap their hands together. "Ah yes- It is one I am quite excited for. It's been so long since I've had a nice cup of red wine. I'll be needing a sample to decide how much of you is worth trading the only useful part that boy in your arms has." 

"I… have something else in mind." Reaching into your bad, you pull out a freshly made jar of jam made the night before in preparation for a cake someone had ordered. You shake the jar lightly. "Do you take raspberry?

M folds their arms over their chest. "I guess we'll just have to see." They snatch the jar from you and twist off its lid, inserting their index finger inside. They spread the jam over their middle finger and thumb - eyeing it closely as they shove their fingers past their lips.

"Hm…."

They take another taste.

"Mmm…."

And another - this time dipping their entire palm into the jar and shoveling the jam into their mouth.

"This…  is good…I've never had anything this good in ages." M sucks the jam from each finger before pointing at you. "You! - Tell me you have more of this…. Heavenly concoction."

"I don't… but if you promise to give Gumi's spine back and never take it from him again then maybe I'll find a way to make more for you before I leave." 

"Deal!" M takes one of your hands and shakes it vigorously as confirmation of your contract. They reach into their chest, ripping out Gumi's spine and passing it off to you. Once their deed is done, they pour what remains of the jam down their throat - tapping the bottom of the jar and licking its walls to get every drop. The left half of their face fills out as they chew; straight locks of hair flowing from beneath their cap and stopping at their neck.

"I await our next encounter, my dear. As a token of my appreciation, you may come back even without your delicious jams as it does get rather lonely all the way out here by myself. I'd like to keep this container as a reminder of our first meeting. Until we see each other again, my sweet little friend. Thank you for the meal - and dessert.

M sweeps a finger across your cheek, catching the drying blood from a cut you must've gotten from one of your many falls. It's a surprise that it and the bruise on your leg is all the damage you've gotten so far. They place their thumb into their mouth with a small hum of satisfaction - winking as they turn away.

"Come by soon~"

You walk out of the cave with Gumi's spine and head in hand. "That was…interesting.."

"I'm just glad neither of us got hurt.. Let's get back to my body before… oh… oh no….. no no no no. 

Your emotions conflict between confusion and terror - an imperfect balance of the two. "What? What's wrong?"

"We have to get back - now."

Racing through the trees, the commotion sounds before you even see it.

"Come on, lemme read it - Lemme read it! Is it your journal? Your diary? I wanna see, I wanna see!"

Gumi's headless body narrowly avoids the swing of a sledgehammer wielded by a girl nearly two size smaller than the weapon she holds. As she throws it back over her shoulder, the hammer end of the tool is revealed to be a giant, lollipop the same glossy pink as her skin. She chases after Gumi's body as it attempts to crawl away - skipping after him as if playing a leisurely game of tag. As she makes another grab for your book - Gumi shouts.

"Lollie! Cut it out! The book isn't mine! It belongs to Sweets!" 

The girl snaps her head in your direction - stomping her feet excitedly in place before sprinting straight at you. 

"Gummy-worm!"

Lollie plucks her brother's head from your grasp, spinning in circles as she giggles. She hugs him close, pressing her hard cheek against his. "Where have you been?! I've been looking for you all over and here you are with some human. Don't think I won't tell Jaws about you hanging out with fleshies again. She's still pretty pissed about what the last one did to her, y'know."

Gumi groans, his body dragging itself across the ground to return your book to you. You take a knee as you take it from him - patting his arm as a token of your gratitude. "Please don't call me that in front of them.. They're nothing like the last one, or any of the humans that we've met recently." 

"I would find that hard to believe…. If they weren't holding your spine. If Bloody steals your parts one more time I'm gonna-" She exhales. "Well, you know what I'll do." She faces you. "HI. I'm Lollie, Gumi's sister, but I'm sure he's already told you all about me."

You nod. "He's told me a few things. You can call me Sweets."

"Sweets… Cute~ Normally I'd chase you all the way to the ocean, buuuut since you help my brother and you have a cute name I'll help you out as well. Let's get Wormy here back in one piece and we'll take you back to town."

With Lollie's aid, you reattach Gumi's head and arm. Standing on his feet, the boy sheepishly rubs at his arm. "Can… Can I hug you? It felt nice to be held by you…" 

"Of course." Pulling him in, the two of you share a brief hug before you're ripped away by Lollie who holds onto your hand tightly. Gumi could've gone another hour in your arms. He accepts his loss and takes your other hand as Lollie attempts to drag you both along.

"Come on, come on - we gotta get there before everyone turns in for the night!" 

Together, the twins guide you through the forest back to their home. Walking with them, you finally take pause to look at the world around you. With everything going on, you never stopped to notice it all. Cotton candy bushes. Lollipop flowers. The bark of the trees surrounding you reveal themselves to be made of some mass of woven candy strings. The soft earth beneath you becomes solid as you step down on hard, stone bricks. 

Gumi speaks up. "Do you think anyone is around? 

Bright lights and friendly chatter answers his questions for you all. A small crowd of people stand at the entrance of the town - conversing amongst each other as one, familiar face scouts out the brick road. They grab the bell from their belt, giving it a hard shake. 

As you approach, a lone figure departs from the pack. They wear a burgundy apron, longer than your own as it drapes at their ankles, and carry with them a wooden blood. Their skin and braided hair remind you of unbaked dough - large, brown spots sprinkled through their person. 

"Welcome home, you two. And to your new friend. My name is Chip, and it is a pleasure to meet you. You must be hungry after your journey. If we had more time to prepare, I would've made more, but I hope you enjoy stew."

As he holds out the bowl, the mail carrier creeps up from behind. A red heart marks the entirety of their face. They flip their board around for you to see as they cock their head to one side. 

"Welcome. :) (sorry for running off earlier.)" 

Lollie huffs. "Dang it, Val - you ruined our big surprise."

You smile faintly. "It's alright. My name is Sweets and while I appreciate the gesture, I think I've had enough candy for one day, Chip." 

Chip pushes the bowl into your hands. "Just take one bite - if you would be so kind."

Unable to refuse, you bring the bowl up to your lips - sampling the broth. Where you expect to be met with soda or some other sugary drink is instead the hearty taste of root vegetables and spices. Whatever your stance on vegetables was as a child meant nothing now. You open your mouth wider to allow the potatoes and carrots through, broth dripping from the corners of your lips as you greedily inhale the stew. You turn away to wipe your face as the filling meal settles in your stomach.

"Thank you… That was…."

"Real vegetables?"

"That… but also good. How do you-"

Chip laughs. "We have the means to grow foods fit for your kind here as well. Can't make a cake without milk and eggs, can you? We're able to grow normal fruits from the trees you've seen outside, but livestock are a little hard to come by. Had I known of your arrival I would've prepared one of the chickens or cows I tend to for you."

"This is more than enough. Thank you, again."

Wheels clack over the stone pathway as another town's person rushes forward - picking at your tattered and burned clothing as they skate around you. You catch glimpses of what look to be two donuts sprouting from the sides of their head like puffy, hair buns - decorated in blue icing and rainbow sprinkles. The large hole in their stomach peaks from beneath their crop top. They pull to a stop in front of you, hands placed to their hips as they look at all the stains on your apron. 

"Whoa! Your clothes are all burnt and torn up! Dirty too… I think I have some clothes in storage that'll fit you until I get the chance to patch them for you. My name is Kreme. Come by soon, kay?"

"Oh, um… okay!"

Kreme bows before zooming off down the empty streets presumably back to their place of work. The next to approach you wears fishnet leggings and a red bomber jacket. Wispy locks of bubble gum pink hair mask his eyes. His skin teeters on off white, but still holds that faint pink glow freshly chewed gum has. There are tiny bites taken out from his arms and hands. By the slight movement of his jaw something tells you those wounds may be self-inflicted. 

They bowl a bubble, popping it with their teeth. "Marina. Things can get pretty hectic around here. Ever need to relax, I could let you pass with a bite or two."

You raise your hands, doing your best to keep your smile from breaking. "I think I'm good."

"Your loss." Marina shrugs, spitting out the piece of himself and taking a fresh bite from his arm as he walks off.

"This is ridiculous..' 

The figure standing over by the welcoming sign finally speaks out. A sour candy belt wraps around their neck and head like a scarf. "LockJaw's never gonna allow another human to live here after what the last one did. We shouldn't even let them in the first place." 

Lollie blows a raspberry at them. "Malick, don't be such an ass. LockJaw may watch over us, but she isn't our boss." 

"Where is Lock by the way?"

Thud.

The ground quakes beneath you as a body crumples to it behind you. Cracks splinter the road around them - your teeth chattering from the heavy force of their landing. Spots of red, yellow, and blue pepper their paper white skin. Their right arm falls at your feet - detached from their body. A good portion of their torso is missing as well; both injuries revealing the layers of color overlapping like the rings of a chopped tree to make up the inner works of their body. You don't remember who's the first, but soon enough they all flock around them. Gumi shakes them roughly. 

"LockJaw? Lockjaw! What happened? C-can you hear us?" 

The body twitches - the fingers of their missing arm moving sporadically. 

Chip takes a knee beside him and gently pulls his hands off of her. "She'll be fine. We need to get her inside so I check her wounds. Sweets, I hate for this to be your first experience with us, but could you please grab LockJaw's arm and follow us? She is quite heavy compared to the rest of us, so we need all the hands we can get."

Nodding, you pick up LockJaw's arms as the others pick her up off the ground. Her face is a mostly smooth surface. No eyes, nose, or even lips - until her face is fully lifted off the ground. An eyes rolls sluggishly in its socket from the crater in the left side of her face - rainbow teeth clenched so tight you're afraid they might break as her eye falls on you.

"Human…. Leave." 

Chip throws her arm over his shoulder.  "Now isn't the time for that. Follow us, please." 

With Lollie holding her right side, Gumi and Marina supporting her from behind, and Malick behind them for extra support - you trail behind them as they all carry LockJaw into the nearest home which appears to be Chip's if the sign out front is anything to go by. They all lower her to the ground, stepping back as Chip inspects the brunt of her damages. Her single eye remains on you - unblinking. His lips press into a thin line as his expression darkens.

"I'm… afraid there isn't much I can do for her… Bandages won't fix injuries this severe… I'm sorry, Lock..."

"What?" Lollie shrieks. "There has to be something we can do!"

Her hand balls into a fist against your chest. You look around you, racking your brain for a solution. LockJaw… Jaws.. "Chip, do you have a stove, pot, water, and sugar? Maybe a rolling pin as well?" 

"Yes. Yes, I have all of those things. This way." Chip leads you into his kitchen. Grabbing a pot from the cupboard, he places it on the stuff as he searches around for the remainder of the items you asked him for. Once obtained, you pour water and sugar into the pot - stirring the mixture together before lighting the flame. Sweat drips from your face as it soon begins to bubble. You quickly remove it from the eye and hurry back to where LockJaw lays - pouring it slowly over the gaping hole in her chest. You rave between the kitchen and living room - preparing more pots of boiling sugar you pour over her. As the wound fills out and matches level with the rest of her skin, you take the rolling pin and roll it over the cooling final layer - evening it to make. You dip her right arm and its stump in the next batch - attaching the two and keeping her arm in place until you're sure the makeshift glue holds. You get up to make another to work on her face - a hand grabbing the tails of your apron as you rise. Even she seems surprised by her movements as she pulls her hand away - flexing her fingers.

"No… you've done enough… ugh…."

LockJaw climbs to her cheek, standing a head taller than you. Her eye still lingers on you as she's hugged from behind by Lollie.

"Jaws! You're okay! Didn't you say it's best for us to stay in numbers? Why do you get to go off on your own?!"

LockJaw pushes the smaller girl away. "Don't touch me."

The strength and mobility of her right arm still throws her off as Chip rejoins you. "LockJaw, I see you are well. I'm glad. Considering your recovery is most in part thanks to our new friend here, it wouldn't be a crime to let them stay for a little while, would it?"

LockJaw looks away. She cannot close her eye so it's the best she can do. "For now. The minute they cause trouble I want them gone." The jawbreaker woman squeezes past Malick and Gumi, walking out of the open front door.

"Woo-hoo!" Lollie throws her arms around her, beckoning her brother to join as she hugs who tightly who sheepishly complies. "Looks like you'll be staying with us for a while. You'll bunk with me and Gumi, right? We can go on all sorts of adventures together and get to know each other better-"

Chip cuts into the conversation. "While that does sound lovely, we will talk about their permanent board in the morning. There are some things I'd like to discuss with them before the night is over. I think it's best if everyone returns home for now."

"Aw…." Lollie sulks, yet abides to Chip's order. She drags Gumi along with her who calls out as he's pulled along-

"Bye, Sweets! It was really nice to meet you! You'll visit me…. Us! In the morning, r-right?"

You call back. "As soon as I wake up you'll be the first I see!"

Chip waits for everyone else to leave before he speaks again. He walks over to the front door and shuts it, turning the lock. "Sweets… I must confess that I lied before. I have fixed LockJaw and others to the best of my power in the past, but I know your aid was the only way she'd allow you to stay. Valentine told me about some of the things they saw in the book you possess. You are a baker, if I'm not mistaken?" 

"Yes… My shop was burned down by people I once called family. I fell through the floor and woke up here. This cookbook is all I have now."

Chip nods. "I am sorry for prying. It's just that even I am unable to do what you have done."

"What do you mean?"

"My fixes are… cosmetic at best. Sometimes, functions fail to return if a limb or other part is completely severed, or recovery takes a long time. You were able to repair LockJaw's arm and mobility to it in record time. I am unsure what this means, but either way you are welcome to stay with us until you are able to find your way home… If you ever want to return after what happened."

His final sentence hits you like a weighted brick. What will you do when you return home? It's not like you can go back to the town. Your survival will only prove their claims, but even then it's all you've ever known. You gaze outside the window- stars shining in the pale moonlight.

"Stars…." The word slips from your lips before you realize. Your eyes light up - hand placed against the glass. 

Chip laughs. “You've spent the day in a world made of candy, and yet it seems this amazes you more. Have you never seen them before?” 

“No…Not anywhere besides picture books at least. When I was little I used to collect little scraps of dough left over and shape them into stars to pass out to other kids around town… We made up a little game that if you ate one and wished just like you would on a real star all your dreams would come true… I think…. They’re why I’m here now.“ 

They would have loved this - and probably everything else in this world. That reminds you.. "Chip? There's someone I need to see. They had fluffy hair and short horns and they were wrapped in a blue blanket if I remember correctly. Do you know someone with that description?"

"I suppose you've met our little dreamer. Come with me."

Chip leads you outside and to a house with baby blue walls and white frosting decorating its borders. A blue star is printed on the front door. Chip knocks twice before it opens for you. You both enter and he guides you to a bedroom with marshmallow pillows littering the floor and a canopy bed at its heart. The figure from your dreams lays on their side - blankets covering only half their body and hands holding a white index card and blue pencil. You take the card from them and read it to yourself. It reads the name-

"Marlow." 

You pick up the covers and pull them over their shoulders, tucking them beneath their chin. "Marlow, thank you for waking me up earlier. I'd like to dream with you now, if that's alright with you."

Deep asleep, their lips curl upwards as their body moves to make room for you. You look towards Chip who wishes you goodnight with another nod - shutting the door behind him. You climb into bed with Marlow, an arm falling over your chest as you stare out the window - falling asleep beneath a blanket of stars for the first time in all your life. 

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere oc #yandere harem #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere drabble #yandere writing #perfectly sweet

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Lost and Found (dp x dc)

Alfred sighed as he looked over the wide gymnasium, thinking to himself that he shouldn’t have listened to Leslie. Community service was all well and good as a way to connect with people, but overseeing an inter-school bakery-sale-and-science-fair combined event was proving to be more chaotic than anything else.

As another child dropped yet another just-bought desert on the floor, Alfred slunk into the shadows deciding to let the clean-up be someone else’s task for once. As he got further and further from the main hubbub, the ex(?)-butler arrived near a small exit door and snuck out quitely. As the fresh air hit his face, Alfred let out a breath. Seeing so many children around had him thinking of his charge and where he could possibly be.

The older man hadn’t brought a pack, since he’s been going to a school, but in the moment he wished he had. Sighing once again, Alfred shook off the craving as he took a few steps towards the communal school garden when the sight of a black-haired boy sitting with his back to him had him freezing. A second later his brain caught up to him, reminding him that this was not young master Bruce. The crushing disappointment he felt as he recognized the boy in front of him was much to small to be his little master Bruce surprised him by its intensity.

Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat. The noise had the figure flinching and turning their head towards the older man. Then, as the boy caught sight of the older man, he seemed to slump. Seeing that he was unlikely to speak up first, Alfred took it upon himself to start the conversation.

“Might I inquire what you are doing outside, young man?”

The boy’s shoulder slumped even more though he still answered. “Haven’t got any sweets to sell,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Alfred sounded out. “Why is that?”

“My cookies ate my homework so I had to put them down,” said the boy as he finally raised his head, long-suffering

But Alfred could only breathe a faint “Indeed?” as the boy’s features were exposed. The resemblance with master Bruce was so uncanny that the butler had trouble looking away. But as he examined him more closely he could see some minute differences. The boy didn’t have the sharp jawline both mister Wayne and master Bruce had shared. His nose was smaller than master Bruce’s and his eyes were paler than the darker blue passed down through the Wayne line. The sight of a face so similar and yet not quite like master Bruce had his mind jumping to the portrait hung above the manor’s fireplace and the face of the toddler sitting on his mother’s lap as a slightly older child stood beside her with his father’s hand on his shoulder.

Everyone had bemoaned the two-fold tragedy of the Waynes. First to lose their youngest son at such a young age, only to be themselves brutally murdered only a few months later. All was left of the previously illustrious Waynes was a grief-stricken eight-year-old who had just lost his brother and parents in such a short period of time. Alfred sighed as he remembered how angry master Bruce was at his inability to find out to this day what had happened to his brother. The man half-suspected this was how the young man had developed such an obsession with solving mysteries.

Once again having to focus back on the boy in front of him, Alfred smiled at the boy. Then, the boy’s word registered and the man let out an amused huff. “You had no choice but to put an end to that, I suppose. Cookies as spirited as yours would sell poorly in any case.”

“Oh you’ve got no idea,” muttered the young man as he pushed himself to his feet only for his hand to slip on the wet wood surrounding the gardening plots and falling face-first onto the hard wooden surface.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Alfred as he darted to assist the boy in straightening up. The boy groaned in pain as he held his nose and Alfred could see drops of red falling down.

“Here,” said the older man as he handed the boy a fabric handkerchief.

“Thanks,” the teen croaked as he accepted it.

“Put your head between your knees,” Alfred instructed. “Breathe through your mouth.”

The boy offered a thumbs-up as he complied. Alfred waited patiently by the teen as he kept the handkerchief held against his nose. After a moment, the boy held it away experimentally and when he felt no more blood flowing he turned towards Alfred.

“Thanks,” he said before he looked down at the red-stained white fabric. “I can wash it and return it if you give me a return address.”

“It’s alright,” Alfred refused. “I don’t mind washing it.”

“Thanks,” repeated the boy as he handed the older man the handkerchief back, as he got to his feet, this time more gingerly. “I best get back before my friends start looking for me.”

“Be careful on the way back,” Alfred couldn’t help saying.

The boy hummed and as he turned around for a final wave goodbye, their eyes connected and Alfred felt a jolt travel through his body. Though the pale blue of Danny’s eyes was not the distinctive shade of the Waynes, it was however identical to the color of the late Martha Wayne’s eyes. As the boy opened the exit door and disappeared in the crowd of people, Alfred looked down at the blood-stained handkerchief.

He knew there was a less than infinitesimal chance. Still. What would it hurt to make absolutely sure?

#Lost princess AU #dc x dp #dp x dc #Danny fenton is bruce wayne’s younger brother #alfred pennyworth #roxpox #roxpoxwrote #Bruce is off traipsing around the world learning the skills necessary to become a furry vigilante with adoption problems in the future #Can you believe he left Alfred alone for 7 years? #Poor Alfred doesn’t deserves such a wild child