#be nice - she is part bird after all
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I began playing metroid prime, and am now preoccupied using the scan tool on everything to find out if it’s edible 🍽️
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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)
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Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.
Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.
“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?
“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves.
Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur.
Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches.
And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.
A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.
“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen.
She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste.
“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it.
“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”
Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”
Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break.
It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him.
Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”
“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”
“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”
Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids.
Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard.
He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse.
There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed.
Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold.
In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand.
Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh.
There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet.
There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off.
Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock.
Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires.
“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”
Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”
Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too.
He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though.
Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny.
He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost/soap/reader#ghoap x reader#soap x reader#ghost x reader#ghost/reader#ghoap x you
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Could I get Adam, Lute and Lucifer and how they 'court' the reader? Like how birds with court each other, little gifts, wing 'dances', nesting, etc...
Also, could I be your 🐌 anon? <3<3<3
Birds of a Feather
Adam, Lute and Lucifer courting you
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚
• Peacocking has nothing on The First Man
• His personality is amped up to the highest level when he sees you walk in a room
• (Overcompensation for how fucking nervous you make him)
• Adam gets cocky when he knows he has your attention
• Tossing grapes high in the air and catching them in his mouth, bragging louder than usual about something or the other
• Heaven forbid you laugh at any of his antics, (His smirk is dangerous, “Oh you like that?”) he’ll start singling you out in front of everyone, calling your name before he acts up
• Performances include inviting you to watch his band play and miraculously getting more energy
• Casually tosses guitar picks in your direction— and when he finds out you kept one!? He’s over the moon
• He won’t go out of his way to get you food but he’ll order you something if he goes somewhere
• Adam hates nesting. He doesn’t like being stressed in general and nesting is really fucking stressful!
• The very fact seeing you pricks the urge in him to nest drives him insane
• (AKA, he likes you a lot more than he thought he did!)
• Seeing you in his space does something he doesn’t particularly hate though
• “It’s whatever if you don’t like it.” Adam shrugs
• “No, I think it looks nice! Very you. Tell me about these pictures?”
• He’s fucking done for
˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚
• Like they have a mind of their own, her wings stretch out and audibly fluff up when she makes eye contact with you
• Mortifying is an understatement
• She picks out trinkets to give to you at first, something small that could be waved off as insignificant
• Later, when Lute realizes her affections are returned, she brings useful offerings or something you offhandedly mentioned needing
• She wishes she could tell you about the exterminations solely to brag
• See how fierce she is, how skilled she is, how good of a protector she could be for you
• Lute will ask you to arm wrestle as a compromise. She gets to hold you hand and show off her strength!
• Nesting was fine, it was the judgment part that drove her up a wall
• Watching your eyes roam over her apartment, deciding whether or not it was good enough for you? Gah!
• “What, uh—“ Lute clears her throat, she’ll hate herself for even asking later, “What do you think?”
• You smile knowingly, something else that makes her absolutely mad, “It’s perfect.”
• Lute beams with pride like she’s won a great victory
˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚
• Never before has he felt the need to actually flaunt.. anything?
• With you it hits him like a fucking train and it’s even harder to supress it
• He’s Lucifer! That’s supposed to be self explanatory, that’s supposed to be enough
• Suddenly he’s checking every mirror on his way to you, making sure he looks better than he feels
• He tries to find other ways to steal your attention or show that he would be a worthy partner
• …But showing off his wings couldn’t hurt, right? He has six after all. If you needed to get to the other side of town he’d be more than happy to fly you over!
• Nothings too good for you! If Lucifer thinks you’ll want or like something, he’s buying it!
• Did you notice he can make things too? He’ll make you something— or fix something for you!
• Quick, break that so he can show you he can fix it!
• Lucifer pulls all the stops trying to prove himself, nesting is no exception… he’s just not great at it
• He starts! However a little after beginning he realizes just how big his mansion is and gets overwhelmed so he closes all the doors and focuses his energy on the only room that matters; his
• “I mainly stay in here,” Lucifer explains while squishing a duck in his fist, watching you explore his room, “I cleaned it up for you! N-Not for you, not for that— I mean not that I’m opposed! I just meant so that you could, uh, see?”
• “I see why you like it, I’d never wanna leave.”
• You’re gonna kill him saying shit like that
~
╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ 🐌 CAN I GIVE YOU A KITH BECAUSE THIS WAS SO FUN!!!!!
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel headcanons#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar headcanon#lucifer morningstar imagine#hazbin hotel adam headcanon#hazbin hotel adam imagine#hazbin hotel adam x reader#lute headcanon#lute imagine#lute x reader
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omg omg cap please i’m begging you to write this (if you have time)
HAVE YOU SEEN that specific scene of “Six” with Barry Sloane where him and his wife are trying fertility treatments and he basically has to j off and fill a cup and then his wife comes and calls him “my big bear” and man’s already busting with just that??? WELL-
can we get smth like this with Price? Like it doesn’t have to be that specific scenario just smth where his s/o is jerking him off and calls him a name, and he immediately comes, but that’s exactly not the end of it? YOU GET IT
i’ve been thinking about it an unhealthy amount these past days… I’m literally foaming at the mouth.
Anonymous asked: Been seeing a lot of Bear appreciation on here, so what about... C. Price and reader trying to (naturally, of course) conceive? Maybe he's on injury leave or something! He gets hurt and now is the perfect time to tell him she wants him to retire and put a baby in her >:) I just see that scene from SIX and go feral every time. Breeding kink go wild 🙏
Anonymous asked: Dbf!price x reader mating press? Or or or price taking her somewhere nice for dinner and they go back to his place and he leads her through it while doin the nasty….
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In Utero
Captain John Price x fem!reader
[“In Utero” Album by Nirvana]
[18+]
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• summary - you and price are trying for a baby lol.
• rating - 18+
• wordcount - 3.9k
• warnings - fem!reader, civilian!reader, some possessive!price, handjobs, unprotected piv (obviously), praise, breeding kink, creampies, mating press, talks of pregnancy n babies blah blah blah, body worship, breeding kink (again cause i'm being so fr), price calls you mama at one point (*whispering* is this a mommy kink? i don't know. i don't think so? but idk take this how you will), strong language
the amount of breeding kink related requests i get for this man is crazy 😭 some of you should be studied cause oh my god (i am not complaining)
killing three birds with one stone with this one. changed it a little but hope you all enjoy :)
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It had been a long few days on base, and Price had been looking forward to coming home to you.
He loved nothing more than returning home to you after work. You'd greet him, looking absolutely fucking stunning, and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and cradle him to you. He'd breath you in, absorb your presence, his mind running a million miles an hour as he hugged you back.
You were his. And he was so happy.
Price never considered himself a very possessive person. But when it came to you, his wife, he felt an overwhelming urge to ensure everyone knew you were his.
He was so, so proud of you. He's always show you off, worship the ground you walked on. He'd hold your hand, or guide you with a hand to the base of your spine in public. He wasn't afraid to pin your body next to his in a crowd, either.
It was much the same in the bedroom.
Price would worship your entire body. He'd kiss up and down the length of it, from head to toe. He'd take extra care in massaging different parts of you that he loved– your tits, your waist, your hips, your arse, your thighs. He'd smooth his fingers over your skin, trailing kisses in their wake, whispering sweet praise and affirmations as he did so.
When he'd finally reach your face, he'd kiss you with as much passion and force as the sea. Cradling your head, holding your face, moving his lips warmly against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss so he could be closer to you.
He loved you.
You were his, and he was yours.
•º•
You had gone for a night out with your friends, leaving Price alone at home.
To keep him occupied in the silence of the house, he cleaned and cooked, listening to his music. He cooked up a meal that he stored in the fridge for later, then he proceeded to clean what he could of the house. He wanted to ensure you got home from having fun and didn't have to lift a finger.
And so Price could have you all to himself for the night.
You returned home hours later, the sun sinking past the horizon. You entered your home, your social battery ticking downwards, and Price was in front of you as soon as the front door was closed and locked.
He wrapped you in his arms, your face to his chest, and you returned the hug as he placed his chin on the top of your head.
"You had fun, sweetheart?" Price asked, taking a deep breath after pressing his nose to the crown of your head.
You hummed into his chest. "Yeah, it was nice."
You pulled out of the hug, and Price held your hand as you walked him into the living room. The both of your flopped down onto the couch. You couldn't help but admire the way he spread his legs when he sat, and the expansion of his thighs beneath his sweatpants as they made contact with the couch cushions.
You squeezed your thighs together, heat blooming in your core. A giddy, almost nervous feeling swelled in your chest as you locked eyes with your husband. You chewed on your bottom lip, fighting a flustered smile.
He looked so good.
Annnndddd you were ovulating.
Yep.
Evident by the fact that at just one look from your husband, one smile, your underwear was completely fucking soaked.
Price released a breathy laugh. "What?"
You whined, still biting your lip and smiling. "You look so handsomeeeee." You said, dragging out the final word.
He laughed again, eyes twinkling. Your eyes scanned his face, then you were crawling across the couch. He shifted, leaning back so you could crawl onto his lap, arse across his thick thighs. You ran your hands up and down his torso, feeling the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath his shirt. He hummed in the back of his throat, eyes closing, as you dragged your nails down the soft bumps of his abs.
"John, can I touch you?" You asked, hands coming to rest on the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the ridges of the elastic.
"You are touching me." Price joked, opening his eyes. He settled his hands on your hips and squeezed gently.
You rolled your eyes. "I want your cock."
Price couldn't help but laugh through his moan as you shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, pulling out his hardening cock. He groaned deeply as you pumped him a couple of times to full stiffness, before swiping your thumb across the head.
His hips bucked, twitching against the couch. You continued to fist him tightly while leaning over and letting a string of saliva fall from your mouth. It dripped across the tip of his cock, and Price let out a throaty moan, the grip on your hips tightening.
You used your saliva to make your hand glide, pumping him quickly. Usually, your stokes would be languid, seductive, as you prepped to either take him in your mouth or in your cunt. But this time, your movements were purposely fast, and the grunts in Price's quick breathing was an indicator that he liked it.
The wet clicks were consecutive as you stroked his cock from base to tip– squeezing tighter near the base, twisting near the tip. Price grumbled contentedly as you did so, beads of pre-cum leaking from his slit. He watched you with hooded eyes, a fucked out smile on his face as you jerked him off.
"Haven't even been home five minutes and you were so desperate for my cock, huh, sweetheart?" Price mused, hips jerking and cock twitching as you sped up the movement of your hand. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He forced them open, watching your hand for a second, before finding your face. He smiled, leaning forward to try and kiss you. "Mmm this is your cock, isn't it, baby? You can have it whenever you want..."
He kissed you, and you let him. You let his tongue lick along the seam of your lips, and you allowed him to coax your mouth open, a moan passing from his to yours. You continued fisting his cock, heating up against your palm, the tip flushed and glistening.
You pulled out of the kiss and with his eyes closed, Price rested his forehead against yours, mouth agape. He opened his eyes eventually, looking down at where you rapidly stroked his throbbing cock. He let out a quiet groan, flecks of pre-cum splattering onto his shirt at the pace at which you jerked him off.
He was close, his release building higher with each stroke of your hand. He held your hips tighter, grinding you onto his lap, and you moaned quietly, sweetly. He groaned in response, lifting his mouth to try and kiss you. You backed up a bit, enough so his lips were just brushing yours.
"John?" You whispered, and he released a quiet groan at that.
"Mmm?" He didn't have the cognitive ability to reply with words at his point, solely focussed on the way you were stroking his cock, and his looming orgasm.
You pressed a brief kiss to his lips, then pulled back. He watched you, eyelids drooping, eyes glassy, and you couldn't help but smile. You leaned back in, and whispered, "I want you to put a baby in me."
Price let out a loud, guttural groan. "Holy fuck."
He came abruptly, thick ropes painting your hand and his shirt. He moaned your name, cock twitching as strings of white dribbled down your fingers and across his now semi-hard length. Price pressed forward, kissing you, and you pumped him a couple more times before you were retracting your hand. You moved your head away, and licked his cum off your fingers. His eyes rolled, and he slumped back against the couch with a groan.
"You liked that, huh?" You teased, creeping your fingers beneath his shirt and slowly pushing it up, revealing the dark happy trail that led from his navel to his pelvis.
He hummed his agreement as you pulled his shirt further, and he sat up, lifting his arms so you could pull it off all the way. You tossed it aside before running the flat of your hands up and down his body. He hummed again, this time in content as you massaged the flesh of his pectorals, running your thumbs over his nipples and making him jerk against the couch.
"D'you mean what you said?" Price suddenly asked as you dragged your nails down the grooves in his abs. Goosebumps raised along his skin.
"What, about putting a baby in me?" You smiled, and he groaned, head flopping backwards again. You ran your fingers through the hair of his happy trail, following it down to his cock, still sticky with his release. You took hold of it again, and you felt it slowly hardening. Your smile grew. "Oh, I'm serious, John."
You pumped him slowly, gently, until he was fully hard in your hand once more. Price's breathing was laboured as he kept his head tossed back, eyes screwed shut. His chest rose and fell.
You stripped yourself of your own shirt and bra while he was occupied, managing to do so while still gently stroking his cock. Then, you raised yourself, and wiggled your skirt off– you had to use both hands to do this.
With your hand gone from his cock, Price pulled his head forward to see what you were doing. He released a breathy moan, immediately bringing his hands to your waist. You laughed as he dragged you forward and buried his face between your tits. You threaded your hands into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he kissed the soft skin of your chest.
His hands rubbed your waist, your lower back. Then, one hand still on your lower back, the other came to rest on your tummy, and he rubbed it gently.
"Wanna get you pregnant," he whispered into your sternum. "Mhm... mhm... wanna put a baby in you."
You felt your core throb red-hot at his words, your entire body thrumming with sexual energy that really, really needed to be released. You still had your underwear on, and you could feel your arousal dripping into the soft cotton fabric.
Face still in between the mounds of your breasts, Price dragged his hands away from your stomach and back and hooked his fingers beneath the waistline of your underwear. He slowly pulled them down until they were mid-thigh and couldn't go any further with the way you were sprawled across his lap.
Price shifted his head to the side, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he took two fingers and ran them up and down your wet slit. You keened, looking down at him with a whimper of his name. He looked up at you, mouth suctioned around your tit, as he dragged two fingers through your folds.
He retracted, moving to repeat his actions on your other nipple as he gently pushed his two fingers inside of you. You released a moan from low in your throat, holding yourself steady on your husbands shoulders as he fingered you open. He continued to watch you, tongue and teeth against your sensitive flesh, revelling in the way your tight walls clutched at his fingers.
Drops of arousal pooled past his knuckles and through the lines in his palm. He angled his hand so the drops dripped onto his lap, and the heel of his palm ground against your puffy clit. You gasped, hand shooting upwards to tug on Price's hair, his teeth scraping the bud of your nipple at the same time.
"John, I need you." You whined, trying desperately to grind yourself onto the heel of his palm. He let you, the pressure on your swollen clit making your eyes drop closed and your mouth drop open.
"What do you want from me?" He asked in a whisper, curling his fingers inside you and making your body alight with pleasure. The base of your tummy drew tight as the pads of his fingers worked that spot inside you.
"Need your cock," you whined impatiently, your climax just inches away from you. "Please, please, need you to fill me up."
You clenched around his fingers as he continued to hit that spot inside you. He applied more pressure to your clit, throbbing in tandem with the heartbeat in your chest. Price changed the angle of your sitting arrangement, so he could now comfortably kiss up the column of your neck.
"Need my cock, eh? Just need me to fill you up?" He murmured into your ear as he fucked his fingers into you. "I'll fill you up, sweetheart, I will. Fill you up niceeee and full. Fill this pretty tummy with my kids, eh, baby?"
His words made you come around his fingers without much warning. You pushed yourself against him, orgasm knocking you off balance as it wracked through you. Price fingered you through it, his other hand on your lower back and keeping your body close to his. He kissed you and although you struggled to kiss him back, you were still moaning his name into his mouth.
Price kissed you again, and then peppered kisses across your face as he took his fingers out of you. He grabbed your hips in both hands and helped you off his lap, standing you on your feet as he followed. Your underwear dropped the rest of the way down your thighs, and you quickly kicked them across the room as you grabbed Price by the shoulders and pulled him back into you.
Price's sweatpants and boxers fell and he kicked them away too as he kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. Still kissing, he led you out of the living room and eventually, the two of you made it to your bedroom, breathless.
He pushed you down onto your bed, and you giggled as he immediately followed after you, pinning your body beneath his. The weight of him made your cunt throb, arousal sticky against your inner thighs. The warm, solid form of his cock against your inner thigh made you moan, scratching your nails down his back.
"Can't wait for you to have my kids... our kids..." Price drawled between lazy kisses as he notched the head of his cock at your dripping cunt, smearing your arousal around your hole. "You're gonna look so pretty as a mum, aren't you, baby? Gonna be such a good mama."
Price pushed into you in one solid thrust, knocking the air from your lungs. You arched your back, meshing closer to him, as the tip of his cock knocked up against your cervix. You mewled, grasping at his back, as he dragged his cock out. The sensation was slow and heavy and sparked something deep in your stomach. When he was all the way out, he playfully tapped the head of his cock to your clit a couple of times. You choked on your moan, before he was filling you up again.
"John–" You moaned outwardly, sickly sweet and making him grunt above you. He doubled his efforts, slamming into you, the rhythm rocking the bed against the wall.
His fat cock split you open, stretching your wet hole around him and pushing up into your womb. You could feel him in your stomach. You felt so full.
Price pressed a hand to your lower stomach, admiring the subtle outline of his cock beneath the soft mound of your belly. He moaned loudly, pressing harder, and the feeling made you moan as well.
"John, fuck, oh my god." You whimpered as he thrust into you, heavy and rough, dragging along the tight, wet walls of your cunt. You clenched around him, your hands desperately trying to bring him closer to you. His chest hair against your tits, his hands on your stomach and hip– you wanted, no, needed him close.
He removed his hand from your stomach, instead gripping your hips as he fucked you into the mattress. He was grunting and groaning above you, eyes never leaving the way your body and face were reacting.
"That's a good girl, taking it so well... Always take it so well, sweetheart, don't you?" Price murmured, eyes on your face. "Such a good girl taking my cock. S'like this pretty cunt was made for it, eh, baby?"
For emphasis, he increased his pace. The tip of his cock slammed into your sweet spot, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His thrusts were drawing wet sounds from you, and you could feel your arousal being spread across your lower arse and inner thighs as he moved.
Your second orgasm approached quickly. Price fucked you hard, his noises of pleasure above you making you flutter around him. Your clit throbbed with a heartbeat, a thin layer of sweat settling over your naked body.
"John, John–" You tried to warn him, but failed when your orgasm slammed through you mid-sentence, rendering you speechless. You gushed around him, and he moaned, hips stuttering as your cunt squeezed around his cock, your orgasm dribbling out of you with each timed thrust.
He moaned your name. "Mmm there you go, there you go. My perfect girl, that's it. Feels good, sweetheart?"
You nodded, dizzy. "Yeah, y-yeah, fuck, so good, John, so good."
Price hummed, pleased. As you babbled, he shifted off of you for a second so he could hook his hands beneath your knees. Cock still stuffed inside you, he bent your legs and pressed them up against your chest, making you release a series of airy whimpers. He pressed his body heavily against you, holding the backs of your knees and literally folding you in half.
He began his thrusts again, and your eyes rolled at the new angle– his cock hit further, deeper inside you. The remnants of your orgasm were loud and wet as he rutted into you desperately, deep grunts falling from his mouth.
"Gotta fuck you deep, baby," he whispered, voice low. "Gotta stuff you full of my cock so it takes. Want it to take... want it to fucking take..." He punctuated each sentence with an extra heavy thrust, cock dragging against your slick walls. He groaned. "Gonna get you pregnant, sweetheart. Gonna get you fat with my kids. That's what you want, yeah? Want me to breed this pretty cunt?"
You hummed a yes. His words were making you even dizzier than you already were. You moaned and moaned, pleasure poisoning your veins as he fucked you towards a third orgasm. Your body was hot, damp with sweat. Price was warm too, strands of wet hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.
"Fuck, fuck," Price whispered. "You're my good girl, baby, you're my good girl. Want you to come one more time for me, okay? One more time n' then I'm gonna–" He cut himself off with a moan, but you understood.
Your body shook beneath him, your legs tightening in his grasp. Then, with a shattering moan of his name, you came around his cock. Your third orgasm fizzed through you, and it took a while to fizzle out as he rutted into you nonstop. The feeling of static pleasure lingered as he chased his high, and you whimpered quietly in his ear as he fucked your sopping cunt.
Your husband was cursing under his breath, moaning your name too. His balls slapped against the curve of your arse, sticky with your arousal, and the hands on the backs of your knees gripped tighter as his orgasm loomed. He imagined the future– you, round with his baby and looking so fucking pretty. He moaned at the thought, cock throbbing inside you.
"Oh, fuck– fuck, m'gonna come, mama," it slipped out through a moan. "M'gonna breed this pretty cunt nice and full. M'gonna give you my kids–"
Buried to the hilt inside you, Price came. A lot.
He filled you, just like he promised, and you felt the thick, hot ropes flood past your cervix. You moaned his name, and he slammed his mouth onto yours, shushing you with his tongue. He continued thrusting gently, stuffing his seed further inside you, plugging it up against your womb with the head of his cock. He groaned when you squeezed around him, gently dropping your legs from him.
Price pulled out of the kiss, resting his head in the crook of your neck. "Fuck, I love you."
"I love you too." You replied breathlessly, and the both of you lay in silence for a moment, panting like dogs in heat.
Fitting, really. The thought made you smile.
Price groaned into your neck, sucking a kiss to the skin. You pet his head gently.
"What's the matter?" You asked him, soothing the crown of his head as he bit and sucked at the curve of your shoulder.
"I just imagined you pregnant again," he uttered against you. "And now I'm hard again."
You laughed. "John, oh my god."
•º•
Several months of... trying... later, you sat in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hands. Happy tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at the two lines.
Outside, Price knocked on the door. "You alright, sweetheart?"
You sniffled. "Yeah, m'fine."
"You sure?" Price asked as soon as he heard the slight waver in your voice. "If you're not feeling well, we can tell the boys we can reschedule dinner–"
You opened the door of the bathroom with the test behind your back. Price noticed the tears, cupping your face.
"What's wrong?"
You had always planned on revealing your future pregnancy to your husband in an elaborate way. You'd dreamed of it, actually. But, overwhelmed with excitement and relief, you simply took his hands off your face, and placed the pregnancy test in his palm. He took it, confused for a moment, eyeing it skeptically.
Then, his eyes widened, tears immediately springing to his waterline as he looked down at you.
"You're pregnant?" He was crying.
"Yeah." You were crying too.
He wrapped you in his arms, pressing you gently to him and burying his face in your hair, sobbing with happiness. Your heart clenched, the excitement rolling off of him. After a long moment, he pulled back, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.
"Told you I'd get you pregnant." He smiled, winking.
You rolled your eyes.
He laughed, then looked at the test again. He beamed, eyes twinkling. Then, he looked down at you again, eyes shining with mischief. You narrowed your eyes jokingly at him.
"What?" You fought a smile.
"Are we sure this is accurate?" He smiled. "We might, you know, have to try a couple more times, just to be sure."
"John!" You laughed.
And the two of you did have to reschedule dinner with the boys. You both got distracted.
•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•
#captainfern#captainfernsalutes#call of duty#captain john price#call of duty mw2#captain price#fem reader#captain price smut#captain price x reader#price smut#captain john price smut#price call of duty#captain john price x reader#cod price#cod smut
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It's not cheating when he’s your enemy – Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader
see here for part 2 and here for part 2.5
Summary: Rafe Cameron is the reason why you fought with your boyfriend. Rafe Cameron is the reason why you lost your job. Rafe Cameron is the reason why you moan and whimper shamelessly.
Concept: enemies, hate sex
Warnings: mdni! – smut, hate sex, rough sex, p in v, violence, choking, spitting (on rafe), cursing, name calling (rafe calls reader whore), cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), mean!rafe
Word count: 3.9k
“How about a smile with that, hm?” Rafe Cameron grinned at you as you placed the glass in front of him on the table. Your eyes narrowed and you glared at him, but that smug grin of his only grew wider, and his kook friends sitting at the table with him snickered and watched the scene with amusement.
It was bad enough that you had to work today, not being in the best of moods after a fight with your boyfriend earlier – or more exactly, a fight with your boyfriend and his best friend. But you had to take the evening shift at the Wreck, because your landlord had assured you, he'd kick you out if you were late on the rent again. You needed the money and your cleaning job just didn't pay enough. And usually working at the Wreck was fine. Mike was a fair boss and Anna always had a nice word for you. The tips weren't as generous as at the country club, but the customers were usually much nicer. Well, usually. Not so much tonight.
You had seen – or actually heard them, the moment they had come into the restaurant; the kook prince and his cronies. Not waiting to be seated, they just chose a table and sat down, as if they had a right to do so, as if they were entitled to do anything they wanted. You frowned, when you saw them, having just written down the order from much nicer guests – a tourist couple, who must have been puzzled at your sudden change of attitude. You usually had no problem with keeping a friendly face to customers, or at least look at them in a neutral way, but the moment you saw Rafe Cameron walk in like he owned the place, you just couldn't hide your anger.
And of course, Rafe and his friends had chosen one of your tables. If it hadn't been so busy that night, you might have asked your colleague to swap tables. But as it was, you clenched your teeth and walked over to their table, placing the pitcher with fresh water and glasses on the table, ready to take their order – avoiding looking at them, especially at Rafe.
But his words made you look up from the water jug you held in your hand.
“C’mon, y/n, show us that pretty smile of yours, and I might even give you a nice tip”, the asshole had the audacity to wink at you.
You glared at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. You were fuming. Your hand clenching around the handle of the pitcher. And the blond kook just kept smiling at you his arrogant smile that others might have found charming, which only drove you mad.
So instead of pouring the water into the glasses on the table, you poured the pitcher's whole content onto Rafe Cameron's lap, drenching his expensive pants. – A pity actually that it was only water and not some boiling hot coffee.
Rafe quickly moved back, the chair making a screeching sound on the wooden floor, as he jumped to his feet. Now looking anything but amused, he looked down at himself.
“The fuck?”
And it was your turn to smirk, just a little triumphant smirk, while you glared at him and extended your arm, flipping him the bird, right at his stupid face.
You turned on your heels and walked back to the bar, hearing one of the kook boys say, “dude, she really hates you.” And Rafe replied, “nah, she wants me bad,” which resulted in all of them laughing.
And you growled. You hated those bastards. You hated them so damn much.
Behind the counter, you put down the empty pitcher with a loud thud – even though you felt more like throwing that thing at Rafe.
You tried to compose yourself, you really did, but, of course, Mike had seen what happened. And instead of being on your side and kicking those arrogant kooks out, he came at you, told you to go and apologize.
“I won’t! He’s a fucking asshole, acting like he owns half the island!” You glared at your boss.
“Well, his father does,” Mike said, “now go and apologize and tell him, whatever they order is on the house.”
You crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking at Mike as if he was talking in a different language.
“You apologize or you can leave. For good.” The features on the man's face had become stern.
You should do the reasonable thing, you needed this job. But your temper got the best of you. You were so angry, so damn furious, and Mike taking their side was just too much to take. You literally had enough.
“Screw you,” you snapped, crumpled the cloth you used for cleaning tables and threw it at Mike.
He frowned at you and pointed at the door.
And you walked out, walked out of that damn restaurant in which those fucking kooks were surely laughing at the scene they just witnessed. You were a joke to them. You pogues always were nothing more than a joke to them. It made you furious.
Outside you kicked a random car parked in front of the restaurant, wishing it was Rafe's – but it looked more like some old folks' family car than anything Rafe would drive.
“Fuck ‘em, fuck ‘em all,” you cursed, and your foot hurt, but you kept on walking, stomping actually, blinking angry tears away.
You just had lost your job because of Rafe-fucking-Cameron! The same guy that had been the reason for your fight with your boyfriend earlier that day.
You hated that guy. You had always hated Rafe, but now you hated him more than ever.
This morning, on his usual delivery run for Heyward, your boyfriend had been jumped by Rafe and one of his friends. And they had beaten him up so bad, he had gotten home with a limp, his left eye swollen, his nose bleeding. Seeing him like that hurt so much, you almost cried. His best friend, who was there with you, looked at your boyfriend shocked, and worried, before his quick temper took over. That boy was always short-tempered and would rather act than think. He was furious. While you were attending your boyfriend's wounds, his best friend was pacing the small place, raising his fists, clenching them, rambling on about how he would make Rafe pay for that. He also seemed mad at himself for not having been there for his best friend, not having been able to defend him. So he was more determined now to make it right, as he called it.
He swore revenge and was forming a plan. Usually, they would just try and fight Rafe and his friends at the next opportunity. But this seemed different. And your boyfriend seemed to be hurt more than just by the wounds you could see. You weren't sure, but you had a feeling that something else must have happened with Rafe, something more serious, something hurting not just his body, but his pride too. Because otherwise, your boyfriend would have never agreed to the stupid plan his best friend came up with. Stealing Rafe's dirt bike and sinking it to the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't even a real plan, it was just stupid.
“He'll know that it was you! And he'll have you arrested for it.”
“So what?”
“So what? You can go to jail! Don't be so dumb! You can both go to jail for this and you'll ruin your future just because of some stupid fight!” You yelled at your boyfriend's best friend, but there was no reasoning with him.
But what was worse, your own boyfriend didn't want to see that you were right. He was so infuriated. He had jumped to his feet and was ready to take Rafe and any cop. And he wanted to hurt him, hurt him so bad.
When you tried to talk to him, tried to calm him down, tried to make him see reason, he just shoved you away, and he suddenly seemed angry at you, accusing you of not understanding him. And his best friend accused you of not caring about your own boyfriend. And that fucking hurt. The two of them had always been close, very close, and you sometimes felt a pang of jealousy, because even though you were his girlfriend, it seemed as if there was some part of him you would never fully get.
So you had left the two of them planning their revenge, coming up with some stupid plan that would not make anything right that had been done to your boyfriend or to any of you pogues.
And the thought of that made you furious right now.
You balled your hands into fists, clenching so hard, you felt your nails digging into your palms.
You hadn't paid attention to where you were going when you had stormed out of the Wreck and you had been walking for some time now, anger driving you onwards, as you found yourself close to the Cameron's pier.
Rage was clouding your judgement, but you knew you had to do something, anything. It just couldn't go on like this. Rafe Cameron hurting everyone and destroying everything and just getting away with it.
You didn't have a plan what to do when you broke into the shack where they stored boat stuff and other things. It wasn't the first time you had broken into somewhere, but it was the first time you were on your own. Usually the other pogues would be with you. But you could do this on your own. And you did care about your boyfriend, no matter what his best friend said. You were a pogue just like them.
Inside it was dark and you had to feel your way round, careful not to bump into anything. You used your phone's flashlight to see, but you weren't really sure what you were looking for. Maybe you could find boat keys and take his boat? Stupid plan, but whatever. You had to do something, anything. Goddamn, you hated that guy.
“Anything I can help you with?”
You froze when you heard that dark voice. The lights had suddenly turned on, blinding you for a second. You blinked and saw him. Fuck. Rafe Cameron standing at the door, blocking the only exit. Tilting his head to the side, he looked right at you.
“What you doing here?” You couldn't help but ask, even though you knew it was a dumb question, but you were genuinely puzzled. He had just been at the Wreck with his friends – getting you fired – and now he was here of all places?
“This is MY property. What the hell are you doing here?”
Fuck, he was right. You wouldn't admit it, but he had a point. And suddenly you were questioning your own reason. It was such a stupid idea, breaking in here. All you wanted now was to get out, get away as fast as possible before Rafe would call the cops. So instead of answering, you darted for the exit as he moved a few steps into the room. But he was quicker, stepped to the side, so you almost crashed right into him.
He caught you, his big hand wrapping around your arm. You flinched at how tight his grip was.
“Fuck, let me go!” You tried to wriggle out of his grip, and hit his chest with your free hand.
Rafe grabbed your other arm too, pulling you closer to his much larger body.
“Let go, asshole!” You yelled at him, not giving up your fighting yet, though it seemed impossible to free yourself from his grip.
“Won't do. You broke into my property and stole something from me.” He glared down at you, his eyes narrowed – the blue in them reminded you of the sky on the day before the hurricane hit the island a few weeks ago.
“I didn't take anything!” Your voice strained and you were panting from your struggling.
He raised his eyebrows as he glared at you.
“A liar and a thief. I'll check for myself what you took.”
He let go off one of your arms, just to use his free hand to grip your waist, pulling you against his body, his broad chest pressing against your upper body, so close, you could hardly move your free arm between the bodies.
But his hand didn't rest, he was touching, grabbing, tugging, actually patting you down.
His large hand found your ass and that intimate touch caused a different kind of sensation. Something much hotter.
You wriggled in his arms, making your bodies only rub harder against each other.
“Fuck, let go!” You hissed, as breathing became harder.
You tried to kick him, but couldn't really lift your leg, you were too close to his overpowering body.
“Fucking asshole!” You spat at him.
And Rafe's hand gripped your jaws, so hard, you winced. Your mouth opening as you gasped.
Instead of tasting the air, you felt his lips crushing down on yours as he had suddenly closed the space and was kissing you, kissing you fiercely and hard.
Your eyes fluttered close. For a moment you were completely taken aback, overwhelmed by this unexpected intimate touch, a kiss so fierce and rough you had never tasted before.
It only lasted a second, and you pushed him away, pushed yourself away from him enough, so you could move your arm, and you smacked his cheek so hard, his head whipped to the side.
Obviously surprising him, he let go off you, rubbing his cheek, and looking at you as if in disbelief. His mouth opened, those lips you had just felt on yours.
And you stood there two steps away, chest heaving, panting, glaring, fuming, feeling that tingling on your lips, feeling that throbbing pain from his touch on your arms, feeling his presence so strongly, feeling this incredible heat in your own body, something hotter than rage coursing through your veins, feeling that sudden pull.
You lunged forward, and he just gazed at you, and your hands gripped around his neck as you pulled yourself up, legs wrapping around his waist, and your mouth meeting his in an angry kiss.
Rafe reacted in an instant, kissing you back, even fiercer than before. It felt like he was devouring you. And you couldn't help but moan into the kiss, as you rocked your hips against his. But the friction you caused with your fervent movements wasn't enough to make that throbbing between your legs stop. Both his hands grabbed your ass, gripped it like it was something that belonged to him, only to him. It made you furious, and clenching with need.
Your hands grabbed his hair, pulling at it. He growled in response, right into your open mouth. Pushing his tongue in, he claimed that too.
The heels of your feet dug into his back, as you pulled yourself closer to him. Feeling his hard cock pressing against you made you mutter the most embarrassing sounds, hardly muffled by his greedy kiss.
Suddenly he moved and you felt how your ass hit something.
The kiss broke and you hissed as you found yourself on a workbench, cluttered with all kinds of tools, which Rafe shoved away with his arm, making them clatter on the floor, before setting you down on the surface.
You braced yourself with your elbows on the bench, looking up at Rafe, who impatiently tugged down your shorts and panties. Your sandals dropped to the floor as well.
You tried to get up and grab his shirt to pull it off of him, but he pushed you back down on the bench, making you flinch at his roughness and at the same time you felt your legs opening for him, as you saw him take that shirt off himself. You couldn't help but gaze at his muscles. His body was so well-shaped, it was ridiculous how he could be real.
Your attention was directed further down, as you heard him unzip his pants.
You were only able to catch a glimpse of his cock, but it was enough to make you gasp – he was huge – before he pushed into you.
The sudden pain made you cry out. Your eyes going back into your head as you felt so incredibly full. You didn't even try to suppress your shameless moans as he ruthlessly thrust into you. Your walls clamping, the feeling became so intense, your body was shivering while you were burning up.
You heard Rafe's animalistic growl and that sound drove your own lust even further.
His hand at the back of your neck, he pulled you up, his lips hovering over yours, his hot breath mingling with yours.
Rafe pulled you closer, and as he fucked you, your ass was pressed against the edge of the bench, surely leaving bruises.
But you left bruises and marks on his body too. Your hands grabbing, your nails scratching his back. When he kissed you, you bit him, feeling how he tensed up and go harder on you. You felt your climax approaching, felt your body burning up with need, clenching so hard around him.
And he must have felt it too, because you could sense something shift. But instead of giving you what you wanted, giving you what your body so desperately needed, he grinned into the messy kiss and suddenly pulled out. You gazed at him, your face flushed, your lips sore from those biting kisses, and you were so surprised that it was easy for him to unwrap himself off your legs.
Your naked feet touched the cold floor and you could hardly stand. But you didn't have too.
Before you could question what the hell he was doing, he grabbed you, turned you around and bent you over the workbench.
You exhaled an angry breath and your hands clawed at the surface of the bench, while he turned your head sideways and pressed down on it, your cheek on the rough wood. You tried to look up at him, but couldn't move your head to see properly. But you didn't need to see what he was doing, you could feel it a few seconds later.
Your legs were spread and a rough hand rubbed between them. You were soaking wet. You had been wet from the moment his lips had claimed yours. You had no time to get annoyed at how that must have amused him, because the next moment, he was taking your breath away as his thick cock thrust into you. Harder and deeper now. You wouldn't have believed that to be possible, but he was fucking you now with even more of that rough and ruthless vigor. He was quite literally using you, as his cock was hammering into you. Your body trembled and shuddered and you moaned and whimpered and you were so far gone.
Rafe took you as if you were his, as if he could use you as he pleased – and you wanted nothing else than to be used by him in that moment.
Your walls clenching so hard around him, you felt fuller than possible.
But despite being at his mercy, despite having turned into his fucktoy, despite your traitorous body enjoying being used like that, you couldn't help yourself.
One hand reached back, touching his hip.
“Harder,” you urged him, panting. “Harder,” you repeated, breathlessly, as if you didn't already feel like you might pass out any minute, because it was too much, because your body couldn't possible take anymore.
He growled. And the sound made you shudder.
And you almost regretted your words, but at the same time, you felt your clit throbbing, your whole body buzzing with a need you had never felt before.
His arm wrapped around your neck from behind and he pulled you up, pulled you up standing on your toes, your back arching. The back of your head against his shoulder. His arm pressed against your throat, making it hard to breathe and impossible to speak. You could only whine as he slammed into from behind. Your fingernails digging into his arm's hard muscle, while your eyes fluttered shut.
You lost it all, all sense of reason and self control, as he fucked you through your earth-shattering orgasm. Fucked you relentlessly. Fucked you without restrained. Fucked you into oblivion.
You were undone and he kept going. Taking you without mercy, using you. And when he gasped and you felt him push so deep inside you, hitting a spot yet untouched, another wave rolled over you. You hadn't felt it building up, but it was like your body was synced with his, and the moment he came inside you, spilling his load deep into you, your walls clenched around him, as if trying to hold him there, and you came, harder this time, with him.
When he pulled out and let go off you, you just collapsed forward onto the workbench. Coughing, finally able to breathe, you tried to regain your senses.
Your legs were trembling and you could already feel his cum dripping out of you, running down your thigh.
You weren't sure if your eyes were closed or open, as you still just saw stars dancing in front of your eyes.
The sound of a low chuckle behind you made you finally able to return to reality – and realize your exposed position, bent over the workbench, your legs spread, your ass up, cum dripping out of your throbbing pussy.
You groaned as you pushed yourself up and turned. Every fucking muscle in your body hurt. You knew you would be sore for days. And when you caught that smirk on Rafe's face as he put on his shirt watching you with that glint in his eyes, you knew he was thinking the same.
You smoothed your rumpled top, crouched down to pick up your shorts. Somehow you couldn't find your panties between all those tools scattered on the floor, so you pulled on your shorts without panties. You flinched at the friction the rough fabric caused. You'd definitely be sore for days.
Frowning, you slipped into your sandals.
Your eyes moved over to Rafe. He was fully dressed and despite his somewhat heavy breathing and the sweat glistening on his forehead, he seemed all composed as he was leaning against another workbench opposite of you, just a few feet away. His hair a mess though, you noted with a certain kind of satisfaction.
A smirk danced around his lips as he watched you trying to comb your own hair with your fingers.
“What?” You frowned at him.
He shrugged, pushed himself off the bench and slowly came closer.
“Just realized, it's true what they say.”
Your frown deepened as you glared at him questioningly.
“The filthiest whores come from the Cut.”
You spat right at his face.
“Fucking asshole,” you hissed and turned to leave. From the corner of your eyes you could see how he wiped away your spit from his cheek, and looked at it, chuckling in amusement.
You didn't turn when you walked through the door. You tried not to show it, but each step hurt like hell. And what was worse, your core was aching with need.
a/n: thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Comments, reblogs, likes, and any kind of feedback are very welcome. You may also have a guess who the reader's boyfriend might be. And his best friend...
This is the start of a concept series of oneshots.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe fanfiction#drew starkey#rafe cameron x reader#dark rafe cameron#obx#outer banks#rafe x you#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#toxic relationship#smut fic#obx fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe x y/n
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jackie and wilson.
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summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.
pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader
word count: 4.1k
content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour
notes: speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge
the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00
PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild
All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well.
Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours.
Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.
The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it.
After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss.
Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster.
You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty.
Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”
You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse.
The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp.
Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got.
Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery.
It was cute.
Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley.
Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over.
The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan.
He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.
His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name.
He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow.
You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.”
He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”
Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.”
Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”
“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.”
He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion.
“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.”
“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.”
You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”
“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly.
“And that?”
“The Amphitheatre.”
You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did.
You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”
That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”
You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”
Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face!
You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered.
During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp.
(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)
Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill.
Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day.
But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go.
When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked.
“Hey, now we can match. How cute.”
He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”
“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response.
But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes.
Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet.
The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable.
But you really needed to pee.
After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door.
“That’s not your bathroom.”
You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke.
Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”
“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”
“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”
“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”
“Yes.”
“But…it’s cold out there.”
“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”
You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!”
He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up.
“Be quick.”
Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed.
You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan.
“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”
“And then what happened?”
“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”
You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence.
When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”
“I’m showing you around today.”
“You showed me around yesterday.”
His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”
“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”
“Archery.”
Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour.
“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.”
Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.”
You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t.
He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”
You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater.
You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”
“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”
You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “
Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”
He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”
You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be.
“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).
You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off.
It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”
“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”
You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion.
“So, where are you from?”
He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe.
You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”
Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!
Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything.
“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”
You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.”
He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse.
“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”
A chuckle, “What?”
But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?”
You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.”
“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”
You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on.
“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”
Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”
Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”
You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation.
You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”
You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow.
“What’d you do to him?”
You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”
He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”
You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.
#@lia’s works#joined a new england subreddit for this fic#so pls give it some love#taking requests#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#pjo
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Too Sweet
A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.
Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader
Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.
Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?
A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn
The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.
A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.
It was nice to be a part of something again.
Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?
A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.
“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.
Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.
When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.
You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.
“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”
Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.
She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.
————
You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.
The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.
Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.
A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.
“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.
There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”
“That sure is an early start.”
“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.
It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”
His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.
He might be someone to watch.
You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”
With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.
“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”
Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.
His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”
Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.
The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.
“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”
Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.
Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.
Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.
Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”
————
The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.
That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.
For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.
Joel.
You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”
For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.
“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”
The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.
His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.
Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.
It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.
Right?
That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.
—
The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.
You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.
In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.
“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.
“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.
A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.
With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.
“What?!” You shouted.
“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”
You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.
In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.
Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.
Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.
“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“
Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.
“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”
It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.
He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”
A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.
“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”
Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”
You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.
“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”
A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.
“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”
With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.
Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.
For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.
Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰
#fanfiction#the last of us#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#tlou#tlou fic#tlou fanfiction#tlou2#bunny writes#smut#smut writing#the last of us fanfiction
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To the moon and to Saturn 🪐
Lando Norris x Model!Reader
socmed au
summary: where they give the audience chaos because of their rumored "breakup"
warning/s: sexual innuendos (if you squint)
author's note: just a little something to get me out of writing slump 🥹 there's a part 2 to this fic if you wanna check it out🫶
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user1 MOTHER IS MOTHERING
user2 PLEASE MARRY ME
user3 mother is living her best life and im here for it
user4 GET OUT OF THE WAY LANDO IM GONNA STEAL HER
user5 kinda sus no lando in the comments simping over how hot she is
user6 TRUE he usually comments and likes her post like a second after she posted it 😭
user7 there's got to be something
user8 no there's just something wrong in y'all's head...
user9 yeah leave them and their relationship alone
yourfriend back and better in black
liked by yourusername
user10 interesting...🥴
user11 what do they mean by this😭
user12 maybe because it's been awhile since yn got back in modeling after her supporting lando and going on a vacation with him?
user13 you guys are reading into this too much
lando.jpg
liked by maxfewtrell, pierregasly, and 897,475 others
lando.jpg parties and a tad bit hungover...
view 23,495 comments...
user1 YOU CAN'T JUST POST THE 2ND PHOTO AND GET AWAY WITH IT
user2 i believe he's thirst trapping his way out of the issue
user3 what issue?
user2 some are saying him and yn broke up
user3 lol people are too obsessed with their relationship im not surprised we won't get any posts from them anymore lol
user2 true
maxfewtrell nice music but please don't throw up on me next time
maxverstappen1 why was i not invited
landonorris you were busy with something else🙄🙄🙄
maxverstappen1 oh i see you're still on it...
user4 am i delusional if i think this is about yn ?????
user5 babes im gonna be delusional with u
user6 yeah no❤️
user4 what if they just fought?
user6 what if you all leave them alone lol
danielricciardo nice party, hoping for that one more important invite next time😜
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 237 others
user7 don't mean to ruin the vibes but where's my girl yn :((
yourusername
liked by charlottesine, isahernaez, yourfriend, and 890,938 others
yourusername welcome to new york
view 23,103 comments...
user1 THE GIRLS ARE BACK
user2 THEY'RE SO HOT
user3 WAIT SHE'S IN NEW YORK???
user4 CAN'T BELIEVE MOTHER AND I ARE BREATHING THE SAME AIR
user5 im sorry but it's been like a month of them not posting each other😭
user6 it's been a bad month for us😭
user7 my parents :'(
user8 them in one frame is too much to handle
user9 uhmmm why is she hanging out with the exes????👀
user10 maybe because they're still friends and her girlfriends' breakups has nothing to do with their friendship???
user11 ikr... is she like a member of the club now?
user12 i hope not lol
isahernaez missed you so much! And im so happy for you❤️
liked by yourusername and 1,790 others
user13 her liking it...
user14 she's happy for her meaning she's like in a better place now????😭
user15 don't do this to me
user16 geez they cant even say anything that you guys do not to relate to her relationship lmao
via twitter...
via instagram...
landonorris
liked by carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, and 2,347,987 others
landonorris just married my best friend, the love of my life, and my better half. I love you until one can reach the sky.
tagged: yourusername
view 89,739 comments...
user1 WE WERE MOURNING THEIR "BREAK UP" ONLY TO BE WOKEN UP TO THIS POST😭
user2 this is my childhood bestfriends to lovers trope!
user3 no cause where's mine?!
user4 this is so much better than a black background and default font ig story announcement that they broke up😭
carlossainz55 i hope yn can make it through the night when she hears you snore
landonorris I don't snore!
carlossainz55 sure and birds cant fly
yourusername some birds can't
landonorris see???
yourusername but you do snore love
user5 IVE MISSED TIMES LIKE THIS😭
maxverstappen1 can't believe you got married before me
user6 you better watch your step mister, I'm literally right behind you.
landonorris 🫡 i would not dare
yourfriend oh yeah you'll never hear the end of it
yourusername stop threatening my husband😭
user7 "husband"😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 all of us are crying
lewishamilton congrats mate!
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yourusername
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe, and 1,295,670 others
yourusername Love you to the moon and to Saturn❤️
tagged: landonorris
view 50,405 comments...
user1 no because you don't know how happy i am for them😭
user2 i can finally sleep in peace at night with a smile on my face knowing my parents literally got married
user3 i have never once cried over celebrity couples getting married but this😭
user4 kinda valid knowing how much they went through just to be where they are now😭
user5 from them being childhood bestfriends to being enemies to being best friends again and now they're married?!😭
user6 im so happy for them 🥺
lilymhe congrats love! just tell me if lando hurts you I will literally snatch you from him
yourusername you're first on my contacts
landonorris hey! no fair
charlottesine gotta admit i shed a tear seeing you walk down the aisle🥺 so happy for you!
yourusername love you cha!
user7 yn is so blessed with her husband and her friends🥺
user8 and they're very blessed with her too🥺 she's like the gentlest most loving person ever
liked by landonorris and 29,654 others
landonorris very lucky to have her as my wife
user9 THEY JUST CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF CALLING EO HUSBAND/WIFE😭
user10 im gonna bathe with my toaster
user11 gonna lay down on the road
yourusername awww are you trying to ask for more lasagna?
landonorris did it work?
yourusername nope :P maybe kisses will do for now?
landonorris never mind the lasagna, brb gonna get it you owe me about a hundred ;)
user12 not them flirting under the comments!!😭 Get a room!😭
user13 oh they're abt to
#lando norris x oc#lando norris x reader#lando norris au#lando norris#f1 socmed au#f1#fluff#f1 fic#f1 fluff#lando norris social media au
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Better kind of best friend
Pairing : Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux x Charles Leclerc | Poly & bisexual fem!reader
Warnings : slight emotional cheating, obsessive/possessive/manipulative behavior, suggestive content/smut, fluff then angst then dark fluff, inaccurate racing calendar and school programs, polyamory, use of y/n
Synopsis : When you left the UK for a year long art restoration program in Monaco, you mainly wanted to make some friends. What you didn’t expect was to find your best friend on the first day. And then fall in love with her. And then get tangled in the web of Monaco high society as her boyfriend came back to town, unaware of your little affairs. What the fuck happened to you, you just wanted to make some friends…
Moth’s prophecy💡: Hi frieeeends, sorry for any mistakes, I haven’t written more than blurbs in a while. The poly, Charles, dark parts and smut will happen in the next chapters, I intend on making three of them. The first is mostly gay panic and tooth rotting fluff, so enjoy before it all goes to shit !!
As you stepped outside of Nice’s airport, you felt like you were finally breathing. The weather wasn’t particularly gloomy when you had left London, but nothing compared to the Mediterranean sun and the breeze of the sea. It had always had an inexplicable calming effect on you, now only interrupted by an old French woman throwing what sounded like insults at you as she moved past you towards the parking lot. The sea, you had missed. French people, not so much.
As you embarked on your second journey of buses and trains to your final destination, you took the time of going once more over the details of what would be your schedule those next few months. After getting your degree in Conservation and Restoration of Cultural Heritage, your parents thought it would only do you good to go practice on the field before even thinking of applying to any museum in the UK. You had gone on vacation on the French south coast a few times with them, and in a surprising but welcome turn of events, the Pavillon Bosio, Monaco’s art school, was organizing an internship welcome to all students of arts degrees in Europe. For your parents, a precious opportunity to add an experience to your CV in a prestigious setting. For you, the occasion to enjoy the beach and make friends in an artist residency after five years of hard work at university. Win-win.
The sun was setting on the hills when you finally settled into your room at the residency. Located close to the school, in the high parts of Monaco, the house was old but gorgeous, with pale pink walls and palm trees everywhere in the garden. Ivy leaves were growing at your window, which gave you a view of the port lighting up in the evening. Three floors high, there were a total of 8 bedrooms, all to be occupied by students of the Bosio program. The two remaining were, according to the brief, residents of Monaco.
You threw yourself on the bed with a sigh, your suitcases not even opened yet. The birds were singing softly and your eyes started to flutter in rhythm with them. If you did not make a move, you would be fast asleep, you thought. Yet it seemed like such an effort…
“Ciaoooo !” You sat straight up from the fluffy bed, meeting a pair of green eyes in the opening of the door “Oh scusa, ti ho svegliato ?”
The girl had gorgeous ginger hair, though likely unnatural, flowing down to her waist, and a mischievous smile. She seemed a bit younger than you, and kept staring back at you until you shook your head and answered.
“Sorry ! Um, English is okay ? For you ? No parlo…” was it even parlo ? You were trying to get your point across, hoping she would forgive your mistakes. “No parlo Italiano ?”
“Aaaah yeah yeah sure !” She chuckled, her accent even richer in English. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up ? I just arrived, it seems like we’re the only ones there…”
“No, no don’t worry, I was just resting my eyes. I did not check the other rooms, are we really ?” She nodded, pouting and crossing her arms. She probably expected a big welcome party. “I’m Y/N.”
“Chiara ! Let’s go have a drink when you’ve unpacked !”
You smiled as the girl waved and trotted downstairs. She was right, unpacking right now would probably be a good idea.
“Cazzo, la mia testa…” Chiara groaned while walking down the stairs from her bedroom to the shared kitchen.
Definitely, you had been right to not follow her in town the day before the start of “classes”. The bottle of wine you downed together in under half an hour had been enough, and when she had left to go explore the nearest bars, you had opted for a swift retreat into your room.
This coincided with the arrival of two other students, with whom you spent the rest of the evening making small talk. Apparently another one had arrived in the night.
The Italian boy you hadn’t met was immediately assaulted by Chiara, who seemed to know him. And it also seemed the feeling wasn’t mutual. You understood almost nothing of their exchange, but it made you and your new roommates laugh quite a lot.
The rest of the morning passed slowly, your shared breakfast only interrupted by Chiara’s flow of anecdotes, and a few exchanges about where each one of you was coming from and what studies you did before. One of the girls you had met the night before was going through the rule book of the residency, staring out loud the facts she found relevant.
It’s only around twelve, as you were all getting ready to head to the school for your first meeting, that the three last students arrived to the house. A few pleasantries were exchanged, a promise of a good meal together tonight to meet properly, and you all left the residency, following happily the little path from the garden up the hills.
The Pavillon Bosio looked more like a huge villa than a school, hidden between the trees. With its cute red roof and stunning view of the sea, you were all in awe as you entered through the gates.
“Bonjour, bonjour tout le monde ! This way please, for the restoration workshop right ? This way, come !” An old bearded man with a thick French accent welcomed you all, guiding you through the corridors of the school.
You settled in a small classroom, tables filled with paper cups, coffee dispensers and pastries. The old man introduced himself as the head of the program, and encouraged you to have a drink and get to know each other while waiting for the last two students. You couldn’t help but notice that some things never change, it’s always the one who live the closest who are the latest.
But you had barely any time to put down your bags and take a coffee before laughter was heard in the hallway, two voices clearly making their way towards you. And as they entered the room, your head started spinning.
There they were, the two monegasques, the last missing pieces of your eclectic little group of students. The man was quite elegant, dressed all in black in spite of the warm temperature, and body dripping with gold jewelry. But the girl, oh the girl… With long straight chestnut hair, and eyes of an even darker shade of brown, she was holding on to her friend’s arms with a delicacy only found in children who grew up bathed in the finest luxuries. She was wearing a white summer dress that did nothing to hide the shape of her body, and accentuated her sun-kissed skin. Everyone turned to them as they entered the room, but it seemed to you her eyes were only on you. The thought that you would have been the first to catch her attention made you blush, and you went on to hide your embarrassment in your cup of coffee.
“Alexandra, Luca, bienvenue ! Toujours un plaisir de vous revoir !” The old man, whose name you had learnt was Jean-Paul, went on to shake the hands of the two students, who he seemed to know already. “Je vous en prie, installez vous, prenez un café !”
The man, Luca if you understood correctly, stayed by the teacher’s side, engaging in a conversation punctuated by loads of “Oh !” and “Ah”, but the girl made her way to you with a determination that made you want to hide under the table.
She lost no time serving herself a cup of coffee and a pastry, and turned to you with a smile brighter than the summer sun. As she put her hand on your shoulder, leaning in to lay a kiss on each of your cheeks, you felt as if all the air had been sucked from your body.
“Alexandra, nice to meet you !”
And just like that, your whole world had turned upside down.
In the days that followed that meeting, all the little group of students started to get along pretty well, getting to know each other from their studies to the role they would play in your year-long project, while also sharing personal anecdotes at night, under the trees of the residency’s garden.
But the bond you felt with Alexandra, that was something else. It was as if you two had known each other forever, everything flowed smoothly, and your passions were either shared by the girl, or met with genuine curiosity and interest. Not even two weeks had passed and you already had little habits, inside jokes and plans for the rest of the year.
In the first stage of the program, the work was mainly research and preparation of the artworks, which meant that except for the mandatory seminars and meetings here and there, you were free to schedule your work time and partners as you pleased. This led to Alexandra coming to the house every morning, having breakfast with you, and going to the school together, or settling in your bedroom with your computers and working, or at least trying, together. If you gave yourself free time, she would take you to museums, or restaurants she enjoyed, or just lying down in parks as she tried to teach you some French. She was kind and patient, and in a desperate wish to get her to like you, you tried to be the best student, reading diligently every book she recommended you.
You quickly realized that although she was a true social butterfly, the whole group of students enjoying having her around, she was much more comfortable when you were just the two of you. She would often suggest you sneak off from team activities, wanting to share the secrets of the city she grew up in only with you. And there was no way you would complain about that. By the end of September, you deeply felt like you had found the best of best friends.
You didn’t know how it got so bad so quickly. No, actually, you did. Alexandra was the worst kind of best friend for someone as prone as you to catch feelings. You had always been quite close physically with your friends, hugging and holding hands were essentials for you to express your affection, but you also knew how weak you could be to pet names and fluttering eyelashes, and with each day that passed, she was making it harder for you to only see her as a friend.
You knew she was aware of her beauty and of how everyone seemed to gravitate towards her, but how could she not realize that the amount of affection she gave you was on the borderline of what would be considered “normal” for a girl friendship ? How could she so casually play with your hair, nails softly digging into your scalp as she lulled you to sleep, your head on her legs in your bed ? How could she lack all sense of modesty, casually undressing in front of you when preparing for a party, and expecting you to help her choose a dress as if you weren’t face to face with her lacy underwear and model body.
You truly despised yourself for ruining such a pure friendship with those thoughts, and desperately tried to remember to not break her trust by being not better than those “nice guys” you had so often dealt with yourself. But what you thought could be a simple physical attraction, something that would pass with a few drinks and the arms of an unknown frenchie, turned into a feeling that burned your insides and made your heart ache a little bit more everyday.
You had so often longed for a soft love, someone who would accept and care for you with the same warmth as you would for them. Friends, good friends, you always had many. Deep friendship, much less so. But the bond you had with Alexandra, you had never experienced it before. You were starting to think that if you had ever felt love before, it had been nothing more than a crush in comparison to this.
You tried to be a good friend. Controlling your breathing when she touched you. Inviting others to your gatherings when you felt you might confess after one too many drinks. Trying not to read too much into her actions, but damn it, she really seemed to be like this only with you.
In the end, what lost you were the pet names. One in particular, she would always throw carelessly as if the word didn’t roll on her lips, sweet like honey.
“Coucou mon chou !”
Waving at you and jumping in your arms, she would repeat the pet name again and again just to see you blush, and who were you to deny her… At first you did not know the meaning of it, and thinking of it, maybe you should have never asked.
It was the middle of October, and you were working with her and Chiara in the school, getting started on repairing some of the minor artworks that were entrusted to you. Well, more like you and Chiara were working, and Alexandra was tagging along out of boredom. With her degree in Art History, her role in the workshop wasn’t as much on the artworks than on their exposition. Which mostly meant your ginger friend was peeling little gold leaves while listening to EDM so loud you could still shake your head in rhythm through her headphones, and Alexandra was glued to you, even in the most uncomfortable of positions.
She had started working on little braids in your hair when, once again, the pet name was used.
“Mon chou, d’you have any hair ties ?”
“What does it mean ?” You asked as plainly as possible, while giving her the hair tie on your wrist.
“What does what mean ?”
“Mon chou. I guess that’s a nickname but you haven’t taught me what it means.” Something good, you hoped. Something sweet.
“No way you don’t know what’s a chou ?!” She grabbed you by the shoulders and you had to follow her movement swiftly in order to not ruin your work “Un chou ? Like… un chou à la crème ?” You nodded no, a bit shameful. You should have looked it up yourself. “It’s a pastry, dear. Something delicious, very airy, the best are filled with cream ? My favorite.” She planted a kiss on your cheek, and you thought, honest to god, that you could die happy on the spot. “Just like you.”
If only this had stopped there. But the next day, when she came to the residency, she snuck the breakfast directly into your room. You had barely woken up when she sat on the side of your bed, seemingly quite excited. She made you sit up and pushed some strands of hair behind your ears before placing the small pastry box on your knees.
“What is this Alex…?” You groaned while pushing back the curtains with one hand, rubbing your eyes with the other.
“Des choux !” She was grinning from ear to ear, and did not give you much more time to comprehend before opening the box. In it, a myriad of little golden cream puffs were staring back at you. “Des choux pour mon chou !” She giggled at her joke and you could not help but laugh too, for the gift was both actually funny, and sweet. “You gotta taste !”
You agreed, but she seemed to have something else in mind as she took one between her slender fingers and brought it up to your mouth. Surely she would not…? And surely she did. Taking advantage of your stupid lack of reaction time, she softly pushed the pastry between your lips, not enough to make you gag on it, yet you could still feel her digit rubbing your bottom lip before making an exit, leaving you dumbfounded and mouth full of the soft cream. Oh yes, you were definitely fucked.
October came to an end, the heavy temperatures and lazy afternoons on the beach leaving place to walks in the old town, cuddled together under one huge scarf. But the evening breeze did nothing to appease the fire in your heart, nor did it slow the speed at which your feelings for Alexandra deepened every day. If not too long ago, you wished for your friendship to stay as pure as the summer sky, now you only longed to confess, lay your heart out before her as a sacrifice, telling her to eat it raw, and the whole of you with it. It was a mixture of love, devotion and desire so strong, she could have asked you to worship her and you would have built a cathedral in her honor.
But you were oh so afraid of ruining everything. If she didn’t return your feelings, that was one thing. But what if she hated you for it ? You could not bear the thought of being apart from her, especially knowing you would still have to work with her for the rest of the year. You would rather eat your feelings than let it happen.
You were still pondering what it could mean for you both when you arrived at her apartment, in the very center of Monaco. You had been there quite a few times, even more recently, to work, to crash after evenings out, or just to have sleepovers, like tonight. It was very well located, and filled with expensive and tasteful furniture, but you did not really like it.
She had explained to you that she did her studies in Paris, and her parents still lived in Monaco. She would also often hang out at friends’ places, in and out of Monaco, and even spend weekends outside of the country quite frequently, with friends as well. The apartment was mostly a safety net, an investment, but you could feel nothing of her in it. It was barely decorated, a bit more those last few weeks now that you two were constantly buying stupid trinkets in token of your friendship, but you did not see her in it.
Yet, as she opened the door and took you instantly in her arms, whispering in your ear, home is the only word that came to your mind.
“Bonsoir mon petit chou”
“Bonsoir louloute” you answered sheepishly with your shitty accent, greeting her with the pet name she had taught you, one her friend Luca often used. It did not mean anything, just sounded cute.
She giggled, taking your hand and leading you inside. Very quickly, through music, wine and hair curlers, the mood for the evening was set. The alcohol made you speak more freely, and hopefully, it would help Alexandra too. Even though she said you knew things about her that nobody else did, there were still many subjects where you could feel her hesitation to delve in. It’s okay, with time, she would trust you about those too, you were sure of it.
She was babbling on about some friends’ drama while sitting on the edge of the window, when you took in the sight in front of you. She had taken off her hair curlers, and put on a satin robe that was slowly falling down her shoulder. The show of lights behind her, flickering between the moon and the glow of the city’s street lamps, made her features stand out even more. Her hair looked so shiny, her skin so soft, and the sparkle in her eye… Nothing she said really mattered, yet you could listen to her for hours and hours, as long as she kept blessing you with this sight.
You must have stared too intensely or for too long, because she came down from her seat and knelt on the floor, right in front of you, softly cupping your cheek with her hand.
“Ça va mon chou ?” Her brows furrowed, and she brought her other hand to your forehead. “You okay ?”
Her hot breath, inches away from your face. Her perfume, tickling your nose, you could almost see it dripping from her neck. Her fingers, drawing small figures on your cheeks. And her lips… there she was, so close, almost face to face, you had dreamt of this so often, and only now you realized how pink her lips were.
Maybe it was the amount of wine, maybe the temperature in her living room, but everything started spinning, and before you knew it, you had closed the gap and crashed your lips against hers. One hand on her small waist, the other in her hair, the kiss was messy, sticky like honey, you wanted to bite and barely restrained yourself. You felt like your heart was about to explode when she moaned into your mouth, and you were pretty sure you felt it drop when she pulled away.
For what felt like an eternity, you stayed silent, panting, eyes locked, air heavy with the realization of what had just happened. She blushed, and you started smiling, before she spoke in a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Y/N… I’m sorry I…. I have a boyfriend…”
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
#doomedmoth#fanfic#formula 1 rpf#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#Charles Leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x reader x alexandra saint mleux#dark!f1#poly!f1#Alexandra Saint mleux x reader#Alexandra Saint Mleux#cl16#y/n#f1 x y/n#cl16 x you#cl16 x y/n#f1 polyamory#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#Charles Leclerc fanfic#fluff
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i. mind over matter
aphrodite!reader x luke castellan
pre-tlt, characters 18+, mdni, def going to be a pt.2
warnings: cursing, whole lotta impertinence!
2.7k read - unedited
You have been plagued by flocks of doves and Luke Castellan. So Aphrodite decides to meddle a little a lot in your love life. Who needs memories anyway? Unfortunately, the only person you find comfort in - is the very person you hate.
A/N: first fic in a loooong time - stick with me here. there will be more parts and maybeee some spice? anyways hope you enjoy!
You’d like to think that Aphrodite loved the game of making you miserable. In retrospect, you hated your mother. She was a hard act to follow.
Don’t jump to conclusions - you loved your cabin. Your brothers and sisters were wonderful - not vain like most campers would say. No, that was not an issue. The problem started with one slender, curly haired, crooked smile boy - Luke Castellan. He was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood and the bane of your existence.
Luke was an astonishingly aggravating self-centered egotistical bigot.
“Why do you hate him so much,” Silena asked one day out of the blue. You both sat in the stands watching Luke teach his swordsmanship class. You pondered her question for a while.
“Because. He confuses me - and aggravates me constantly. I have never met anyone so full of themselves in my entire life. He is Narcissus reborn again. It also does not help that he is a complete jerk,” you nodded as you ate another fresh strawberry. Silena pondered on your words.
“Are you sure this has nothing to do with mom and the whole..argument,” she said in a cautionary tone.
Silena was the only one who knew about you and Aphrodite’s - complicated past. To be fair - she didn’t know the entire truth. The prophecy, the impertinence, all the bullshit. However, she did know that your shoulders seemed to tense every time Aphrodite’s name was mentioned.
“I mean every time I have talked to him at camp counselor meetings he seems like an alright guy.
Silena - forever the optimist. Sometimes when you looked at her through the corner of your eye she resembled your mother. She had this soft tone and locks of hair that seemed to always catch the wind just right. Yeah, no wonder Luke was nice to her. Selina was extremely beautiful - Beckendorf struck gold.
“Yeah, I can see right through the façade-” you were cut off by a dove landing next to you. He started pecking at your strawberries mindlessly. Silena stifled a small giggle.
“It is funny when it isn’t happening to you. The bastards have been following me around for days,” you said annoyed.
You tried scaring the bird away - only for more to return. After a couple minutes an estimated 20 doves flocked around you mimicking every move.
“Go away!” you screamed - only for the feathered friends to cock their heads in curiosity. By now, the entire arena seemed to convert their attention to you.
“Hey! I heard if they shit on your head it’ll bring good luck,” Luke echoed watching amused.
He leaned against his sword in a cocky manner. What an asshole - you hated when he did that. The other campers seemed to laugh along.
“Up yours, Castellan,” you yelled with a face the color of cherries.
The doves had now increased their army to a solid 50 - all looking to you for a further instruction. Doves had followed you around your entire life - a gift your mother had bestowed to you. The unfortunate part was that they were pretty much the most non obedient monsters on the entire planet. You never had truly understood why they would appear - most of the time it was a random occurrence. Of course - Luke was always there to revel in your misfortune. You still had not forgotten when the doves caused a complete riot last month at dinner - leaving quite a mess for you to clean up. The younger campers were still traumatized.
That was the thing about doves - they were just like your mother. At first they are nice to look at, almost sweet. That is until they turn into vicious assailants from Tartarus (Silena says you overreact). They also annoy you - another common attribute with your mother.
“For Gods sake just leave!,” you yelled again, stomping off, bidding Silena goodbye.
You did not want to continue being entertainment for the rest of the campers. The doves seemed to take the hint - maintaining their place in the stands. You were sure there were some week old snacks stuffed between the seats the rotted things could ravish on. Luke chuckled before turning his attention back to his students.
The sun was setting and soon it would be dinner - but you still sat in bed thinking about what Silena had mentioned early about your mom. Maybe it was your nerves - but you knew a visit soon would be unavoidable. The doves only confirmed your suspicion. It was rare for gods to visit Camp Half-Blood, at least publically. The closest thing the camp had to godliness was Mr. D - what a joke. However, you knew your mother and her constant desire to meddle with your life.
Dinner went without a hunch - except for the Stoll twins starting a food fight at the Hermes table. You loved quiet nights like these where the summer breeze feels like a warm hug. Silena nudged you - reading her expression you knew she was inquiring about the events from earlier. A shrug sufficed. You were so caught up in laughing with your siblings you failed to notice the yelling from the other side of the pavilion.
“One of the Ares girls was flirting with Luke after you left today - Charlie and I could not help but laugh. It was so awkward,” Silena mentioned.
There were a couple of murmured sounds and gawking from your siblings - which was the usual. If there was one thing they loved it was - well - love. However this subject rubbed you the wrong way - maybe it was just Luke’s name being mentioned.
It felt like a suffocating gut punch and it was most likely your mothers doing. If there was anything she loved more it was demigod love - the trials and tribulations - and of course the unfortunate ends. It quite literally made you sick. But why did Luke have to be roped in it and moreover - why did you care? You smiled and nodded - trying to pay attention and not let the thoughts take over.
“Get these goddamn things off of me!,” a familiar voice yelled in annoyance.
So wrapped up in thought - you failed to care - assuming it was a practical Hephaestus joke with an Ares kid. Selina quickly nudged you pointing towards the Hermes table - for quite an interesting scene. Luke being attacked by a merciless army of doves.
“Hey Castellan, let them shit on your head - heard it was good luck!,” the words reflected from just a few hours prior.
You couldn’t help but giggle - it was nice not being the receiver of dove aggravated assault (as Beckendorf had termed it). It was also nice not to be the joke for once - everyone laughing at someone else for a change was different.
“Call the damn things off,” he struggled - yelling your name in the process.
“Why do you automatically assume I am the one who set them off? They just do what they want!” you retorted.
Silena looked at you - questioning your motives. He struggled even more as the doves thrashed him around - seemling gaining confidence in their blows. They seemed - deadly - more than before. Silena muttered your name.
“You have to try,” Silena persuaded. Reluctantly you obeyed - knowing she was being more serious than she was putting on.
“Stop!” you yelled sternly to the winged creatures.
Like usual - they did not obey. Unfortunately, they keep going - tearing Luke’s shirt in the process. He held himself quite well against dove assassins - a fact you did not want to admit to yourself.
“παύω!” You spoke - pleading that it would end.
It was all your mothers fault. She wanted you to be miserable. She wanted to ruin your night, humiliate you - and to hurt Luke. You weren’t sure why that last part bothered you so much.
“Φεύγω!” you screamed once more in an earthshaking tone.
The doves dissipated automatically. Like literally - poof - into dust. Again - the entire camp had its eyes on you - what else was new?
“What is wrong with you,” Luke questioned - still astonished at the sheer power of your voice - that very voice that made doves disintegrate. You slowly looked up at his disheveled appearance - he looked worse.
Beautiful.
You wish that voice in your head would go suck a dick!
“Shows over, enjoy your dessert,” you said bitterly to the crowd taking a bow.
Silena yelled your name but you had already darted towards the woods. You could hear the muttering of the crowd questioning the evening entertainment. You could not seem to care.
You took a seat in the sand on the beach overlooking the shore. The moonlight seemed to make the water sparkle like diamonds. You felt almost calm here - no one to distract you from your thoughts. Why did his words strike you like a knife? He might as well plant backbiter into your back, it would hurt less. It all led to the proper question - why? Why would the doves attack him anyway? They had never done anything quite so ruthless before - nevertheless to another sole person.
Then again - it was always about Luke - ever since you got to the infernal camp. He was probably celebrated for his brave victory in the battle of the doves - hoisted up by other campers. You suppose a feast in his honor was in order.
“You think such unhappy thoughts,” an angelic voice sang from the sea.
Your attention turned towards a bundle of sea foam. The foam began to sparkle and mangle to take the shape of a woman the closer it got to shore. Soon after your mother - Aphrodite stood before you - in all her glory.
“I thought seafoam was just whale jizz,” you spoke casually. You chucked at yourself that was a good one!
Of - fucking - course. Your mother was behind the entire dove fiasco - you called it. You should start placing bets at this point.
“Most would be labeled impertinent with that attitude - especially with a God.”
“I am impertinent.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. Maybe if you really ignored her she would disappear.
“I will not disappear yet - we have much to discuss.”
“Get out of my head.”
“I heard what occurred tonight at dinner. Shame, doves are very gentle creatures.”
A dove magically appeared in her hands, letting out a soft coo. You cringed. If you saw another dove tonight - you might just roast it and eat it.
“So that was you?” You asked venomously.
“Well thanks mom! Now the entire camp thinks I tried to kill the golden boy with a league of killer doves. They all think I am absolutely crazy.”
“I did nothing, my child.” You gawked at her - she paused to collect her thoughts.
“However, you might want to look within yourself before you spit accusations that are not true. I merely gave you a gift - how you use it is at your own expense.” She finished.
“But I don’t control those horrid things - they just show up and do whatever. Why would I even attack Luke with a bunch of wimpy doves?”
That was your mother, having the audacity to say you caused the incident. That it was all your fault.
“Love, perhaps?” Her eyes seemed to glitter at the thought.
“No.” Ugh, not this again, you thought.
“Doves are a mere - personification of one’s inner love. That is why I gave you the gift - so your innermost feelings can never be bottled. That does horrid things to one’s complexion.”
“Well thanks for the shitty gift, mother. Next time maybe a pair of socks will do the trick.”
“Why do you insist on denying who you are? Denying what you are destined to become? Denying yourself the love of the century?”
“Why love someone if they eventually will die.” It was true. Your father had died when you were young - leaving you an orphan. Your demigod friends you made throughout the years died horrible unspeakable deaths.
“Isn’t that all the more fun?”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? You just love to see me suffer?”
“You’re being rash.” She fired back.
“Rash? Where have you been?” You scoffed at your godly mother.
“Child, I do not write destiny - I only enforce it. I know you more than you would like to admit, sweet dove. And you - are in love with the child of Hermes.”
Apollo could’ve shot you through the chest - it would have felt better.
“Mother, you have it mixed up - I do not have any feelings for Luke. You’re just making things up because you are bored and need some excitement. Please go back to Olympus and meddle with someone else’s life,” you stated. You staggered to your feet dusting the sand off.
Before you could walk away a bolt of pure energy hit you in your spine. You flew to your feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. In a blur your mother was standing proud above your feet - surrounded in a pink aura.
“Luke Castellan, he will keep you safe - and you will keep him steady.”
You might have thought to curse at her - but you couldn’t speak - let alone move. She had disappeared from vision leaving only a dove in her wake. The pain - was excruciating - like being electrocuted a million times. Your ears rang terrible tunes as you tried to level yourself - only to fall back down. The world was spinning at an unmeasurable pace. You could hear shrill screaming - or was it yours? You weren’t even sure who you were? Only images of dark curls, broad shoulders, and crooked smiles flashed through your vision.
A quake of footsteps running towards the shore were felt as you thrashed in the sand. Voices - yelling a name - whose name? You couldn’t recall. All you knew was darkness.
“Y/N?!” a feminine voice called. You could feel her hands shake your shoulder violently - it felt like knives.
You heard screams - this time knowing it was your shrill cry. You pushed her away with force. You backed away, crawling backwards in desperation.
Once your vision returned you focused to see a swarm of kids all in orange shirts - staring at you in shock. The girl who touched you - you could only assume was kneeling in the sand in front of you. She seemed to be pleading.
“Stay away, please,” you pleaded with tears streaming from your eyes. You weren’t sure what had happened but you knew you had never felt pain so deeply.
“Y/N, please you were screaming. We only want to make sure you are okay. We can go to the infirmary and figure it out,” the girl reached out only for you to retreat more. You hyperventilate on your own words.
“What’s going on?” another voice asked with urgency from beyond the crowd.
Every child seemed to turn their attention to focus on the male figure. Pushing his way through the crowd - he became shocked at the scene before him.
However, you felt as if all the oxygen had left your body - leaving you limp. You felt as if a hand had grabbed your heart and ripped it in two. He was the one - the one you had seen in your visions.
“Y/N?” he questioned - half concerned, half annoyed. His chocolate eyes seemed to lock ever so easily with yours. He was indeed the most beautiful man you had ever seen - like a carving of marble. Your soul ached. Without a thought - on instinct alone - you ran. He was engulfed in a desperate hug - his shoulder muffled your pitiful cries.
“Please, you’re the only one who can help.” You could feel the eyes on the two of you - the gasps were hard to ignore. He went stiff in his posture - not sure how to react. Silence fell over the entire shore, only the crashing of waves in the background.
“Y/N what is going on? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked in disbelief.
He had never seen you like this - so scared. Some small part of him wanted to scoop you up, hold you tight, and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you how he would fix all your problems - just so he would never see you cry again. Although these feelings were so suppressed he restrained.
Gods you were beautiful.
“I- I don’t know who Y/N is. I don’t know anyone. I don’t know me.”
#luke castellan x reader#percy jackson x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan#percy jackson#percy jackson fanfiction#luke castellan x aphrodite!reader#pjo fanfic#pjo#Spotify
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and it's the chaggie ladyhawke AU with the steel chair!!!!!
A knight by day and beast by knight, a hawk who's lady only in moonlight: two lovers cursed to be always parted even when when they're never apart-
-and the quest to undo this curse before it, and their separation, becomes permanent >:)
Extra twists I'd add to the original film canon:
Ironic Curses
- Charlie, who never wanted to hurt anyone and used her noble title to speak up for the downtrodden, turns into a monstrous wolf creature filled with bloodlust that goes on the rampage every night (except for the hour directly after sunset and before sunrise, when she is tame around Vaggie)
- Vaggie, ex-guard who was more loyal to Charlie than to the corrupt officials who paid her enforce their cruel laws, each day turns into a wild hawk desperate to escape (except for the hour right after sunrise and before sunset, when she is fiercely protective of Charlie and refuses to fly out of sight from her)
Extra Suffering
- Hawk!Vaggie won't take food from people, or leave long enough to hunt when she's more herself at dawn and dusk, so Charlie has to repeatedly risk losing her forever by taking off her hood and setting her loose- then desperately chasing after her- trying keep track of her long enough for the sun to start setting again
---- Sometimes Charlie can't find her before nightfall and Vaggie wakes up alone in the woods to the sound of a distant inhuman howl of despair (not fun, but, it makes it easier to get back to Beast! Charlie)
- Beast!Charlie spends most of the night trying to kill everyone and everything around her- so if she wasn't able to lock herself away before sundown, Vaggie has to grab her spear and do her best to keep Charlie from doing murder- by fighting her, leading her on long chases until sunrise, or trapping her
---- Sometimes Charlie wakes up at dawn to find Hawk!Vaggie crumpled next to her in a nest of bloody rag bandages, and the first thing she does before anything else is try her best to at least rebandage the wounds she gave her
They Go Around Rescuing People (against the law)
- Vaggie mainly does this by not letting Beast!Charlie eat people as midnight snacks
- During the day, a guilt wracked Charlie goes out of her way to free imprisoned people, save them from punishments, and fight Vaggie's former fellow guards every chance she gets
---- she gets this chance A Lot, since the reason they have to keep traveling is there's a warrant out for her head and the dead body of her hawk
The Other Roles Go To
- Evil Bishop Guy: split between Adam and Lute, with Adam pissed that one of HIS guards got with the daughter of the woman who turned him down, and Lute wanting Vaggie to suffer and die for leaving the exorcist guards
- Nice Monk: Emily is the one who accidently let slip about chaggie to Sera, who told Adam, who did the curse thing on them. After that all happened, Emily left her comfy position and locked herself up with all the old texts she could find, searching for a cure to the curse. She finds one, yay!
- Loveable Rouge Who Helps: All the hotel crew. Charlie rescues / helps them each in turn, and they tag along with her for protection (meaning Vaggie then has to protect THEM from HER)
after the gang is assemble, the film plot plays out as expected
blah blah blah, holy shit the bird just got hit by an arrow, what the fuck the knight lady is REALLY freaking out about that, oh no it's almost sunset- uhhh lady knight says leave her here take her horse and the hawk and ride to the nearby abandoned tower where someone named Emily should be, because Emily can help the hawk.
AHHH the bird turned into a woman!!! A woman with the same injury as the hawk?
AAAAH that monster thing from before is outside howling and screaming, kill it-! Nope, never mind, the injured lady says she'll stab us if we hurt the big scary monster thing, and Emily says to leave it alone it'll be gone by sunrise.
blah blah blah, during the next eclipse, if chaggie can make Adam and Lute look at them standing together as themselves during the few moments they'll both be human at the same time, the curse will be broken! If this fails, they both stay in their cursed forms forever! Great!
.... how are we getting inside the castle for that? Oh right. Chaggie has been adopted by a rag tag band of criminals. This should be fun.
#hazbin hotel#chaggie#charlie morningstar#vaggie#fanart#my art#chaggie ladyhawke AU#nostalgia hit me like a gay truck#im not complaining#i like it when chaggie suffers lots but gets a happy ending <3
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Ghost Chirps AU Part 3
Part 1 & 2
Around half past midnight, Jason is losing his patience.
They've been searching for hours and finding a whole lot of nothing, and statistics about the odds of finding kidnapping victims and the first 72 hours.
It's been almost 48 since he saw the kid and he's cursing himself for not doing more sooner.
Cameras are finding nothing, Signal is finding nothing, everyone is finding a whole lot of nothing.
And Jason...
Jason chirps.
He doesn't know if it'll help, but it's the only idea he's got. Even if it's a shallow chance. It's all he's got; he has to try.
And if Bruce decides that Jason being meta is the line? Then he'll cope.
He won't refuse to do something just because he's scared when his- when the kid's well being is on the line.
He won't be like Bruce, who'd let his killer walk free rather than do something about it because his feelings were somehow more important when Jason died.
He won't.
The first chirp yields nothing.
He does it again pushing to try and make it as loud as possible.
Again, nothing.
Again, he chirps, something in him certain that if he just keeps going it'll work. Somehow. But he's learned to trust his gut - or weird meta instincts?
And it works.
Because after the third chirp the kid chirps back.
Except.
The kid is not in Gotham.
He is very, very not in Gotham.
He chalks it up to his weird meta-bird instincts that he somehow just knows it came from somewhere hundreds of miles that-a-way.
Kidnapping is looking more likely given just how far the kid got, but now?
Now Jason has a way to find him.
He ignores Oracle asking about mask static in favor of hopping down from the balcony he'd paused on and heading back to the batbike - Bruce's paranoia meant it would have more than enough gas to take him as far as he needed to go and then some.
'And more than enough weapons to level a block, if needed,' he thinks viciously.
"Hood!" Oracle’s sharp voice shakes him from his thoughts.
"Found the kid," he shoots back, hoping to avoid the inevitable questioning.
Mixed exclamations of relief and confusion echoed over the radio.
"How!?" Nightwing cries. "I was literally right next to you! What did I miss!?"
"What are you, deaf?" he grumbles back irritably, uncomfortable. It'd be easier if they were, he thinks. Then he wouldn't have to explain.
"Does this have something to do with the static noise your helmet was producing previously? I had worried it was damaged," Oracle asks.
"Static?" Jason echoes, not slowing a bit - nearly to the bike.
"Oh yeah!" Nightwing says, as though she's making perfect sense.
'Ah,' he thinks, 'A shred of mercy in this vastly cruel existence.'
Aloud, he just says, "Yup. He's not in Gotham anymore, though, and I don't know how far he'll end up going or how long I'll be gone. Anyone who wants to come with can catch up, because I'm leaving now."
15 seconds later he's leaping onto the batbike and peeling out.
***
Jason doesn’t chirp again until he’s nearly to Illinois.
He wants to. He wants to chirp nonstop the moment he hears that first reply, wants to spend the whole hours-long drive listening to nothing but a litany of chirps that reassure him that his kid is alive alive alive.
He won’t risk it.
He doesn’t know where, exactly, the kid is. Doesn’t know if his family didn’t hear him because the chirps are only audible to him and the kid or if it was really due to a helmet malfunction covering for him.
But there is a chance that whoever has the kid can hear his chirps, so Jason won’t risk having him respond more than he absolutely has to in order to find him.
The next time, the kid answers back to the very first chirp, and Jason knows he’s heading in the right direction.
He gets turned around just once, overshooting and heaving to loop back, but he curses himself for it anyway - wasting precious time when the kid is going through who knows what.
Then he’s entering Amity Park: a nice place to live.
A nice place to die, for whoever it was that took his kid.
Several chirps later he’s in front of a school - of all things.
He doesn’t waste time doubting himself - kidnapping victims could be stashed anywhere - he storms in, batbike left idling at the base of the front steps.
Three chirps later he’s slamming through a door into a classroom. Full of kids. Taking a totally normal class - aside, of course, from Jason’s interruption.
One last exchange of chirps later and he finally lays eyes on his little shadow - who has the audacity to also look surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to lead him here in the first place.
Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, adrenaline beginning to crash before it revs back up with his indignation.
What happened to ‘goodbye!’ Who in their right mind would disappear from Gotham and not think that those left behind would assume they were kidnapped!? It’s Gotham!
Oh. Oh the child was in Gotham alone.
The child was in Gotham for a vacation.
Oh the child’s parents didn’t even realize he was gone? He’s worried about them putting him in an iron maiden!?
Jason’s eyes may be green, but oh, how his vision is red.
He barely hears the school’s alarm going off when he finally drives off-grounds, laser focused on following the road to the dot that’s popped up on his helmet just a few streets off, sending a curt thank-you to Oracle for saving him the effort of finding the kid’s address himself - she’s done him the courtesy of leaving everyone muted from his end, but he has little doubt they’ve all been listening to him. He’s only surprised she’s willing to condone the murder.
But then, of course she didn’t, he thinks as he pulls into a decently shadowed alley full of bats and birds. He’s torn between being touched that all of them came and being annoyed that he isn’t already in the process of murdering the kid’s parents.
“New Brother?” Orphan asks the moment the bike is off, head tilting in question from her dumpster-top perch.
A second, smaller sense of outrage bubbles up next to the first, and it is a testament to his impeccable self-control that his hand only twitches over his gun at the question.
Bruce - Batman - tries to say something, but before he can finish even just the first syllable Jason’s head is snapping around to glare hell at him, and a low, animalistic growl practically rips itself from his throat.
He can see the way everyone tenses - subtle to anyone else, but a glaring neon sign in Jason’s vision.
He curses himself for it; he asked them to be here. He specifically requested their help, and they gave it. The more of them there are involved, the faster they can help the kid into a safer environment.
But Jason came here to help the kid, not to offer him up as the next sacrifice in Batman’s long line of child soldiers.
“You wanna help? Great. Rule One: YOU,” he points at the bat for emphasis, “can’t adopt him.”
He chokes on whatever he was intending to say next at Orphan’s delighted clap and exclamation of “nephew!”
He wants to correct her, but… he doesn’t.
Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid; Jason knows that.
He knows it more than anyone, having spent his early years there and his most recent years trying to make it better. He knows that.
But h- the kid is a meta.
Looking at the facts: the kid is meta.
The kid is meta whose first concern with rule breaking is punishment via torture device.
The kid’s parents are neglectful enough that he spent over a week in Gotham and they never even noticed.
The kid went to Gotham to escape his home.
Whether his parents know that he is a meta or not, it is clear to Jason that the kid needs to be Out Of That House. Yesterday.
But he also knows just how metas are treated - even the MPA can only do so much against the tides of hatred and fear.
And he’s seen the maps - he knows this state is one of the worse ones for metas to live in, let alone a meta child at the mercy of a foster family that has even odds of neglecting him, being just as bad as his original family, or possibly actually caring about him.
Crime Alley is no place to raise a kid, and Red Hood is far from the right person for such a job.
But Crime Alley isn’t all that Gotham is, and perhaps Jason Todd could very easily decide to get an apartment in a nicer area.
He won’t lie to himself, he knows he isn’t parent material, but he’ll at least be a step up from what the kid is used to while he works to vet a real family to transfer him to.
He’s halfway through his mental checklist of the options for the safest place for an apartment and other such logistics when he’s reminded of where he is by Oracle’s voice in his ear.
“Hate to interrupt the group brooding you guys have going on over there, but I managed to dig up… a lot of information about the boy and his family situation.”
He notes how the others all perk up from where they’d been…staring at him.
Ah, that was why it was so quiet. They were staring in disbelief when he didn’t deny the nephew thing. Well. A conversation for another time.
“Lay it on me,” he says to Oracle, ignoring them.
“His name is Daniel James Fenton, goes by Danny, high grades throughout elementary and middle school until they took a steep drop at the beginning of highschool - likely related to whatever happened when his metagene activated.
Has one sibling, a sister named Jasmine Fenton - no middle name. She goes by Jazz. High grades across the board with no notable dips. No indication of possible metagene in any of her records or in Danny’s, beyond the grade drop and your own first-hand experience.
Parents Jack and Madeline “Maddie” Fenton. They have their own personal website where they describe themselves as “ectobiologists” and as ghost hunters. The pictures in their gallery show a vast array of weapons - dubbed “ectoweapons” - in the same chrome-green style with the name “Fenton” stamped somewhere on them. Some of the weapons are for sale on their site, advertised for defending oneself against ghosts. There are some pictures of what must be their lab, all of which look to include at least 12 different types of OSHA violation, and the image in their site’s “about” section has the whole family standing in the lab in front of what looks like a vertical Lazarus Pit.”
“What,” Batman says more than asks, voice tense.
“And judging by the staircase seen reflecting off of one of the guns in the picture, it seems that this lab is in their basement - I can’t see why it wouldn’t be, given they were fine with putting an enormous monstrosity of a satellite on top of their building.
There are plenty of cameras in the house itself, but for some reason all I can get from them is static. Any video or audio in the house that they don’t put on their site appears to be unusable for some reason.
All told, there is plenty of cause to get CPS involved. If their lab safety is even half as bad as it looks and it’s in their basement it’s pretty much a sure thing that the kids’ll be taken from them.
Given the small-towny nature of the area it’ll be best to contact someone from outside of the community for the case. It’ll move things along significantly if we have somewhere to send them.
They have an aunt, Alicia Walker, but she’s already marked down as a “no” for taking them in in the event something should happen to the Fentons.
This leaves their godfather: Vlad Masters. An incredibly reclusive billionaire, pursued the same Paranormal Science degree as the Fentons did when they were in college, but suffered an accident that put him in the hospital for two years with an unknown illness that Masters was allowed to name “ecto-acne.” Lost all contact with the Fentons until he invited them to a reunion party last fall and was named godfather three weeks later.
Masters got his wealth through a series of suspicious business deals. No one has been able to prove foul play yet, but just glancing over some of the early papers is already showing plenty of inconsistencies.
No other relatives - the Walker parents passed away some time ago, and while one of the Fentons remains, she’s in a nursing home. And also disowned Jack. And went out of her way to disown both Jazz and Danny as soon as she heard about them.”
“Great. Make Jason Todd a long lost cousin, set CPS on them. Red Hood is here because Danny ran away to Gotham and stuck his nose in crime alley so I tracked him down because I thought he was kidnapped in my territory, the Bats chased down Red Hood thinking he was gonna hurt the boy, CPS is there because your research turned up the potential unsafe living conditions and you overheard that the kid was gone for a week without anyone noticing - which scream neglect. Now we’re cooperating because we’re all annoyed at the parents that let their kid wander all the way to Gotham and convinced him that a torture device was a possible grounding option.”
He turns to Batman.
“You can claim to have done a DNA search to find the connection, and I’m sure you can find a reason to dismiss Masters as an option. Make sure to have them call Jason as soon as possible. Oracle-”
“Already routing incoming calls through Gotham. Also, both of Masters’ residences have inaccessible cameras similar to what I’m experiencing with the Fentons. He can be dismissed under suspicion of having an OSHA nightmare in his home. I’ll see if he has his own vertical Lazarus Pit while you all work on exfiltrating the niece and nephew.”Jason doesn’t dignify that with a response, hopping back on his bike to follow the new route - this time actually to the Fenton household.
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Obvious shit I noticed part 3 (spoilers for welcome to heaven)
Look at her! "Teehee"
Also she's nervous! Foreshadowing omg 🤯
STICKERS! Two pride stickers and a cute donut. Gives me an idea to draw Chaggie at a donut shop while everything is burning down <3 (I'll probably do it but if any artist wants to as well go ahead!)
*CHOKES ON COFFEE* I LOVE THEM. I'M SORRY I GET SO GIDDY WHEN THEY HAVE EVEN THE SMALLEST INTERACTION BUT UGHHH I NEED MORE, IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH 🙏🙏
KISSY! MWA! *SCREAMS INTO THE VOID*
Vivzie give me more, moar now. MOAR
DAMN. SHE CAN THROW- or maybe it just exaggerates the perspective in this frame but still- ZAMNNN
Cherri x Sir Pentious fans RISE UP.
I wasn't ever really a fan of it myself but I always thought it was CUTE. Like 3 seconds before this part I was already begging for them to kiss 😭
More foreshadowing!
AAAAAA CREEPY BIRD THINGS!!!
Oh wait- Sera's hot and Emily's already adorable
If heaven don't look like what this is in the show, I DONT WANT IT! (THATS A JOKE PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME)
JEALOUS GIRLFRIEND VAGGIE!! Can I just say how much I love Vaggie's face expressions? Not just here but like all the time. She's just made to be so exaggerated, out of all of them I thought it would be Charlie who would have the most dramatic faces but Vaggie wins it for me. I JUST GIGGLE SO HARD WHEN SHE LOOKS LIKE THIS BAHAHAH
Okay yeah. It's very obvious now. Vaggie is definitely an ex-exterminator. They don't close in on Charlie here so it's made to subtly nudge the attention to Vaggie. HOW DID THEY IMMEDIATELY NOTICE IT WAS HER THO??
Hot-
That's it.
SHARE THAT MOTHUSSY GIRL-
YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE GREW OUT ALL OF THAT HAIR?!? YEAH ITS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE THEN BUT STILL AJJSJD.
But overall the design is pretty meh. I always loved the idea of short hair Vaggie and even have seen art of it but it's just yknow, alright. Reminds me of Cassandra from Tangled: the series. IM LISTENING TO ONE OF THE SONGS RIGHT NOW HELPPP
THIS SCENE HERE! WOOOOO! SO GLAD WE KNOW WHEN AND WHERE THEY FIRST MET!! Wish we got it extended tho. And also probably push it to next episode so it would have a better impact(atleast I think thats when they'll have the duet). BUT WHATEVER SOMETHING IS BETTER THAN NOTHING! or uh whatever
Vaggie must've been a bit terrified at first. The only sinner she ever sent mercy to was a child. Then to see someone who to her is an adult sinner who just looks really human, that must be crazy. BUT THEN IF SHE WAS TOLD THAT CHARLIE WAS ACTUALLY THE PRINCESS OF HELL? HOOOO, LOCK IN AND STEAL HER. THAT'S SOME WATTPAD SHIT. Also, I wonder how long Charlie thought of redeeming sinners. It would make sense to be after meeting Vaggie, since it could have been a wake up call to the fact not all sinners are bad people. Even though Vaggie isn't a sinner technically, Charlie didn't know that at the time. But maybe Charlie was always like this but just needed to meet someone who could start her dream with her. Long rant uhhh
Haha penis 🫵
SCRAP WHATEVER I SAID IN THE FIRST PART. THEY PROBABLY DO FUCK- OR DONT?? I DONT KNOW- ANYWAY LESBIAN SEX (BOTTOM TEXT). WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH??? SOMEONE PULL THE TRIGGER.
Lute looks like a basic asf anime gorl. Adam doesn't ever take his helmet off, or maybe he just can't. OH HE'S DOING THE GAY SIGN 💅💅 Very appropriate for what he's saying
Mentor, apprentice. I love that Husk is just trying to help Angel grow but isn't going to force him into it if he doesn't want to.
Im not a fan of huskerdust and think they'd be better friends as I can't imagine a relationship with them at all. But it's still nice and they are supportive of eachother so that's like- yknow. Basic rules. Or something like that. (HELP. I ruined it all at the last part)
I- girl- WHY IS SHE GROWLING?? GRR GRR RR (INSERT TWILIGHT SAGA HERE)
VAGGIE'S FACE. SENDS ME. WHO GAVE HER THESE OVERDRAMATIC EXPRESSIONS, I APPLAUD YOU RGAGAGA
Ooo... I didnt like this part at all... Instead of making the choice she just runs off. Then because the plot demands it, Adam says nothing. Kinda whish she atleast avoided the question, maybe in some way that would require actual thinking? For a character like Vaggie, she could choose either way and it feel like it's still her. If she chose to protect Charlie's dream, she would still be perfectly loyal to her but in the act of so would reveal a secret that could harm their relationship(which does happen at the end but that's because the plot wanted it like that). If she chose to side with Adam, she'd be hurting Charlie emotionally, sure, but it would keep a secret that could make Charlie see Vaggie less than who she is to her already(atleast what Vaggie might think would happen). Imo it should've been her deciding to protect Charlie, since it would mean she's devoted to her at all times.
ANOTHER THING! IF SHE COULDN'T MAKE THE CHOICE, THAT IS SOMETHING INTERESTING TO GO INTO. Maybe it could go deeper into how Vaggie doesn't know who she is without Charlie. So when she has a choice to make, like here, she can't do it without feeling the need to ask Charlie. BUT NOOO, YA HAD TO GO WITH THIS!! Wow. That was a long ass rant. Wtf 😭
Maybe I'm a dumbass. Maybe they'll talk about that next episode, but still, atleast touch on it a bit to not seem rushed?
Angel looking out for his kids like a mom. We always did need the motherly figure, the one closest to that being Charlie but girl needs a mother in her life too(damn, wait, I did her so dirty).
Huh, so why does it work here then? 🤨🤨 if it was said in the contract that Valentino can do whatever he wants only in the studio, then why is this the exception? 🤨🤨
Yes I'm stupid. Why do you ask? (No genuinely what's happening here)
OH ITS THE IMAGE! I really like Sera so far, hope we get more of her soon or in season 2.
Now that we know the context of this, yeah, that's fucking insane. And badass. WOMEN.
HMM. THATS STRANGE. DID YOU NOT FOR ONCE THINK THERE COULD BE A POSSIBILITY SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN AN ANGEL? Okay I probably wouldn't either but I have an excuse, I'm an idiot. Some girl with a standing out outfit, with one eye, looks unusually human, right after/during the extermination... that's pretty solid ass proof. But I'm dumb so don't take anything i say seriously :D
Imagine this. No- shit. Just-
JUST LOOK! THEY ARE SO CUTE! EVEN THOUGH CRAZY SHIT IS HAPPENING.
*SWEATS*
Vaggie is DESPERATE. PLEADING. That's obvious yeah, but don't mind me I had nothing to say for the last 3 images I just thought they were cool
I mean. Slay I guess. 😍💅
Do all the exterminators look similar or is it just Lute and Vaggie? 🤨
Even though Vaggie and Charlie may be going through this horrible thing with a hard punch in the gut, but Vaggie is always going to comfort her and I just think that's so adorable.
Also Adam looks like a chicken hah.
Everyone fears to be like Lucifer. If they don't do bad things they believe are for the greater good and make sacrifices that put them higher than those in hell, they could themselves be fallen. It's really interesting but I don't know if it's going to be fleshed out enough with the amount of episodes left. Which also worries me about everything else that still hasn't be concluded. There's gonna be loose strings I just know it. Hopefully though they rather do that then rush everything out y'know?
I want the next episode to be mostly focused on Vaggie and Charlie's relationship and the healing of what happened. Not for the entire episode of course, it would feel drawn out if it did, but atleast address the problem for the first like I would say 10 minutes? Then the rest would focus on one or two loose threads while also having Vaggie and Charlie acting upon moving on. That's just my idea but yeah-
#MORE OBVIOUS SHIT I NOTICED#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel vaggie#hazbin hotel sir pentious#hazbin hotel cherri bomb#hazbin hotel lute#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel sera#hazbin hotel emily#chaggie#hazbin hotel chaggie#rainbowmoth#hazbin chaggie#hazbin hotel spoilers
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Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)
Word Count: 3.4k
CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to friends to lovers trope, slow burn, plot, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU
Let me know if I missed any CWs.
Synopsis: After Makarov gets away again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you with each interaction.
Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10
You’ve always been a light sleeper, if you could even be called that. The truth was that you hardly slept at all. Bedtime was always more like cat-nap time. Light, soundless, ready to pounce at the sound of dust falling to the floor. That’s how you trained yourself and the habit stuck, even if you don’t take missions anymore. It was hard to deprogram a killing machine.
The two years have been peaceful even if you were always on edge. Semi-retirement has been kind in only giving you the sounds of the forest trees in the wind, the gentle rush of the creek, birds singing every morning, and most importantly, no visitors. The world didn’t know that you existed and you preferred to keep it that way for as long as you could. While you did feel the phantom blood dripping down your hands every now and then to an unsettling reminiscent degree, you did like this little slice of heaven that was your off-grid cabin. It was a good place to be before you undoubtedly go to hell in the end.
You were in your bed when you heard the rustling of the forest floor just outside your window. Steps. But not the steps belonging to a fox or bear you have learned to recognize over time. These were the steps of a man. No, multiple men. The way the foot falls of a man walking is an undeniable melody you have heard thousands of times. In the dead of night, you bolted up out of bed and reached for your throwing knife and a pistol, always kept at your bedside. Like a thief in your own home, you silently followed the sounds outside along the walls until you reached the living room. They were going to come in through the front door.
Under the cover of darkness, you readied your aim at the door. To your surprise, they were messing with the keypad that locked your house down, inputting codes with a subtle click and then beep of a correct code. No one should know the code except for two people. Laswell and yourself.
As soon as the door revealed moonlight and a silhouette, you fired your gun. A warning shot. Grazing right past neck. The men stopped and immediately aimed their own rifles, but the one in front held his hand up in surrender. Following orders, the rifles were lowered. You were the first to speak, your voice dripping with venom. “State your purpose and maybe I won’t kill you all where you stand.”
A gentle yet deep Liverpudlian accent voiced back. “Easy now. We don’t mean harm. Laswell sent us here. Code Swan.”
“Song?” You replied, your muscles still tense, unwilling to lower your defenses until the full code was complete. It is what ensured both yours and Laswell’s safety.
“Black Death.” He replied back. You stayed in position for a few moments before finally sighing and lowering your weapon. You turned on a table lamp next to you to get a better look at the intruders. Four men stood in your doorway. One with a fishing hat, one with a mohawk, one with a baseball cap, and one with a skull mask. They were all tall, big with muscle, and seemingly not American from their patches. An interesting bunch to say the least.
“Fucking Laswell.” You cursed Kate’s name. She should have contacted you about this. You were just about to paint the porch with her mens’ brains. You hated surprises. You often killed them before finding out the intentions.
With a wave of your hand, you invited the men to come into your cabin. They cautiously came in, surveying the layout and now understanding what Kate meant when she said that you were “belligerent.”
You turned on the main lights and tried to get a fire going to relieve some of the autumn chill that had crept through the house. Their leader began to unload his things on the kitchen table, sighing from the weight relief. His men joined in, save for one. You could feel his eyes on you as you encouraged the fire. You didn’t even have to look back to know that he was watching your every move.
“It’s rude to stare.” You warned curtly as you stood and turned. The man in the skull mask and balaclava didn’t avert his gaze.
His voice was rich and gruff like gaboon ebony. His Manchester accent came clear as day. “You’re half naked.”
He was referring to the large band shirt and boyshort panties that you were wearing. What did he expect from someone that thought that enemies were breaking in? You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “I’m in my pajamas. Besides, a good soldier shouldn’t get distracted by any amount of nudity.”
His blue eyes narrowed at your dig. He was a good soldier. An excellent soldier actually. One of the best. But excellent, good, or bad, no one would be able to resist staring at your figure. The exposed thighs, the large neckline of the shirt hanging off your shoulder, various scars scattered across skin like an abstract painting. He’s never seen anyone like you before.
Too bad you had a combative mouth.
Before he could get a word in, you had walked off into the kitchen, not bothering to go get pants on. It was your home for fuck’s sake. Besides, there were more pressing matters than your clothes or lack thereof.
You began to pull out all the food you had out of your fridge. Everything from deli meat to leftover lasagna was being laid out on the large quartz island. You weren’t going to heat anything up or make something new, but the laid out spread would be enough. You weren’t a completely heartless host. Just a bare minimum one.
Once the food was out for pickings, you headed back near the dining room, leaning against the doorframe. The boys had maps, blueprints, and laptops covering every surface of your table. Your beautiful, hand-made pine table. This was to be their new safehouse for now. Hopefully not for too long.
“Captain, it’s connecting now.” The one with the mohawk called out. The captain came right over to greet the screen.
“Laswell, can you hear us?”
“Loud and clear, John. Did everything go well?” Kate chipperly asked. You haven’t heard her voice in a long while. You almost forgot how nice her voice actually was.
“She nearly shot my fuckin’ neck off.” Mohawk-guy grumbled.
Kate gave a light, short laugh. “Sounds like it went smoothly then. The best that it could be. She there?”
All four men looked up to you, expecting you to come over and face Laswell through the screen. However, you stayed where you were. Instead, you spoke loud enough for your friend to hear. “Kate Laswell.”
“Hex, I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you about this beforehand. You know I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t an emergency situation.” She began to apologize and justify. It was always an apology followed by a justification. You wondered if she even ever means her apologies, but in the end, you never really cared enough. However, now it is different.
“I don’t exist, Kate. And now four new people know that I do. . .” You retorted back.
It was silent for a moment, the tension in the air thick. She was on the other side of the screen, but it felt like you were going to get into a physical fight with her anyways. “They’re trustworthy. I trust them with my life and the lives of millions upon millions. Just like I trust you. And as the only people that I trust, I need you to help them.”
“They have already taken over my home. What more do you want from me?” You clenched your jaw, trying to prepare yourself for an answer you probably wouldn’t like. Like hell were you going to play dorm mother to them and like hell you were going to just move out. The last thing you wanted was to take care of these men longer than necessary. This was already pushing that line for you.
“Athame.” She bluntly said. That was the worst answer she could have said. The confused looks the men gave each other made you grateful for a fleeting second. They didn’t understand your secret codes and languages. But they will soon.
Your jaw was clenched so hard that your teeth ached. You damn near cracked them. While your voice before was dripping with venom, it was now drowning in it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“Hex, I-”
You finally came over, nearly pushing the captain out of the way in your warpath. Through the screen, Kate could see how angry you were. Not just angry, furious. She steeled herself, ready for your onslaught of curses, stopping herself midway through her explanation. “I don’t do this shit, Kate! I work solo for a very particular fucking reason. And now you want me to work with four strange men?! Now you want me to play nice?! I’m not a fucking soldier that can just be ordered around!”
“I know! I know. . . But. . . we’re desperate. I’m desperate, Hex. Please, this is the last favor I will ever ask from you. This is an awful target we’re talking about. Someone that is better off in this world dead.”
“You mean Makarov, right? Why should I clean up your government’s fuck-up? Again, might I add.” You spat. You lived off the grid and weren’t a citizen of anywhere, but you still watched the news. You always knew what was going on in the world among other secrets. Makarov was a threat to the world, but as far as you were concerned, it wasn’t your problem. If anything, the government needed this lesson as a direct consequence of their negligence and incompetence.
“Because Chalice.” She simply stated, knowing that her final word was a last ditch effort. Chalice was an agreement that you two had made long ago. It could only be used once in your lives, a truly desperate resort for help. If one of you uttered it, then the other would have no choice but to help, no matter the request. That was the law between your friendship, among other things. The other code words were favors, but this was the ultimate one. Life or death.
You considered punching the laptop in anger. Right at Kate’s face. You didn’t like her call for Athame or Chalice, but now you didn’t have a choice but to comply. It didn’t mean that you weren’t still furious though. “Fuck you, Kate.”
“Thank you, Hex.” She breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to tell you more about what she needed from you, but she knew that you had to cool off first otherwise you would burst into flames. That would've made things harder for all of you. So, she nodded as a signal for dismissal which you gladly took. You retreated to your room, locking the door shut and basking in the darkness.
You could feel the blood boil within you. It burned your insides and choked you. Grabbing your pillow, you pressed it against your face and screamed out your frustration. When that didn’t help, you punched the exposed logs of your cabin wall until your knuckles were splintered and bleeding.
~
Ghost sat on the couch, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. The rest of the meeting with Laswell was brief, wanting them to try to decompress for the next several hours. Sleep, eat, process. All in the comfort of an assassin’s home.
Compared to your personality, the cabin was decorated warmly. Everything was cozy, earthy, and fresh. The fire crackled comfortably, the plush couch was broken in, and every wooden piece of furniture looked hand-made. Bookshelves were filled with classic books and another shelf collected various music records. The only thing that seemed out of place was the lack of real personal mementos. No pictures, no art, not even knick-knacks. The others didn’t seem to notice or care as they picked through the food left in the kitchen. But for Simon, it left him uneasy.
He recalled the briefing before they were sent to the middle of nowhere to you. Kate said that you were an old friend of hers from high school. You have been friends ever since, but you were different than most people. You were a deadly assassin unknown by the world. No records, no pictures, not even a birth certificate. You handled delicate problems with grace and grave justice. You always worked alone, you didn’t trust others, and you were deadly. Everything about you was a secret until Kate made the crucial choice to ask for your help. Hell, they didn’t even know your call sign until Kate said it over the video call.
“You should eat, Lt. There’s a lot of options, but they’re dwindling fast.” Soap patted him on the shoulder, awakening him from deep thought. Ghost looked up at the sergeant, watching him stuff a sandwich into his mouth. It looked like all the deli meat from one packet was in between the bread. No lettuce or tomato.
“In a bit. I’m gonna talk to Hex real quick and ask some questions.” He replied and got up from the couch.
Soap swallowed nervously. “Kate said that she’s gonna need time to cool off. . .”
“Our new member is part of the team now. She’s gonna have to get used to us even if she wants time for herself.” He justified it with a shrug of his shoulders. Soap shook his head and walked back into the kitchen, knowing that what Simon was about to do was most likely going to be a bad idea.
Ghost walked down the hall, observing each door as he passed them. Most of them were slightly open revealing extra bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom. Only two of them remained closed, both locked with keypads. For a second, he wondered which bedroom was yours before he could hear the sound of light music behind one of them along with swearing. It made him wonder what was behind the other door that was locked down.
Deciding to let it go for now, he approached your door and knocked. “Hex, open up.”
He heard you let out a frustrated groan before the door opened up. It was only just enough to see you, the pure darkness behind you, and the blood dripping down your fists. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and quirked a brow that you couldn’t see behind the mask. It didn’t take a genius to realize what you had done. “Are you done throwing a temper tantrum?”
You scowled at him, a fire in your eyes that made Simon’s heart skip a beat which confused him. He wasn’t afraid of you, so why would his heart alter its beat for you?
“If I knew that you were just going to insult me, I would’ve shot you dead on my porch.” You bitterly snapped, moving to close the door in his face. However, Ghost stopped it from slamming and took your hand in his, observing the damage you’ve done to yourself.
Your breath caught in your throat. Electricity ran through you at his touch. When was the last time someone has touched you? You attempted to pull back, but his hand firmly gripped yours. “Hey! What the fuck? Let go of me!”
“Calm down and let me see. It hurts, doesn’t it? Stings?”
You narrowed your eyes, but eventually nodded. It did sting and the dripping blood already stained your carpet. However, you could take care of it yourself. You didn’t need some man coming in to try to fix you. “I’ll be fine. I can tend to it myself.”
“First aid in the bathroom?” He asked, seeming to ignore your clear hint that you wanted to be alone.
Understanding that he probably wouldn’t drop this until he saw gauze around your knuckles, you headed to the hall bathroom with a huff, opened up the cabinet, and took out the first aid kit. You then took a seat at the edge of the tub and began patching yourself up. Every now and then you looked up towards the doorway, making sure that the skull man was watching you take care of yourself. Without his help. Without anyone’s help.
Finally, your hands were wrapped and the bleeding had stopped. You held up your hands towards him. “Happy now? Will you leave me alone now?”
“Hex.” Ghost simply said as a warning. God, you were infuriating. An attitude problem was something he would normally be able to snuff out immediately. He did it all the time when training new soldiers. Not you though. New soldiers were like little candles, easily blown out of their fire with just a breath. You? You were like a raging forest fire. One that clearly had its own traumas over years of service that the world may never know.
You didn’t like how he studied you. How his eyes trained on you were a mix between hatred, curiosity, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. A magnetic pull that begged for you to look at him too. You also didn’t like how he was trying to treat you like one of his rookie soldiers. The only thing you wanted to do to make it all stop was to push him away. “Don’t talk to me like some new recruit straight out of school. I’ve already earned my place in the world with the amount of scars I have. So, don’t treat me like I’m under you. I won’t even let your captain talk to me like that.”
After putting the first aid back where it belonged, you attempted to leave the bathroom and retreat back to your bedroom. Yet, Ghost wasn’t giving up just yet. His hold body blocked the bathroom exit. He was tall, strong, and sturdy. It wasn’t hard for him to completely fill up the space. However, that didn’t intimidate you. You got up close, and looked straight into those icy blues. Even with the black warpaint, you could tell that his lashes were meant to be blonde. Some of the paint had flecked off revealing some true color. You wondered what the rest of his face looked like for a second. Just a second.
You stood your ground, engaging in a heated staring contest. It was like lightning crackling between the two of you. After a while though, Simon finally gave in and held his hand up like a handshake. “Lieutenant. They call me Ghost.”
Hesitantly, you took his hand and firmly shook it, refusing to back down from a battle of wills. “Hex. That’s all you will know me by.”
Suddenly, he pulled you in closer, your chest almost touching his. On instinct, you pulled a knife from the waistband of your underwear. It was the one you took with you earlier for the showdown at the door. You held it to his neck, blade dipping in until you could feel the push back of skin. Ghost didn’t flinch or jump back at your defense. Instead, he whispered into your ear that he wanted to get close to in the first place. “As hard as you may try to fight it, you’re going to know me. And I’m going to know you.”
You bit back the shiver that went down your spine from the whisper, aching to slice his throat in retaliation. Chalice had you pinned, though. You had to avoid killing the people you are going to be working with at the very least.
Ghost slowly backed up and headed back towards the kitchen for some food, leaving you to process what just happened. You silently walked back to your room without looking back at him, ears turning red and heart racing unnaturally. You didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by giving him any more attention. However, Simon was already somewhat satisfied.
Yet, there was a part of him that wanted more.
Soap was eating a piece of lasagna when he walked in. Gaz and Price were quietly conversing at the other end of the island. It took a lot of food to fill up men like them. It wouldn’t take long for them to eat you out of your house and home unfortunately.
“So, how did it go?” Soap nosely inquired. As Simon surveyed the food before picking out a tupperware full of stew, he shrugged casually.
“She almost sliced my head off.”
Soap suppressed a chuckle and did his best impersonation of Laswell. “Sounds like it went smoothly then.”
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley fanfic#ghost x reader#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley fanfic#simon riley angst#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#ghost x female reader#simon riley#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x female reader#simon riley x f!reader#ghost x f!reader
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part 3 of childhood best friends!charles&y/n
part 1 part 2
ynupdates
3,838 likes
ynupdates Y/N today in Monaco!
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user1 so good to see her again 🥹 it's feels like it's been years since she deleted her socials
ylnleclerc she's home in monaco 🥰
user4 hey this is my pic haha she was super nice when i talked to her and she said she's doing really well after i asked how she was! she was with joris and another one of her friends
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user7 JORIS? AS IN CHARLES' JORIS????
September 14, 2023
joris_trouche
Liked by charles_leclerc and 32,388 others
joris_trouche Princess of Monaco has returned
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user3 moving back to monaco..hanging with joris...charles liking this post...i could cry
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user6 i need pictures of them together now im so serious joris open up that camera roll or i'll fight
ylnleclerc MY ANGEL
ynstan tell her to come back to instagram please please
user8 charles liked this so fast oh wow 😭😭
September 19, 2023
yourinstagram
Liked by pierregasly and 232,839 others
yourinstagram the past 2 months at home 🧸
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ylnleclerc CHARLESFJDBSJENEKRNRIRBSIENDI
user1 WE ARE SO BACK WE ARE SOOOOOOOO BACK
ynstan wife is back on instagram 🥹🥹🥹🥹
user4 not them lowkey getting exposed by that guy on twitter that met charles a few days ago jdbdnssn
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user12 why are we not talking about how he said they were so close that it seemed like they were dating...
charles_leclerc Can you follow me back now?
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yourinstagram i should block you again for locking me out of the house
charles_leclerc It was an accident 🏃♀️
ynstan are these bitches living together 😧
user11 the world is healing global warming has ended birds are chirping flowers are blooming
charlesfan i literally cant believe this is real i keep thinking im dreaming
user5 she was back in monaco for two months and no one knew until recently 😭
arthur_leclerc 🥰🥰
September 25, 2023
charles_leclerc
Liked by yourinstagram and 632,893 others
charles_leclerc Good Saturday. Now let's push for a good Sunday 🙃
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yourinstagram superstar 🫶
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user2 still the most supportive ever :( <3
charles_leclerc if i win will you follow me back?
yourinstagram maybe 😋
user3 bravo amore ❤️
f1 🙌
joris_trouche You better win for that y/n follow 🤣
charlesfan YOU GOT THIS KING
ynleclerc y/n still not following him is the funniest thing ever when you consider the fact that they are 100% dating
October 1, 2023
yourinstagram
Liked by charles_leclerc and 279,848 others
yourinstagram forever boy turns 26 today 🥹 i've loved you three (eleven*) summers!!!! and i want em all!!!!!
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pascale.leclerc.355 Enfin 🫶 (finally)
user4 soulmates 😭😭😭😭😭
landonorris #HappyCharlesDay
charles_leclerc Je t'aimerai à jamais. (i will love you forever)
charles_leclerc Thank you for the follow back
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yourinstagram anything for my fans ❤️
danielricciardo Happy birthday Charlie
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yourinstagram only i can call him that back off 😒
user2 "forever boy" i'm sobbing my eyes out
arthur_leclerc Last picture 🤣
charlesfan ELEVEN SUMMERS 😭😭😭😭😭😭
October 16, 2023
tags: @nothernlights19 @kavyaas-world @aldene-styles @bbymelsworld @willowpains @fangirlika @saturnsrinqs @escapism-writer @scharter @moonlightts2 @christianpulisic10 @buendiabebeta @haloxmendes @p4st3lst4rs @lunamelona @vita-di-moda @honethatty12 @deviltsunoda @spencerrxids @gentlemonsterjennie1 @i83andrew @lovely-blackinnon @champomiel @wavesnotfeelings @elijahslover @angelwithoutmywings @justsayk @f1-incorrect-s @stop-calling-me-willhelm @mjaudrey @keonminshea @destourtereaux
#if you asked to be tagged and werent it wasnt on purpose ily :( tumblr is just stupid#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#charles leclerc instagram au#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine
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❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞
Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread
warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane
masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's
authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T)
they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.
“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.
Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek.
He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles.
"I'm sorry, my love."
“You’re going to make me late.”
It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.
Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.
“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.
She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.
The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.
“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.
“Divine Flame.”
The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips.
"Gods Blade."
A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat.
Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.
The sky?
What happened to the roof?
The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.
“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.”
Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.
“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.
“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”
Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.
“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.
The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.
As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.
Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.
Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.
“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”
The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.
“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,
“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.
Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.
“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.
“You used — “
“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”
How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.
Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.
“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.
“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “
“Kiyotaka,” you huff.
“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”
It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.
With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.
You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.
‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.
Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!
They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.
It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).
You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.
“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.
“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “
“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.
“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”
The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.
Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.
“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.
“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.
“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”
“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.
It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.
“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."
The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.
"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."
Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.
Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.
"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.
"My dearest husband was injured in battle."
Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.
Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”
“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.
“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.
"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"
“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.
“Mr. Gojo is married!?”
Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.
“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”
“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.
“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”
Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.
“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”
They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.
The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.
“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”
“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”
Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.
“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.
Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”
Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.
“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.
“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.
‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.
“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”
Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.
To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.
“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.
“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.
Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.
“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.
For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.
It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.
“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames."
Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.
“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.
Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in.
"A good read?"
“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.”
“What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.
As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now.
“It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.
Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.
‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘
“It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink.
"Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.
He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person.
“I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.
Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed.
“Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!
To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.
“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”
Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.
Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.
Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.
After his death, nobody called you that anymore.
If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.
You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.
That was a dark summer.
“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.
This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.
An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.
What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.
He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.
A Grade 1 sorcerer.
It hardly required a duo.
‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.
A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.
“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”
You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.
(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.
But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.
He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.
“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.
You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.
“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.
He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.
He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.
“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.
As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.
“I apo — “
Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.
‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘
The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.
He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.
But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.
Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.
He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.
“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression.
You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).
“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.
It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.
“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.
“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.
“Oi. Did something happen?”
You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.
“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.
“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”
“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.
“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.
“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.
“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”
His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.
But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.
' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '
The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.
“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.
“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.
Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.
“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”
The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.
The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.
Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.
“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.
It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.
Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.
Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?
Was it your father?
He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.
In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.
“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.
“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”
“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.
Too great some would say.
Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.
The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.
But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.
It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.
Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain?
Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?
If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?
Why would they dare take more from you?
From Satoru?
Had they not have their fill?
Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.
“...You would tell me if it was, right?”
Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.
What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;
' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'
“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”
“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.
You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.
Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.
You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.
“I can do it by myself.”
He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;
“I can do it by myself!”
The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.
His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.
Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.
Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.
He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.
Why the fuck is he crying?
But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.
He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.
He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.
He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.
Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.
His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.
‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.
“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.
He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.
Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.
“Why do you call me that?”
Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.
“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.
“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”
He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.
His eyes are still so dark.
“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.
He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.
“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.
“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.
“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”
You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”
You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.
“What did you call Suguru?”
You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.
If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.
“I called him my one and only.”
He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean.
You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.
“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.
“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”
“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.
Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."
He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.
“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”
“Beloved, you’re not.”
You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.
“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”
Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.
That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.
“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”
“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.
“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."
He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.
So why the fuck was he crying?
“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”
These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.
“Stop, Satoru.”
“I knew too.”
“Please, stop!”
“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.
“My beloved — "
“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”
Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?
In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.
“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.
“I’m so sorry.”
"You keep saying that, Satoru!"
You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.
Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.
Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.
He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?
Why must he love this way?
You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.
"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."
That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.
From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.
How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?
The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.
So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.
"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.
Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.
Just.
Just once.
' Come. '
His eyes are still so dark.
' Inhabit me. '
So are yours.
' Let me show you. '
They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.
' Bare your soul to me. '
His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.
' I have. Now fall with me. '
He kisses you.
It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.
' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '
You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.
Just once.
He needs to hold you like this just once.
To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.
Fuck it.
Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —
"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.
His godhood is forgotten.
The strongest kneels.
The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.
"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.
His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.
"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.
It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.
This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.
"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."
Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.
He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.
As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.
Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.
There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.
He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.
Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.
He's not entirely at fault. You let him.
It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.
Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?
What were you worshipping?
The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.
"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.
"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...
"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.
Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.
He likes kissing you.
Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.
That endless void; it reflects only you.
"(Y/N)".
It's your name that leaves his lips.
"(Y/N)."
He's pleading for you.
"My beloved."
You're dear to him.
Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.
When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.
His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.
It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.
"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.
"I'm right here, beloved."
"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.
"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.
"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.
"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.
"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.
"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."
When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.
"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.
"Satoru."
With his name on your lips.
"Please."
Begging for his mercy.
"Satoru."
You ____ him.
The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.
It was baleful.
The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.
"Satoru, you've come home."
His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.
If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.
"Yes, I have."
Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.
It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.
It'd be his mother.
"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."
"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science."
"It wasn't because of young Itadori."
"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."
She sniffles prudently.
"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."
"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."
She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.
"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.
"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "
"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"
"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"
Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"
"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."
The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.
"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"
"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"
"How are you doing, my love?"
Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.
“Is she going easier on you?”
“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.
“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”
The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.
“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.
“Losing someone?”
You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.
The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.
You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.
It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.
There is no honour in a child dying.
“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.
“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.
But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.
“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.
“I loved him, dad."
Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.
Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.
He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.
"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.
"I'm here, Megumi."
Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.
The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.
Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.
To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.
As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.
There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.
Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.
"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.
Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.
The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.
It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.
When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.
The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.
You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.
How could your father not feel the same for you?
"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.
"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"
"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.
There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.
"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"
You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.
"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!"
The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.
This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."
Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?
He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.
She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.
He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.
What a foolish man.
"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."
He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.
Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.
The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.
It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.
He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.
The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.
"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice.
"I asked you a question, boy!"
The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.
"Here is my sacrifice!"
The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.
There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.
Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.
Had he always looked so weak?
His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.
"Savour every drop of it, father."
It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.
The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.
The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.
The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.
Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.
"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."
The title brings a smile to your face.
He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.
It serves him right. The bastard.
You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.
The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.
"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.
"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."
Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.
A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.
"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.
"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.
The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.
Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.
Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.
This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.
Suguru had that same look.
"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.
"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."
"They think you made us insane."
"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.
"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.
"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."
"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"
' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.
"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."
"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"
Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."
"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.
"Speak plainly."
"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.
"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."
Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.
"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"
The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.
Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.
The windchimes still.
The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.
"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."
"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."
She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.
"Do not do this to me, my beloved."
"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"
His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.
"I love you, (Y/N)."
"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."
He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.
But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.
Suguru chuckles coyly.
"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.
"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."
"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.
"Fuck off."
"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.
"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."
The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.
"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.
The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.
"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.
"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.
Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.
There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.
"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”
The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.
“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”
Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.
He does.
He pouts as you walk out from the room.
Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.
“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.
“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”
“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.
Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.
“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “
Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.
“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.
Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.
“Mr (Y/N)!”
Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.
“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”
“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.
“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.
The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.
As you turn, it slips close.
Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.
“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.
Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.
His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.
Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.
People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.
How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?
You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.
Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.
“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”
There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.
After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.
“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.
Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.
“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”
“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.
“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.
“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.
Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.
Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.
Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.
“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.
“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.
The strongest.
Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.
“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”
“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.
“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.
“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.
Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.
Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.
The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.
None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.
So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.
The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.
“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.
“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.
Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.
“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.
“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”
“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”
What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.
“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”
You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.
The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.
He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.
“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”
Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.
“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."
You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.
"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.
"S'guru..."
"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"
Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.
"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"
When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.
How shameful.
You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.
Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.
"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.
"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.
Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.
As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.
"Ken, I - "
Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.
His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).
"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.
His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.
The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.
"(Y/N)..."
Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.
"(Y/N)".
"Kento."
Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.
There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.
"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."
"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.
"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."
He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.
"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"
Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.
How pervertedly kind.
The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.
"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."
The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.
A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.
"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."
A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.
"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"
Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?
"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.
"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."
"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."
"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."
He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.
"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.
The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).
But it was too convenient.
Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.
The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.
If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.
"I'm sure you do."
"The divorce barely made a dent?"
"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."
"And if he faces me?"
Satoru grits his teeth together.
"Run."
Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.
Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.
The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.
“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”
“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”
He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.
Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.
“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.
"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.
"Have you..."
The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.
"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.
The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.
"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.
"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.
"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.
"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."
Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.
He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.
"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."
"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."
She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.
"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.
"The rumours, of my clan."
Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.
Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.
"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."
Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.
"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."
"I messed up."
The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.
Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.
"Things are not looking good."
"Yo, Satoru."
The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.
"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."
' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.
You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.
He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.
"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone."
"Sealed...?"
Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.
"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."
"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.
"NA-NA-MIN!"
His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.
"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."
"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.
"Let's be quick about it then."
This feeling...
"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"
"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."
"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.
"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.
"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."
"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.
"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."
You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.
"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.
Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.
But then.
"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.
"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.
Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.
' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.
"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.
Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.
Megumi —
You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.
Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —
Dagon is exorcised.
The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —
"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.
Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.
The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.
His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.
"Gojo (Y/N)."
"Divine Flame."
He lifts his hand just as you do.
"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.
"God's Bl — "
"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.
"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.
"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"
You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.
"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."
He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.
"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."
That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.
"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."
"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"
Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.
"Divine Flame — "
A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.
"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.
"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.
Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.
The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.
Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.
"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.
"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.
"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.
"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."
"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."
Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.
"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"
Reincarnation or divine coincidence.
Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.
"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."
Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.
He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.
With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.
"Na..."
The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...
Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.
"Nanamin..."
The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.
He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.
Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).
He should have introduced you to his family.
He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.
He should have given you everything you deserved.
Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.
He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).
What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?
Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness...
"I'll leave the rest to you."
"My husband."
Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.
"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;
"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"
"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.
"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."
"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.
Or is that denial talking?
"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"
"Maybe he's already with Nanami."
"Shoko."
"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.
"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?
"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.
"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"
"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"
"I have every right to be."
"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.
"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.
"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."
"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.
"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"
"Yuji."
Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.
"You leave (Y/N) to me."
"Does this form please you more?"
Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.
Satoru's corpse.
It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.
"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.
"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."
The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.
"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."
Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.
Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —
They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.
Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.
The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.
This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.
Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —
Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.
What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.
What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?
Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.
Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.
Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.
"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"
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