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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO

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

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

all sexual content present in part two.

⊹ wc ; 17.3k / 36.1k

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

LINK TO PART TWO

⊹ a/n ; well. its here. i wont ramble too much but i hope you enjoy and if you dont...well don't tell me. thank you to ame for your endless patience. likes and reblogs mean the world. the title is inspired by the poem linked.

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

“Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love.” - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART ONE : A CHILD BORN IN WINTER MUST NOT LONG FOR SPRING.

There’s a dog living outside of Gojo’s apartment. It’s a collarless, lonely thing. Clever, too.

Though, Gojo doesn’t know much about its life before it started hanging around the area, he gets glances on occasion. It’s not emaciated and it doesn’t look hungry, but it’s roughened up with matted fur and a healed tear in one ear.

More importantly, it doesn’t bother anybody in the neighborhood. Despite its outward appearance and hostility when approached, its aggression won’t go farther than a warning bark or growl. Most of the adults living in the building know better than to try, but some of the kids living upstairs desperately attempt to befriend it. Of course they fail, and Gojo thinks that that poor thing is growing apathetic to the touches of sticky hands.

The whole building is pretty fond of it, surprisingly. Gojo lives in a upend complex in a metropolitan part of Tokyo and the people here can be snobbish. So it comes as a shock that this dog wasn’t shooed away months ago.

Everyones sort of agreed to take care of it. There’s a food and water bowl outside of the security office - and just last week a sign was implemented of Do’s and Don’ts for what food scraps can be left. There’s a donation box to get some proper shots and paperwork - since it looks like the building's doorman has agreed to take it in if everyone chips in for the expenses.

(Gojo suspects this has something to do with those very kids, devastated by the thought of it being gone.)

Warm welcomes from the residents aside, Gojo hasn’t seen it act friendly before. He wonders about that. It seems hesitant to trust anyone and he’s sure there's a good reason. It’s just that it's clever. To be a stray in this area of Tokyo and be so calm is an impressive feat, so he thinks it probably has some grasp of his own situation. If it acted cuter, it could get a warm house and family too. Though the whole aloof and distant thing does the job just fine, Gojo can’t help but wonder what such a clever creature is doing, turning away from living lavishly.

Much like everyone else, Gojo’s contributions have come in the form of food scraps and some donation money to work towards the 5,000 yen goal. On the occasion their paths cross, Gojo sits near it. Sometimes, they share a moment of silence and Gojo talks just to see if it’ll ignore him. It seems like it’s listening. It always makes a grunt of dismissal when Gojo turns to leave and he’s started to count that as a little victory.

Gojo isn’t intrigued by anything as much as that dog. At least not lately. It’s damn near impossible to seriously pique his interest and yet that clever fellow is one of the few things he stops to ponder at.

Today, Gojo is intrigued by the dog that lives on the street of his apartment and the strange woman who’s petting it like some sort of domesticated baby.

He’s very, very intrigued by that.

The rain comes down in heavy sheets. It’s a Wednesday, and he has no classes to teach so he’s home and preparing to run errands. He’s going about his day as usual, basically. When Gojo isn’t swamped with a mission or the reformation of Jujutsu Society - he likes to play the part of the average man.

The plan for today was to take his unused car out of the lot so he could get some dry-cleaning done, go buy a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones are scratched, and go do some shopping. He needs to buy groceries again ( an uncommon occurrence) so that one's on the list too.

He’s dressed down. A black windbreaker is hanging over his shoulders, tight gray shirt and some comfortable jeans. He’s got on his errand shoes, a nice pair of sneakers and his keys are hanging from a loop in his belt. His hair is styled down and he’s got on his glasses instead of his typical mask.

He has a gameplan, a fully fleshed out expectation of how today will go, and it’s derailed by a woman he’s never seen before. He’s drawn to you so naturally it’s baffling.

You’re crouched just in front of the security office. Dressed in a loose skirt and long sleeves, looking down by the local neighborhood stray. For the first few seconds, he just lingers on in utter awe. You’re carrying a comically cute umbrella, clear with flowers and a pink edge. He kind of thinks you look like a peony.

He approaches slowly, quietly.

When he finally gets close enough to really see, he can hardly believe his eyes. That old, menacing mutt is happily getting his chin scratched by you.

“Oh, uhm. Hello?”

The sound of your voice startles him out of his trance. Snapping back to reality, he glances down to where you are and realizes he’s towering over you. In an effort to be polite, he steps back and gives you his most disarming smile.

“Hi. Sorry for the intrusion, I was just,” He glances at the dog who almost looks offended at the interruption “I noticed you were… petting this dog. Guess I was a little surprised.”

“Surprised?”

And your surprise surprises him even more. He blinks slowly.

“Yeah. He’s not aggressive or anything but uh,” Gojo chuckles, concluding you must be a little new “Well, he’s not exactly friendly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone succeed in well…petting him.”

You’re taken aback by this information. Yeah, definitely new.

“Really?” You glance at Gojo before looking back down at it “I just gave him some treats and waited a bit. He’s such a sweetie. Sure you mean this dog?”

Gojo gets a good laugh out of that. Partially at your cluelessness and partially at your disbelief. He nods, smiling a little.

“I’m very sure, actually. He must really like you,” He says, hands in his pockets. He bends down to join you, but he’s still a little bigger than you at that height “I guess I can see why. You’re pretty friendly.”

You peek over at him. You seem a little shy at the compliment. Gojo feels his interest pique a second time today alone. New record.

“Oh, uh. Thank you. I teach kindergarteners so I sort of have to be.”

He hums. Reaching his hand towards the dog, who sniffs and cuddles his palm (something it’s never done before) in order to win your favor more. It really is a clever little thing, just like he’d always suspected.

“I’m a teacher too. A highschool teacher, though. No need for me to be friendly, I guess.”

You laugh at his joke, smile reaching your eyes as you hug your knees to look at him.

“You seem plenty friendly to me.”

He pretends to think about it.

“Maybe you have a gift for making people come out of their shell,” He says with sincerity, relishing in the fact he’s finally getting to pet the dog in any capacity “I think this little guy could probably attest to that.”

“And you have a knack for flattery.” You quip.

The natural chemistry is noticeable enough for it to catch Gojo off-guard. He grins.

“Hey. I’m not all bad. And what's flattery if I’m being honest right?”

“Sounds like something a flirt would say,” You tease, airy. He laughs a little.

“You seem like you’re having fun giving me a hard-time.” He pouts. You giggle.

“A little,”

“Jeez. How rude of you…” He waits, prompting your name. You smile.

You give him your name. You say it soft and easy. He makes sure to return to the favor.

“And yours?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

You live up to your first impression in the time that Gojo gets to know you as his neighbor.

Friendly. The word he’s looking for is friendly.

There’s other words though. Sometimes meek, typically cheery, oftentimes quiet. You’re quite unassuming, and possibly too gentle when compared to everyone else in the general area. You fit in fine, no worries there. And Gojo knows that for certain because he can’t stop himself from watching over you like a hawk.

He doesn’t really understand it himself. Gojo gets along with everyone. He’s always been a people person who likes to talk and likes to get to know strangers. There’s nothing that special about your connection in that way. You live next to him, directly across the hall. You often knock on his door to give him something that you’ve made too much of or ask to borrow some sugar

And it’s not done with any romantic intent. Gojo is good at reading people. He’s never seen someone so blatantly romantically uninterested in him. You’re not even conscious of him as a man, cemented to him by the one time you came to the door dressed in paper-thin PJ’s. He hasn’t recovered from the shock. One of the many times in his life where he was grateful no one could see where he was looking.

He’s had a few months since your first meeting to get an idea of your personality and what things about you he should keep in mind. You noticed that he’s often not in his house, so you’re relatively aware of your surroundings. You’re often up late because your lights are always on well into the evening.

(He finds out later you’re usually making lesson plans or little gift bags or planning birthdays. You really love your job, something he can commend while simultaneously feeling quite jealous about.)

You favor the lovely spring colors like pink and purple because you have so much of it always on you. You dress brightly in general. And you smile, often, and stumble over yourself trying to be nice to the other tenants. The kids in the building adore you. The sheer amount of propositions you’ve received to be someone's full-time nanny could probably keep you employed for another two decades.

And you always put your best into everything, no matter what.

This is probably the aspect Gojo is most fascinated by. It’s not exactly a novel trait. He’s encountered something like it before. One of his most prized students is Maki Zenin. Her whole thing is kicking ass through sheer spite.

But unlike his students or anyone else he knows - you don’t seem to be motivated by spite or anger or frustration. Even when you are angry or upset - you always force yourself into being more understanding. Into being nice, kind, and still giving it your best if you’ve been shorted somehow. He’s tempted to call you a try-hard. It draws on the line of people pleasing sometimes but it doesn’t matter either way. This is a quality in you Gojo likes all the same.

He's always been drawn to people who are earnest. His company favors such things. He cherishes Yuuji for such a reason, and can say something similar for Nanami. It’s a refreshing perspective. He’s not a bitter person, but he’s not an earnest one either. So Gojo likes that you’re so properly, gently sincere.

For the last few months he’s made a real effort to talk to you. So he’s not just the guy next door, but at least an acquaintance and at best a distant friend. On the mornings you both have classes to teach, he walks you to your car and if he wakes up before you - he’ll bring you a cup of coffee or a pastry he knows you enjoy.

You’ll often do Gojo little favors and he’ll return them - joking to each other about being a good neighbor. An inside joke with each other that Gojo is growing increasingly fond of, all together with leftover cups of coffee and glances that linger too long. Some mornings, he takes out your trash when you’re feeling too tired and you’ll do him the favor of getting the stuff out of his clothes that he doesn’t want to dry-clean.

It’s these little exchanges that make up the bulk of your interactions.

He’s even been to your apartment (another reason he’s sure you’re not attracted to him). He went last week to help you cut out little autumn leaves to put on your classroom walls, and you rewarded him with some lemonade.

He’s still thinking about it days later, how you sit on your legs and the way your cardigan hangs off your shoulder. When you’re focused, you leave your mouth open a bit and poke your tongue through your lips. He’s endeared by it.

By you in general.

It’s all boring and mundane, but that’s what makes it. It’s a luxury he rarely affords. Craves, really, which is why he’s starting to go straight home more often than not.

It’s nice that you’re always there. That you’re usually home and when you’re not - Gojo doesn’t have to guess too hard about where you are. It’s so constant. He basks in the feeling of constancy like an expensive silk.

It’s little luxuries like that, he thinks, that make you so special to Gojo without much effort on your behalf. Being up at the top means he is always fascinated by the place closest to the ground.

What’s heaven to a man born there?

In your fourth official month of residence, the neighborhood dog finally gets adopted.

He’s not there for the big reveal. He hears it from you while he’s on a mission, through a text message and a photo. He acquired your number early on, but you’ve only started doing these text exchanges recently. Reason being Gojo’s had an unusual amount of cases that need his attention and you’ve been very aware of his absence.

(The first time you texted Gojo after 3 days on the other side of the country, he was scarily happy. After all, most times when he leaves - people are expecting his return. There’s an assurance that he will return alive, that he has to. It’s not often people worry.

It was another thing he learns about himself through you. Being fussed about is refreshing.)

Currently, he’s all the way down in Nagasaki. He’s been investigating what the local government has described as an “infestation in the water,” leading to poison and all sorts of hallucination. It’s been causing all of the local hospitals to fill up and the news is advising people to distill their water if possible when at home. Make sure to buy bottled, and double check on your children.

In other words, there’s an unidentified curse wreaking havoc in small towns and rural areas at an unusually fast rate and Gojo has been sent to figure out its origin. What’s really weird is the location. He’s in Nagasaki prefecture, specifically in Hasami - a town in the Higashisonogo district. He really didn’t have much time to do research on the area, save for a few quick google searches and probing questions to his student, the well traveled Yuta Okkutsu who is a hair more familiar with the region than he is.

But there wasn’t much for him to find. Hasami is known for the porcelain it produces. The population is a little under 15,000 and the weather is nicer in spring than it is in summer where it gets too humid. It’s considered a small town, though that number is relative in consideration, and currently the local officials are sending off reports about the water supply.

Even when doing deep research using official means, there was nothing that unusual about the place. No major criminal incidents or occult presence or some other thing that would make this occur naturally. Gojo is no stranger to small town violence or bullying and they can often produce the most volatile curses.

But he’s currently on his 3rd day here, where he’s taken up talking with the locals and he can’t find any specific attitude that would foster a special grade.

It had led him to a conclusion, but one he was deliberately avoiding. That someone planted the curse here in Nagasaki, or maybe somewhere else. Which really complicates the whole affair, because then this is an investigation and not just a situation of fate. It also means that this curse was likely harvested somewhere and that Gojo can’t be sure it’ll be easy to get rid of.

Most importantly, all that fanfare means he’ll be home late.

Given how much he’s longing to see you, it’s the thing he’s been dreading most.

It’s weird. He’s never dying to see anyone, with the exception of an old friend long gone. But Gojo has been desperate to see you for the few weeks he’s been away from home.

(He can’t tell if it’s normal to long this much for a person he truthfully doesn’t know that well.)

But, while he’s away from home, the thoughts of you play on loop in his head. Like white noise, static yet constant - there, all the same. As he walks the rainy streets of Hasami, hands in his pockets - he can’t help but wonder when the next time he gets to see you will be

It’s like some sort of miracle (aren’t you always one?) when Gojo hears his phone ring, buzzing against his abdomen.

He’s drawn back into reality when he feels it. In front of a store that sells handmade plates and glasses, he lets it go for a while. Feels it buzz against his pocket while he settles his thoughts. He examines his surroundings, notices the cars, and the mother with her daughter across the street and the gray sky - all before he picks it up. Your name flashes him on screen, and something itches deep in his chest.

The clouds open up. And it’s still raining, but there’s a ray of sunlight cutting through them. For a minute Gojo feels worldly, grinning with damp skin before he slides his thumb across the phone.

You’ve never called him before.

“Hello?” He greets, wondering if it was an accident. Then you come through the other side of the line.

“Hi ~,” You say, clearly doing something in the midst of talking “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Very shocked you called me, yanno?”

You laugh quietly.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to check in. And I wanted to say thank you.”

“I mean… I’ll accept but I feel like I should know what for.” He jokes. Your tone goes sincere, marshmallow soft and twice as sweet.

“You paid the rest of the fees for the dog out of pocket, didn’t you?”

He smiles to himself.

“Ah. Busted. That was supposed to be a secret between me and Mr. Security-Man,”

“He didn’t tell me. I just…guessed. Seems like something you’d do.”

His first instinct is to disagree.

“It’s not like I did it out of the goodness of my heart, okay? It was looking a little sad sleeping during the cold seasons. It was very pitiful. So bad, so sad.”

“Why’d you do it?” You ask, probing but not too deeply “Like… really. It was really nice of you, but it was a couple thousand and that can’t be cheap.”

He relents, head leaning back on the wall behind him.

“The kids, remember?” He murmurs, eyes staring up at the gray clouds “You said they’d be sad if the dog didn’t get adopted soon.”

“The way you’re talking about it makes it seem like you’re doing this for me.”

“And if I was? Would that bother you, hm?”

You wait a minute, hesitating with your words.

“Well…no. I guess not, I just—thank you. I guess I’m just a little… embarrassed about it or whatever.”

“Shy, huh? Cute.”

“Jeez,” You huff. Gojo can practically hear your grinning from the other side; it makes his heart flutter. He wants to go home, to wherever you are “And you always say you’re no flirt.”

“I’m not a flirt. I’m just telling it how it is.”

“Yeah? Well, thanks anyway then. It made them really happy. You should’ve been there to see it. Maybe you can tell them when you get back?”

“Don’t wanna.” He states outright.

“You didn’t even think about it!” You exclaim.

“Mm, because I don’t have to. I definitely don’t want them to know.”

“Why not, though? You’d be their hero, y’know?

Maybe it’s something in the air. The damp weather out closer to the ocean, or the distance between you. There’s a tiny echo in your words, mechanical through the speakers. The word hero leaves a melancholy in his mouth, floating in the back of his throat like liquor refusing to go down. He chuckles.

“Ooo, are you into that kinda thing? Like, super charming knights in shining armor? Or superheroes, maybe?”

You giggle on the other side of the line. If you notice him avoiding answering you, you have the courtesy not to say anything.

“Isn’t everyone? I don’t know. I think if a really good-looking guy saved my life, it’d probably make my heart race a little, yeah. I’d catch feelings over that for sure.”

He takes a deep breath. Everything smells like rain.

“Is that so?” He says, chest blooming with warmth “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed.

He was out there for a long time, at least longer than usual when he’s traveling for a mission. He’s not used to hitting so many dead ends. The problem kept growing, but every trail he’d uncovered went cold in about a day. Just before he gave up hope, he was called in by Yagi. Since the issue has spread into other parts of the city, it’s no longer his solo jurisdiction.

More hands on meant more time for Gojo to be teaching. It also meant that he would finally see you after so long. You waited for him outside the day he returned to Tokyo - wearing a cream colored sweater and the prettiest smile Gojo had ever laid eyes on.

Gojo returns from his mission empty-handed but it’s not entirely pointless. Upon returning - he had a somewhat shallow epiphany about the way you make him feel. About the way he’s affected by you, which is arguably more valuable than some lead.

Being away from you for so long is something that makes him so irritable. He’s had some time between then and now to come into terms with it.

Falling back into his routine, it was obvious. Suddenly there was a gap he’d never noticed before that blew wide enough for him to fall through. He actively avoids not seeing you if he can, and ever since your permissive conversation a few weeks ago - it’s harder to notice the way his desires fester.

There’s not much he wants out of his life. So when anything noteworthy pops up, Gojo is always eager to get a hold of it before it’s too late.

He usually soothes that by reminding himself of your position as a civilian, a kindergarten teacher at that. The responsible thing to do is make sure you’re safe. To play the hero from the sidelines and ensure you don’t encounter anything from his line of work. That’s his whole life's work. To create a life like that, and it helps to stay on that path when he believes you’re sheltered from that reality.

That’s why, when you tell Gojo you can see curses, he feels the entire floor collapse from underneath his feet.

He receives such devastating news over a cup of coffee at that.

It’s closing in to Fall slowly and Gojo has decided to take you out to eat as an apology for his disappearance. He intended to give you another half-truth about his job so you wouldn’t lose any sleep over him.

When it happens, it’s less that you tell him, and more that you keep glancing. Just over his shoulder, with this terrified expression that Gojo couldn’t not notice, even if he tried.

You’ve got your hands around a warm drink, in a white, ceramic mug but your gaze keeps diverting to the place behind him. When he looks over to that same place, a curse is there. Small. More insignificant than a bug, but there.

It’s risky to mention it. Because if Gojo is wrong, it’s not something he can brush off. He’d have to come up with something to excuse himself, and he isn’t sure how to lie out of that (even with his natural disposition of being a trickster.) But when you keep looking, his instinct kicks in. There’s no way you aren’t seeing it.

He doesn’t ask you directly. That’d be too incriminating, so he lowers his tone. Watches you briefly as you tremble in fear.

(A small, small part of him is only asking because he doesn’t like how distracted you are from him. Killing the curse seems like it’d relieve that annoyance too.)

“Can you see it…?”

The question makes you jump out of your skin. You reel back, eyes widened before the realization really sets in.

“....It?”

Gojo looks around the cafe for a minute, to make sure no one is listening before he turns around and points to the cursed spirit behind him.

“It,” He says, thumb pointed at the deformed curse moaning in one of the booths.

When it dawns on you that Gojo sees what you see, you cup a hand over your mouth in shock. He can’t describe the way getting that confirmation feels. It raises so many questions about who you are. More than he had before, at least.

No longer are you the innocent, clueless civilian and that changes every interaction he’s had with you since the start. Though it’s not uncommon for people who can see curses to fall through the cracks, he can feel his own curiosity dig into his skin like seeds taking root. He doesn’t think he should be excited, but he is.

He’s excited watching your fearful tremble. He’s never seen you like that.

“Yes,” You say, voice a little shaky this time “I can see… it.”

He takes the spoon out of his latte and cleans it with his mouth. Studying your expression momentarily, he takes a deep breath before standing to his feet. The terror is so subtle, the kind he can only catch because he’s so familiar.. He knows those emotions better than he knows most.

Curses aren’t phobias. Not illusions or ghosts, but tangible madness. Impactful to those who can see it, but nothing to those who can’t. Fear like that, which can’t be shared with anyone, has a specific look when it shows up in someone. Gojo hasn’t felt that fear since he was very, very little. He watches curses with the same bland expression he might watch a horror movie, but he can understand your reaction at least. He knows it like the back of his hand. All the people he’s saved, who could see them too, always wore the same one.

Still, he’s caught off guard. He feels bad that you’re scared. But the proximity between you and him which was once oceans wide has decreased significantly in no time at all. That feels good. Even better than he would’ve imagined.

“Are you scared?” He questions intently, maintaining a sense of neutrality.

You swallow a lump in your throat, eyes glued to the table in front of you.

“Yes,”

Your voice is a hoarse whisper. The corners of his lips twitch upward.

When he’s sure no one is looking, he stands up and walks over to the table behind him. Pretending to look for something so he doesn’t look out of place. It doesn’t take more than a second to destroy it. It’s tiny, something he’d never think of fighting since it’s so harmless. The curse equivalent to a fly.

He gives it a violent death and sees you look on with horror in your expression. He finds himself pleased with that, wiping his hands on his pants before returning. Maybe you recognize his strength when he sits back down. Still, instead of pulling away again, you fold your hands in your lap.

“T-Thank you,”

He grins at you.

“Of course,” He says “Can I ask you something?”

You nod your head and sip your tea.

“Do you know who I am?”

You look confused.

“...Are you a celebrity?”

He laughs hard at that. Hearing that makes him not want to tell you.

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” He reintroduces. You nod slowly “I’m a sorcerer.”

Another lie of omission. The strongest, he should say. He takes a sip of his latte, frowning at the bitterness. Through his mask, he watches as you fiddle with your hands. He stacks the empty creamer cups together before opening two more sugar packets and stirring them.

“A sorcerer…” You look perplexed. Confusion settles into the lines of your face. Sheltered, Gojo concludes. Only parents, who shelter you wouldn’t tell you what a sorcerer was despite your ability to see them “What does that… mean exactly?”

“It means I kill curses for a living” He replies simply.

“I thought you were a high school teacher.”

He smiles.

“Smart cookie. I am, but the school I teach at specializes in cursed technique and sorcery.”

“Oh.”

You look befuddled.

Gojo thinks he might be an opportunist.

“Do you really not know anything about them? It’s rare for people to be able to see them and not know anything about them.”

You shake your head, eyes peering into your drink. He watches how the image reflects in your eyes.

“Uhm. Not really. My parents told me to do my best to stay away from it. We lived in the countryside but I had to move out into the city for work so I kept… running into them. I can’t like… kill them. And I don't always see them.”

“You can’t use cursed techniques?”

“I guess that’s what that is. I don’t think I can, no.”

Vulnerable.

“Hmm. What circumstances,” He says, purposeful in weaving concern in his words.

“Is it that bad…?”

Not really. His job and the job of his peers is to make sure civilians make as little contact with curses as possible. There are more people like you, and because curses feed off of negative emotions - many dangers can be shafted by just not reacting. Even so, it’s customary for people to have some semblance of protection. A weapon if nothing else, for anyone who can see them.

“Do you carry anything with you?”

“Like a weapon? I have mace for when I take the train late at night.”

“Not that kind of weapon,” He says gracefully. He can tell you’re out of your element, and some small and twisted part of him would like to keep you in the fateful dark.

“What other kind would there be?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” He half answers. Your frown deepens. He puts his palm over the top of his coffee cup but doesn’t feel any warmth “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just teasing. You’re always so calm and collected, I was surprised to see how scared you got, you know?”

“Everybody gets scared sometimes.”

“Mm,”

His non-committal response leaves you nervous again. Fidgeting with the edge of your cup or the loose threads in the sleeves of your clothes. What a bundle of nerves you are. Gojo puts all the comfort he can in his voice, dredging up some sense of sincerity.

“Well, since it scares you and I’m such a nice guy, I’ll protect you if you get into any trouble.” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you.

That makes you relax. Makes your shoulders droop, a smile gracing your pretty face. Gojo can feel the floor underneath him sinking as you tease him. His eyes trace the curve of your neck. He’s glad you can’t see him or where they look.

“Oh, what? Are you gonna come running every time I need help?”

He smiles.

“I’ll be your personal Superman.” He promises, making a silly expression trying to make you laugh. It feels good when he succeeds, the weight of his words softened by it. If you feel how heavy the comment is, it doesn’t show up on your face.

You snort, taking a sip of your drink and there’s something so kind in your expression that Gojo aches over.

“That right?” You hum, smiling over the edge of your ceramic mug “You’re my hero.”

Since then, Gojo’s kept quite busy.

The last time he saw you at all was at the diner a few weeks prior and little has been different since then. You send more nervous messages than before, but aside from that things are the same.

He’s done a good job, he thinks. Partly of ensuring you, partly of instilling healthy fear. Your eyes always widen like you’re caught off guard by his comments - sometimes washed away with a laugh but other times genuine. Gojo likes to keep you on your toes. A bit of harmless fun and endlessly amusing.

Gojo would be there to protect you just like he promised before, so even scaring you isn’t something he thinks of as bad. It’s not untrue that you should be a little more vigilant, but just telling you to do so is no easy feat.

He would like to be spending time with you today just the same as he has before, but he’s home alone instead. There’s been a brief reprieve between cases so he’s on his own to unwind. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he decides on a movie.

Gojo is the only one of his friends who still has cable TV. According to Shoko it’s a luxury purchase but for him it’s one less choice he has to make when coming home to relax.

It’s an American film on now, some psycho-killer classic that he’s already seen a handful of times with Japanese subtitles.

None of the lights are turned on, so the TV illuminates the room in flashes of color. He grabs a soda from his steel-gray fridge and cracks it open, listening to the soft fizz that comes to a slow halt. Pulling it to his mouth, he travels slowly back to his couch. The leather squeaks under the weight of his body. The weight of his back creates a divet that he can be comfortable in. He rests his head, glancing back again at the screen.

A scream rips through the house, agitating his every nerve. He picks up his remote and turns it down just a tad before watching the movie with a sort of disinterest. Horror movies aren’t his favorite, admittedly. He pretends he scares easily, but the opposite is true. Gojo has seen too much for it to be entertaining, no less scary.

He likes movies based on their creative merit. He’ll watch one on its creative merit.

But to be scared? For frights? Not really. Very little gets his heart pumping hard like that. Sometimes the storytelling is good. Other times there’s something cathartic about the formulaic death. The final girl, the call from inside the house. The dependable and clean ending of tropes. Even if it’s messy or sinister, it’s fantastical. Fictitious and detached.

Gojo enjoys that. For anyone else, it’s probably a twisted way to think about it but to Gojo it only feels natural. He doesn’t examine that detachment very deeply. He’s just aware of it, lingering in the back of his head.

He takes a long sip of his drink. The sickly sweet taste slowly coats his mouth. Fizzy and smooth, it goes down easily. He sits up in his seat, making himself comfortable as he tries to pay attention to the movie. The main girl is hiding in the bathroom, and the killers' steps are echoing through the house. The broken, somber string instruments in the background, fill the white noise with apprehension and terror.

Gojo doesn’t feel a chill down his spine. His eyes are still fixed on the screen though, with slight anticipation of what's next even though he already knows. It’s nearing the end and he’s seen this movie before. She’s not going to make it, and Gojo knows that.

He watches intently in spite of that. The door bursts open and there’s a knife in her chest - and screams. It’s horrific and ugly, blood-spattered and graphic.

He doesn’t flinch until the whole way through.

It’s brief, but the thought passes his mind. Lately, the only thing that Gojo seems to react to is you.

But he doesn’t think about it too deeply. There’s no need to.

The TV goes to commercial and Gojo realizes he’s finished his soda. He stands back up, onto his feet to toss the can and grab another. This time, he grabs some snacks too. Piles them onto a plate, dried meats, and something mildly sweet for after before he returns to his living room. Sitting back down on his couch, he scrolls through his phone for anything interesting but comes up short of any results.

He sits up a little straighter as the next movie plays.

Spending time around curses is a necessary part of the learning experience.

Things you can’t learn in all the lessons and tutoring in the entire world. Even though Jujutsu Tech exists, and even given Gojo’s lineage - when he started working officially, he didn’t know everything. You can’t. No matter to what extent you study, there’s some things that you can only gauge through experience. Going through something over and over, like muscle memory.

Gojo spent a lot of his life wanting it to make sense. Wanting curses and the way they showed up to make sense. This is a lesson in truth, divine truth you can only take up in experience. Curses are human emotions, which means that they are finicky and everywhere. And the dangers of them will always look like the aftermath of destruction.

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to prepare for why things happen. It’s why Gojo is always grasping for light where he can find it.

Gojo Satoru stands in an empty parking lot all the way in Osaka. He examines the sight in front of him and can’t find anything he’s learned to prepare for what's next.

Fog has rolled in thick clouds over every inch, limiting his vision. The air tastes of smoke, and the earth underneath him is damp. The wet concrete squeaks under the weight of his shoes as he takes in the surroundings. The parking lot of an animal hospital, in particular - where all the staff were reported to have fallen unconscious. After being rolled out by the proper authorities and after all the animals were moved into a different location - Gojo was left to examine the remnants of the incident.

The reports are similar all across the country. Not the location. but the symptoms. People falling sick and ill. The initial reports of a water-borne illness didn’t progress far past the first city. It’s evolved since then. People get sick, pass out and hallucinate and animals lose all control.

The aftermath isn’t very messy so luckily it doesn’t attract too much attention. There’s no bodies, or blood - nothing heinous thereafter. The effects appear later in the people affected, taken over by an unnamed madness that appears to turn their internal experience to ruins. Gojo would’ve preferred the first situation. Violence like that becomes easy to digest with enough exposure.

These kinds of symptoms are always hard to stomach. Civilians get answers that placate them. The truth is that there's something bigger out there at play and they were just so unlucky to bear witness to the terror. With altered memories and the badge of trauma, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.

Gojo knows though, and sometimes he envies their ignorance.

He makes his way into the building. A set of glass doors greets him when he turns the sidewalk, with a blinking sign. Osaka Animal Hospital is written at the top in neon, accompanied by the words 24hr service. Gojo only glances at it briefly before sighing, hands on the bar to push himself through the heavy glass doors. He has to lean some of his weight to get through, and there’s just another set beyond those where he has to do the same.

Then, he’s inside.

The presence of the curse and of cursed energy ignites familiar caution within him. It’s here, in some capacity - or it was recently. The perpetrator is here too. Why that is, Gojo can’t quite understand. It seems a little backwards to linger here after everyones been evacuated and there’s no doubt someone would come to investigate.

All Gojo can think is that maybe they weren’t expecting him. But by now, they must know he’s there too. Gojo’s presence is intentionally oppressive - by nature it must be. Now it’s a waiting game, a quiet one at that.

Hospitals are always echoey and this one is no different. The squeak of his boots bounces off the walls as he takes steps towards the receptionist desk just to see if he’ll find anything.

He leans over it, to stare at the left over records - untouched by the authorities. Everything looks like it was left in a hurry. Strew pens and a corded phone just barely back in place - with computers on a blue idle screen. All the daily documents are still out sitting on the desk with no organization to indicate they’ve been filtered through. No paper clips or post-its telling the next person working about what to do.

Instead of walking behind the counter, he climbs over it with relative ease. Once he’s behind it, he takes better note of his surroundings. He doesn’t find anything completely relevant. There’s painting of animals, and some certifications for bills of health as well - but nothing that warrants his attention. He redirects through the papers in front of him, coming across a stack unexamined. Those answer sheets they give you to fill out so they can assess the situation before meeting you.

They’re split into two piles it looks like, though that could just be some coincidence. Still, he flips through them. Directing his attention to the little comment box with the prompt what are you being seen for?

It’s nothing serious. Normal things an animal owner would be upset or worried about like bowel movements and eating something that shouldn’t have been consumed. A minor injury or a worrisome behavior - but nothing that sticks out. For pages and pages, Gojo flips through the little packets trying to find anything.

It’s not what he sees, but what he doesn’t. A blank packet of papers, with no name for the owner or the pet. Only a description in the prompt box, neat handwriting in a single line.

“Showing signs of anxiety.”

Gojo smiles to himself. Interesting.

He jumps back over onto the other side once he’s seen it. It’s strange. Why would they go to the lengths of premeditating it like that? Whether it’s the curse itself or some third party, it’s an unreasonable thing to do.

“Not like people like this are usually reasonable, but,”

He saves the rest of the thought, sighing. The room has two hallways to go down. Both directions have some lingering cursed energy, but the hallway leading to the overnight area is much stronger. It’s separated by a big metal door, so Gojo braces himself to go through it.

He walks towards it slowly and through the doors even slower. It’s a long, empty hall. The ceilings are low, white fluorescent lights over his head like a falsified halo. They flicker on and off, with the ones at the very end of the hall having fizzled out completely. Gojo can hear, feel, and see everything. He can hear his own breathing and the artificial crackling of electricity. Feel the lingering presence of sickness, the sediments of a curse preparing itself to emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.

He peeks into the different rooms of the hallway. One half of the hall is kennels, once again empty and left in the same messy state as the front desk. The other half of the rooms look like surgery rooms, with a storage closet tucked into one corner. The hall comes to an abrupt stop at the end, a painted gray wall with nothing to offer at the end.

But when Gojo is half-way through, he hears it. A heart-beat. A human one, slow and steady like it’s not worried at all. Not moving or running, just there. Thump, thump, thump.

Gojo perks his head up as he walks, leaning over to get a look at every room. Empty, empty, empty.

Then, in the very last one is a shadowy figure. The sound of the heartbeat is louder and the feeling of cursed energy is so strong it’s nauseating. Gojo pauses when he peers in, waits for there to be any response to his presence. There’s no way whoevers lurking doesn’t know he’s there, but there’s nothing that makes him react. He frowns.

His hand reaches for the handle of the door with a sigh, the mechanism inside clicking to let Gojo know it’s open. He takes a deep breath before opening it, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.

Even with the room as dark as it, the person inside is clear to his vision. A young girl. Probably no older than 17 with…

He furrows his brow. With a dog, from what it looks like. No ordinary dog, obviously. A curse in the form of a dog, with teeth too sharp for its mouth and fur that looks like a smear of charcoal and nothing like hair at all. It’s on a long leash, the chain wrapped around the young woman's palms.

The dog seems to tense up at the sight of Gojo. The eyes are empty and white - almost transparent. It’s a snarling thing, muzzle over the mouth and clearly on edge. Gojo looks at its owner, the perpetrator in this instance. Who looks calm, black mask tucked over face and long dark hair with bangs cut sharp.

Gojo doesn’t know what to say here. He wasn’t expecting to make contact this easily with a curse and its master. It’s been months now, the authorities chasing after this special grade from city to city. She’s obviously strong, and so is that curse that’s strained against its collar like it’s ready to rip him in half if he moves. Not stronger than him, because no such thing ever happens - but strong enough for him to be cautious.

He doesn’t step forward. He stops by the door and tilts his head. He’s sure she can’t see his eyes, but they make eye contact all the same. None of it makes any sense, but making sense of it isn’t Gojo’s job.

Instead of introducing himself, he opens the conversation with a question.

“Why’re you still here?”

“I knew I was going to get caught soon.”

An answer he couldn’t predict even if he tried. Gojo huffs.

“There was some time between the authorities coming and this investigation. You could have left before then, no?”

“Doesn’t matter. Something would’ve stopped me.”

“What a weird kid. What led you to that?”

There’s a minute where the dog (?) starts barking, but the noise is nothing like a bark. It’s cosmic and strained, and sounds more like a distorted radio than an animal noise. It’s in the shape of an animal but it isn’t one, like it couldn’t complete itself to be one. Gojo winces at the sound, intensified in the closed walls of the room. It’s piercing, and a little annoying.

When she soothes it, it calms down quickly. It’s obedient.

“Uh. A vision. Closer to a premonition. Fate.”

“Fate said you were going to get caught today. Right.”

“Aren’t you a shaman? Shouldn’t be that hard to believe.”

“Point taken. How did you know I was a shaman and not some murderer?”

She gives Gojo a pointed look.

“Look at you. Plus, I can feel that you’re a shaman.”

“Another premonition?” He asks, this time sincerely. She shakes her head.

“No. Your aura.”

Gojo stares ahead.

“...Right, yeah. It doesn’t look like you’re planning on attacking me.”

“I don’t think I’d win. I’ve never met anyone stronger than me.”

“I’m the strongest there is, so I guess not. How did you wanna go about this, then? Famous last words?”

“You go first. I’d rather talk to you than the other officials.”

“Hm. Don’t know if I have any questions, kiddo. My job is catching you, not interrogation. I guess I am a little interested in why.”

This makes her deflate a little. It’s hardly noticeable, but Gojo sees it anyway. The dog seems to react, snarling at her discomfort. He’s starting to understand the connection between them.

She thinks for a minute longer before sighing.

“Well. I guess I should start about why, right? It’s an old story. I came from a small village. I used to walk miles to school everyday and I’d get bullied a lot since my granny was a shaman. It was just us growing up. A nice old house with not a lot of modern anything,”

Gojo crosses his arms, leaning back on the wall and nodding his head. He figures she’ll tell him top to bottom, so he doesn’t give any input.

“My granny died a few years ago. I didn’t have any family so I moved on my own. Even back then, the only other thing I cared about were animals. I started working at a shelter and then I met Senbei.”

The more she talks, the worse he feels. Gojo already knows how this story will end, but he doesn’t interrupt her as she pauses between her sentences. Being 17 and bearing the burdens of loss is something he regards as a nightmare.

“Senbei was my best friend. Most loyal dog ever. And you know, I started my job with high hopes and kept him by my side. I wasn’t always angry. Working in that shelter and watching animals come in trembling every time I fed ‘em made me angry. How cruel and sick people could be.”

Her explanations are jumbled and clumsy. She sounds angry but it’s not that simple, curling in on herself the more she talks. Noticeably, she doesn’t try to justify it. She says it easily, with acceptance that it happened. He thinks that acceptance is harder to bear than delusion. Gojo can’t help but commend her silently.

“I’m sorry you went through that.” Gojo replies.

He’s being sincere.

“Should you be sympathizing with me?”

“Doesn’t matter. I just do.”

Her expression softens. She looks sad, and it’s not like Gojo doesn’t understand. She keeps going though, hands shaking in her lap. Gojo thinks she might’ve been waiting to tell someone.

“I don’t know when I stopped seeing the good in people….I always thought about—about my granny and how no one—no one came to see her. She was always taking care of everyone and no-one—“

“I know, kid,” Gojo says with a sigh “I get it.”

“Then you know,” She pauses, taking a deep breath. There’s frustrated tears pouring down her cheek this time. What a strange, sad thing she is: “That you can’t go back. Even if you forget. It just—it changes you.”

Yeah. Gojo knows something about that, too.

“I was already pretty desperate when Senbei was alive. Just trying to hold on. When he was killed, I lost it. I just fucking— I lost it. I’m sure you understand. You get it right?”

Gojo looks at her confused. She shakes her head, looking down in her lap at the curse in her hands.

“I can tell you're like me. That's why your aura is so tainted and… fucked up and malicious. It should be crystalline blue kinda like spring water—but it’s muddy. Rigid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact you’re hanging on by a thread. You can feel it too, right?“

Gojo remains quiet at her observation. He doesn’t know how to react.

“When you want something so bad, it just— does something to you. Either because it won’t happen or because it needs to take your life to exist. Happened to granny, to me. It’ll happen to you, too.”

“I doubt that,” Gojo says, your face flashing in his mind. He shakes his thoughts away.

“You’re thinking about it too literally. You want something, so you chase it and lose yourself in the process. You’re dead. No longer you, all tangled and in ruins. It’s not too late, but if you keep going—that thread is gonna snap.”

“A premonition?” He says, partially sarcastic. She shakes her head.

“No, a prediction. You don’t have to consider it if you don’t want to. I just thought I’d tell you since you gave me some last minutes with this Senbei.”

Gojo shakes his head.

“I don’t have any reason to be forceful if you comply. Take your time. I don’t have anything better to do.”

Gojo glances at her as she pets it, having resigned herself to silently gazing upon it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about everything she’s said, so he averts his gaze to the ceiling and pretends otherwise.

The silent stretches, a pregnant pause before she speaks one more time. She has a look on her face Gojo can’t read.

“You know, it’s funny. Everyone thinks dogs are loyal to their masters, but that’s because we made them that way. We can’t stand being alone or unloved so we made something that can do both without ever seeing any less of us.”

“You’ve had a lot of time to think about it.” Gojo says, unsure of how to reply. She isn’t expecting anything, but remaining silent fills him with a sense of dread.

“Guess so. You should take some time to think about it too,”

She says to him, petting the curse that whines like it’s been hit in her small hands. Gojo takes a deep breath.

“…Yeah. I’ll do that.”

The case ends anti-climatically.

Gojo finds it funny. The officials came and the young girl was promptly arrested. He never even got a chance to ask her name. He learned through some probing that she only made two asks before being taken.

The first, to keep her curse dog with her, and to send her thanks to the sorcerer who had apprehended her in the first place.

On the news, much later in the week - a news report surfaces. “Danger in the Deep,” giving reasonable and logical explanations for the events that occurred in cities across Japan not even a few weeks ago. New studies show, experts say, here’s a word from your local—a barrage of fancy language to pad the publishing, add depth and realism. The public is none the wiser.

Gojo has to admire the commitment to keeping the peace. The case ends, and the girl gets arrested and put on trial. He doesn’t know if he’ll be seeing her again any time soon, though he’s sure he has the power to intervene.

He’s hesitating to do so. Why stick his neck out for her in a situation like this one? Over other situations, more dire ones at that. She’d make a good ally.

Their last conversation hasn’t left the back of Gojo’s mind. He’s conscious of it, albeit it hasn’t slowed him down. He’s not looking for another assessment of who or what ghosts are haunting him. He’d prefer to put it all behind him now

So life, in some capacity, has returned to its baseline. It’s normal. He has cases but they don’t take him more than three days. He’s able to do his usual chores without anything impeding them. He’s been teaching, no longer forced to make his students fend for themselves.

He’s been seeing you again regularly, too.

He’s getting ready now to do just that. Scheduled to get another coffee together (something of a tradition now) and pick up some conversations. You’ve been busy, though Gojo doesn’t know the details of what.

He wants to know. He’s even tried asking but as soon as he gets close to the subject, you slink into yourself like you’re trying to disappear. Besides, he doesn’t want to intimidate you into telling him.

(Though, it would be so easy to do. You’ve got a record for being a scaredy cat, and as much as it endears him - he is entirely too hung up on the potential for exploitation to admire it kindly. It’d be easy to turn the notches up, pressure you. With how easy going you are, you’d let him do it. Gojo bets you’d cave. He thinks the face you’d make would be entertaining too.

Above all, the offer is tempting.)

In spite of your refusal to discuss the specifics, Gojo does want to cheer you up in whatever capacity he can. So, he’s taking you out for a while and hoping a comfortable environment and the presence of other people will soothe your nerves a little.

He’s getting dressed for it now, rifling through his closet for decent casual attire.

He’s got his hair styled down, a pair of new sunglasses on the table and his clothes folded on his bed before he tries them on. Most of his closet is uniforms, plain black and boring. For now, he’s settled on a black crew neck and blue jeans - ripped at the knees.

He looks over his appearance in the mirror, posing in it. Arms flexed and stretched over his head before putting them out in front of his body.

He takes his time to take part in the ritual. He slips his boxers up over his legs, waist band tight around his torso and clinging to the curves of his thighs. He pulls his jeans up, low at his hips with a belt buckled through the front. Then comes his sweater over his abdomen.

He wants to look nice. Though, he could be deluding himself - lately you seem a little more aware of his appearance. It makes him happy that his good looks haven’t failed him in the instance they matter most.

As he puts on his accessories (in this case a watch and a ring) his phone buzzes atop his dresser. He stops to pick it up, a message from you on the screen. He peers over so his face can be read, then smiles.

(sent 11:15am) Ready ~

He laughs to himself.

(sent 11:16am) Almost ready. Need to look my best for such a tremendous occasion.

(sent 11:16am) For coffee?

(sent 11;17) For coffee with my favorite kindergarten teacher ofc ♡

You send back a simple reply telling him to hurry and come out. Gojo chooses to interpret your embarrassment as a sign. It puts some pep in his step, and he hurries to finish dressing up.

He steps out of his house, locking his door from the outside before shuffling down a single flight of stairs and out into the front entrance of his complex. He notices you waiting at the front gate from where he’s standing.

The neighborhood dog (officially named Pokupan) is asleep by the security office. You’re the same as always. Today's outfit is a dress with long sleeves and colored tights. It suits you. A splash of warmth in an otherwise dreary world, Gojo stands in place as he watches you for an unidentified amount of time. Minutes feel like seconds as you pace back and forth. Your phone must be in your purse because he can’t find it anywhere on you.

He’s delighted when you finally turn your head to look at him. You cup your hand and give him a kind wave which he laughs at and returns enthusiastically. His stride is long, walking towards the gate.

You have to tilt your neck up to look at him (making his chest squeeze unhelpfully) but you smile when you do so.

“Hey,”

“Hello there Miss. Waiting for a special someone?” He jokes. You flush.

“They’re an important friend,”

He tries not to let his smile falter. Friend.

“Then, is it a bother if I ask to take you out?”

This time you falter. Gojo notices it out of the corner of his eye, the briefest brush of nerves that makes it seem like you’re warming up to him after all. It’s gone as quickly as it came but it’s there and Gojo etches it into the back of his eyelids for memory. He smiles at you as you look away, flush

“Not at all,”

He grins, again, even brighter. Then he sticks his arm out for you to loop in. You hesitate again. This time Gojo can’t be sure why.

“I’m just being a gentleman, you know?” He pouts. His frown takes effect as you loop your arms together. He keeps it friendly. Too much pushing and you’ll skitter away right before his eyes. Still, even this much progress feels good. It feels whole and light and good.

It’s a pleasant sort of day.

Not that it’s warm, or even sunny. It’s cold, on the edge of Autumn that dances into Winter. Freezing but bright out, the kind of sky where everything is clear. During the day the sky has no clouds and no stars when it comes to night time.

Nonetheless it’s nice. The cold is the kind that makes you want to cozy into someone for warmth, so Gojo doesn’t mind walking in. The walk itself isn’t very long either. The cafe is near your complex, just about 15 minutes worth of walking. There’s no snow or ice to trip on, and because it’s freezing - you shiver every time you stray too far from the heat of his body so the walking is done exceptionally close together

There are kids and parents walking together on the street alongside you, dogs and their owners, street vendors with hot tea. It’s that kind of day where the cold doesn’t keep anyone indoors, in fact everyone seems to relish in the fact they can run and run and run without overheating. It feels like everything is in sync with each other, comfortable and harmonious in spite of everything else.

After 15 minutes, you’ve arrived at the store front. Not long enough for Gojo, but that’s okay. There’s next time he has to look forward too.

(He tells himself this every time. It’s never enough for him. He can never get enough of listening to you talk. He could probably mimic your cadence without having to try. It’s a sound he doesn’t get sick of―a miracle, another one, because Gojo hates so many sounds―yet there’s one he always looks out for.

There has to be a next time. If he forgets to tell himself as much, he gets so restless he can hardly stand.

The cafe is nice. It’s one of those places that you see on Instagram often with plenty of sweets for Gojo’s taste and plenty of fancy teas for yours. The outside has beige-colored brick and a brown sign decorated with cutesy drawings. You spend a good amount of time crouched beside it, taking a picture or two to later post on your story.

“You have to tag me, okay? It’s your payment for wasting our precious time together,” He jokes.

You stand to your feet and brush off your pants, the material of your coat rustling as you do.

“Yes, yes ― I promise. I’ll have to ask who drew them when we get in there.”

Gojo smiles at your enthusiasm before opening the door for you. Another one of those glass ones with a logo printed on the top half and the metal tinted brown. A little bell chimes above your head as you head in first, and Gojo heads in after you. He has to duck not to his his head on the top of it.

It’s not too crowded at this hour. A handful of people sit among the many tables and booths. Your head is turned to the menu and Gojo trails behind you like a shadow. One to compliment all your light.

It smells delightful inside. Like warm cookies and vanilla and tea. Gojo feels his sweet tooth kick in the minute you two stand in line. The barista is a doe-eyed blonde college student. There’s another employee with long dark hair and thin, narrow eyes. It reminds Gojo a lot of that girl he met a few weeks ago but he tries to put that thought out of his mind.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and eyes the menu. The special item is a yuzu cream cake, the picture of it hanging on the wall like employee of the month. There’s a glass display of all the other items and the menu matches the rest of the decor.

“This was a good choice,” Gojo says, entranced by all the desserts around him. You laugh, turning your head slightly to look at him.

“Are you complimenting yourself right now?”

��Am I wrong?”

“Your sweet tooth is so bad,” You say through giggles “Your poor dentist,”

He gasps in offense.

“I will have you know I keep my pearly whites pristine. Not a single cavity for the record.” He says back, placing emphasis on the last words. You snort a laugh.

“I’ve never had one either,” You repeat back, perhaps mindlessly before saying “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other yet.”

Yet. Yet. Gojo’s subconscious will hold onto that word for too long. It makes his heart beat too loud. He’s relieved that you’re nothing like him. If you were in this very moment, you would hear the thunder raging inside of his ribs.

Instead of saying anything, he scoffs playfully.

“I bet you were such a goody two-shoes that you never ate sweets before bed-time.”

Your eyes widen in surprise followed by embarrassment, where you tuck your chin into your sweater.

“Ugh,” You say, so weakly Gojo can’t stop himself from laughing “What’s wrong with being a goody two shoes, huh?”

Gojo feels almost feline in his self-satistication. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it, just that you were one.”

Your frown deepens.

“I don’t care for your tone, mister.”

“Are you gonna scold me like one of your students?”

“If it gets you to be nice,” You say firmly, in that Teacher voice that Gojo has caught glimpses of over the last few months. He does a fake salute.

“Yes, ma’am!,” He proclaims, soft enough so only you hear it. You break out into another set of his giggles, melting his cold heart. It’s not the smile so much as it is yours. The line moves up just a little bit. Gojo steps in front of you before you have a chance, his figure shadowing you.

“What do you want?”

“I think I’m gonna get one of those fruit teas and some cake.” You say absentmindedly. He smiles at you playfully.

“Heard,”

Gojo turns to order for you both, laughing through your obvious protests about his paying for you. He’s able to block you from getting in the way as the cashier looks on the both of you bemusedly. When the order is placed, Gojo taps his phone against the reader before moving aside where you stomp your feet and follow him.

“I told you I would get it this time,” You whine. He hums.

“Mm, there’s always next time?”

“You say that every time!”

“So you never know? Maybe it’s next time for sure.”

You seem to realize that this is a fruitless conversation and that he’s not going to relent. With a flush on your face, you cross your arms and pout.

“I’ll get you back one of these times, I swear….Anyway, thank you.” You add the last part quietly. He hums.

“It’s only fair, you know. After all, who else would come here to eat sweets with me?”

You look taken aback but Gojo doesn’t retract his statement. He’s sure there’s someone he could ask. But there’s no one who would agree to it as easily as you have. The environment wouldn’t be so welcoming, either. Someone who would do something like this with Gojo is long lost. It almost feels foreign to him now.

In order to ease the tension, you look up at him warmly.

“Then, I’m glad you asked me.”

There it is again. That warm, sort of fluttery feeling he gets in his chest being around you. He wonders if he’s allowed to be so happy.

The food arrives at the counter, the young woman calling out for Gojo. You and Gojo split the task of carrying the plates, picking a nice booth in the corner with the top covered, You slide in across from him, situating your bag.

You and Gojo go back and forth, setting up everything so it looks nice under the lights. Gojo takes on taking the photos this time, clicking from a few different angles and stopping to show you after each photo.

“I’ll send you the picture later, okay?”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, I won’t. Let’s eat, okay?”

You nod enthusiastically.

You and Gojo eat and chat comfortably for a while.

He’s not sure how much time passes. He wasn’t checking because why would he? He’d like to be with you a bit longer, so he refrains from thinking about it and hopes you do the same. Just a bit more, he tells himself. Until you really, really have to go.

There’s nothing major to catch up on. You tell Gojo about your job, mostly and how you saw some friends from out of town the week before. Winter is coming and you want to do something nice for the holidays. You’re getting along well with your fellow teachers which is good. He was worried about that, but he can’t keep eyes on you at school.

(Not for not having tried. He’s thought about it, but his presence would be too noticeable and he doesn’t trust anyone else to the task)

So it’s relieving. Your only complaint has been that some of the students have the sort of parents you can’t handle. Pushy and involved in a way you can’t ignore but can’t tolerate either. Gojo jokes to take care of them, gesturing to his arm like he’s ready to knock someone's lights out.

That makes you laugh, and following it you have this melancholy look that sends alarms blaring in Gojo’s head. You don’t broach the subject at all afterwards. You talk about everything else you can. The sale on radishes at the market, thinking about getting a car just to have it, maybe visiting your parents sometime soon.

Gojo listens. He doesn’t have much to add. His work is strictly classified to people who aren’t in the field and it’s nothing fun to begin with. He does tell you what he can - usually about some antics his students have gotten into during training. He can at least talk about that.

He tells you about the movies he’s watched, how he went drinking with his co-workers last week, and how he thinks Pokupan is starting to act friendlier to him.

It’s fun because it’s you. Gojo likes feeling like he’s involved with you intimately. He likes hearing you talk. The sound of your voice is such a pleasant contrast to his own. You talk with a kind of joy Gojo could never hope to carry, all gestures and smiles and interjections - trying to make sure your point comes across. How you don’t think the kid sitting in the front is a bad kid, just needs guidance. How the material of your sweater isn’t really cashmere but more of a blend.

Time passes comfortably that way. The drinks and food have been reduced to crumbs and cold drops of tea, glasses emptied and phones abandoned.

But neither of you have made any move to leave, and Gojo is still listening to you talk with a pleased smile on his face. It was a pleasant sort of day, remember?

“So it was fine in the end, but the classroom was such a mess seriously―”

So, it throws Gojo off when you stop speaking so abruptly. How easily the atmosphere melts, and what an unpleasant film it leaves behind.

It feels like an axe hammering on a stop, a sharp and near violent thud that cuts off the end of your sentence. The air becomes tense in the blink of an eye. Gojo can feel it, the sensation of cursed energy. It’s stagnated, little like pebbles at the bottom of a creek. But it’s there, and Gojo can feel it creep over your shoulders like a sixth sense. Like someone skipped a stone over that same water. He senses it in the air like dust in the light.

He sits up straight, focusing his attention on you.

“Hey,” He calls out, softening his voice as much as he can. Trying hard to identify what's wrong exactly “You okay?”

Your hands shake as you lay them flat on the table. You’re almost completely spaced out by now. It all happens in the blink of an eye.

Gojo stares at you, calling to you a second time.

“Hey. Hey, look at me?”

When you finally hear him, you jump in your skin. Your shoulders relax when you realize it’s only Gojo. Normally that would make him happy, but not like this. Your hands are shaking. A nervous fidget in all of your movements that he’s never seen before, like you’ve been shocked with electric wire. He hates it. The taste of your fear (this fear) is different and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t like it.

You turn your head to look at him then avert your eyes again. He can’t follow your gaze as it shifts. It’s too erratic.

“No, uhm. It’s just, uhm.”

“Woah! Hey, Miss. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,”

Everything feels like it slows down as Gojo watches your eyes snap up. Your expression drops again, even lower, and if he listens close enough he can hear the sound of your heart. Your discomfort is tangible. It leaves a metallic taste in Gojo’s mouth as you suddenly curl in yourself, shoulders hunched and peeling skin off your nails.

You don’t even look to Gojo for help. Instead, your words go soft. You become helpless in front of his eyes.

“Oh. Yes, hello.” You bow your head trying to say as little as possible. Gojo stares as you shake like a leaf in the wind. Something ugly curls up inside of him, a knife twisting in his chest.

“Aw, c’mon? What’s with the unfriendly act? Is it ‘cause you’re here with your boyfriend?”

You look up at him panicked. Not because of the comment, but because of his tone. Gojo hears it too. How sinister it is. Like he’s blaming you for it somehow, like you’ve wronged him. The feeling inside of him is so ugly, it’s so wretched. His knuckles turn nearly white from how hard he’s closing his fist. You put your hands up and go to explain yourself anxiously.

It makes Gojo sick. He smiles, turning his head just a little so he can see. He opens his eyes and stares, focusing his vision on remembering every detail of the bastard's face.

“I’m not her boyfriend. We’re neighbors,” He explains, tone as cold as ice but smiling.

Gojo puts pressure in the atmosphere. His natural and suffocating aura returns to him easily. He smiles and remains unnervingly still, waits in quiet for the man to respond. He scratches the back of his head, still indignant.

“Uh. Okay. I guess that’s good. Wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher to be out on a date like this huh?”

Again. This guy, whoever he is, turns his head like he’s trying to talk down to you. Diverts his perversion and sadism towards you that leaves Gojo wondering what his head would look like against concrete. A bitter, heinous feeling waits inside of him, nesting into his ribs as the sound of every voice in the room comes to be muffled. All Gojo can hear is his heart. How long it's been since he’s heard it.

It’s loud. A cacophony, or a hymn. Divine rage in the sound of his soul leaves has him unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo glances at you. Your eyes are rounded, full of desperation. Pleading.

Gojo hates whoever this is. Gojo wants to save you. He thinks you deserve to be saved.

He stands up. He has enough height on the guy to be intimidating, the guy just barely coming up to his shoulder. Gojo stares down wildly, pulling his glasses to the bridge of his nose to peek briefly over the edge. The bastard stops talking immediately, words coming to a stutter, It’s satisfying.

“Who are you?” He asks.

“Wh-why is that any of your concern? Can’t you see I’m talking to―”

“I didn’t ask about who you were talking to. I asked who you were,”

He hears you from behind him “He’s a parent from my school,”

“Ah, okay. Interesting. Since you’re a parent, we wouldn’t want to make this a confrontation right?” Gojo says, bemused “It’d be a real issue for everyone if it turned out that way,”

Gojo puts a hand on his shoulder, tightening his grip hard enough to hear him gasp. He’s weak, but that’s to be expected.

“So, I suggest you turn around and head home, hm? Since we wouldn’t want it to be a big fuss.”

Gojo can see it now. With a little pressure, he could turn the blade of his shoulder in sawdust and watch him fall to his knees. He’d let out a cry, a sharp pathetic wail like a hit dog. Gojo would make him say sorry to you before he lets up his hand from his skin. He’d do it infront of everyone in the store so they could hold a little fear in their hearts.

He won’t do it. Just for now. If it complicates your work then you wouldn’t be able to support yourself. What would he do if you ended up somewhere far away? Out of his sight, something like this could happen again and Gojo wouldn’t be able to take care of you.

So he doesn’t crush it. He pushes his palms into his shoulder blades and whispers quietly, just so the two of them hear. He pulls away and watches as his face goes pale, a simple stutter leaving his lips. Something about how he’ll see you later and that somethings come up before he turns around and leaves.

Gojo watches as he does. The door chimes again, and the man disappears. The patrons who might’ve glanced turn away again like it was just a simple altercation, which is good. Then finally, Gojo looks at you where you are. Your hands are trembling so hard, a shake of relief in your shoulders as you cover your face. You look like you’re getting ready to cry, so Gojo takes it into his own hands. He cleans up all the food, wipes the table, and even grabs your jacket and bag as you take a minute to collect yourself.

He taps your shoulder lightly afterwards, waiting for you to look up. Once you do he smiles, reaches a hand out to you so you don’t have to think twice.

“About time to get out of here, huh?”

You nod, so slowly. You look so relieved, even as you sniffle. Your hand is so small compared to his. He squeezes it protectively as you slide it into his own, and helps you walk out of the store together.

The air is cold, the same as before, the temperature having warmed just a bit. The bell above the door rings as the two of you finally leave, standing in the street. Unlike before though, there’s something bitter in the air. The sun has hidden itself completely in the clouds and the streets feel emptier, lifeless.

Gojo turns to you with a somber expression, trying to smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Do you want to go somewhere to talk about it, maybe?”

You chew your lower lip then sigh “...Yeah. Probably should, huh?”

You and Gojo decide on a place not too far from where you are. It’s a small park, a good place to end off an otherwise good day.

You have to take the bus to get there, but there’s not many people. Gojo eventually gives you back your things, lets you slide your jacket on and fix your face - but ultimately takes your hand and holds it on the ride there. He brings it to his lap and you don’t pull away even though you seem to fidget the whole time.

The bus finally stops in front of the park. It takes hardly any time, but Gojo finds he’s unable to let go of your hand so he doesn’t. Instead, he holds tight and lets you trail behind. You let him lead you quietly out back in the street. You give your thanks to the driver as the doors close.

He can’t let go of your hand, though he knows now would’ve been a good time to do it. His grip only grows tighter.

“Let's go find somewhere to sit,” He offers. You squeeze his hand this time and don’t look away.

“Okay,”

He tries to keep pace with you this time, instead of walking ahead. Your strides are shorter than his so he’s careful that you don’t fall behind. Your eyes still have that watery look to them but you’re no longer trembling from fear. Just the cold, if anything.

And your heartbeat no longer sounds so hazardous. Gojo is still restless, still fidgety. His thumb is rubbing circles into your skin but it’s not really for you.

You find a bench, eventually - in the middle of the long walk-way just a distance away from a playground. Gojo juts his chin out towards it, before turning over to look at you.

“Let’s go sit,”

You nod as you walk together towards it. You sit first, and Gojo finally lets go of you. He sits besides you. There’s a minute where the whole world is deathly quiet. There should be something calm about it, but it isn’t. You’re no longer terrified, and a distance away. There’s no danger lurking in the dark and there’s no cars passing or children crying.

Everything is calm and silent, but Gojo couldn’t feel more unease if he tried. He thinks he hides it well. But there’s that itch again, in a place behind his ribs he can’t reach into and he finds it hard to breathe.

“So,” He starts, breaking the tension “I’m guessing it’s not a friend,”

The stupid joke makes a smile appear on your lips. It’s small, but Gojo takes some comfort in it anyway. You wipe away your lower lash gently, a wet laugh leaving your mouth.

“No, not a friend. He’s uhm… a parent from my school.”

“The one who’s been bothering you for all these weeks?” Gojo supplies. You turn your head, eyes widened in surprise. Gojo lets out a breathy laugh.

“You….knew?”

“Not about him specifically, but I could tell something was bothering you,” He admits, and then adds “I always pay attention to my favorite person, you know?”

The addition has you looking away, but Gojo doesn’t mind. You sigh, rubbing your face with your palms before leaning back against the bench with your head hanging off the edge.

“He’s the parent of one of my students. Akio, he’s a good kid. A really well-behaved one but… too well-behaved. Never raises his hand, never complains or says he won’t do something.”

“I’m guessing that sent off an alarm bell, huh?”

You nod softly.

“Yeah. I figure it was something at home, but I’d met his mom prior and she was a real angel. Then, his dad came to visit. The man we met at the store, and I knew right away.”

Gojo feels his jaw clench listening to you talk.

“But still, you know, my job as a teacher is to be as respectful as I can. I always politely declined him when he would make comments and remained professional. Eventually, his mom stopped coming altogether and—I tried, I really—but he…” You trail off, a lump in your throat. He watches as tears form in your eyes, his anger getting more and more tangible. He tries not to express it, putting a hand on your knee “He just… kept pushing. A-and once, he looked like he was gonna get violent. I made a report, you know, to the school. But you know how they are,”

“They never even bothered investigating huh,” Gojo sneers. You laugh a tired sort of laugh.

“Of course not. After that, I just tried to endure it. And I know he hasn’t done anything technically, but it doesn’t really feel like a matter of if but when,” You explain haphazardly. Gojo squeezes where his hand rests.

“I believe you. It’s okay,” He says as soothingly as he possibly can “It’s okay. I’m here,”

There’s a sense of relief that washes over your whole body and before he knows it, you’re breaking down. He feels a lot of emotions all at the same time, watching your little frame as you lose it so easily in front of him. A part of him is so furious he wants to make it everyone's problem. Another part of him is so deeply sad knowing you’ve suffered all on your own.

And the most notable part of him is the sense of protectiveness, burrowing inside of him. A sense of possession. It sinks into him like teeth, seeps into his blood like the venom of an animal so that he bleeds and breathes it. Gojo can’t shake that deep sense of urgency, a nameless and faceless desire that consumes him. He shudders.. He holds it in, all of it. Cups his hands so desperately so that it doesn’t spill over and touch you, the ink of ruining the soft white of your clothes.

In a world that you have made beautiful, desire is ugly. Hideous and infectious, it tears Gojo limb from limb. It makes Gojo feel on edge. Gojo should not desire for any more than what he was. People always die when he does.

But maybe they don’t have to. Maybe, he can protect you. He can keep you safe. He wants to keep you safe. He wants to keep you all to himself.

It’s in an effort to soothe those feelings that his arms find themselves around your form. It’s the first time you’ve hugged in such an intimate way. Where expects you to turn away - you don’t.

Instead you cling, your arms around his jacket and your face in his chest. You cry and weep and sob and you look so small like that. You look like you’ll collapse and Gojo holds you. Says it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay as you let it all out. It must feel good to finally let it all out, after everything and he doesn’t intend to stop you.

“I promise I’ll always protect you from now on,” And he says it, and means it. If you feel the weight of his statement, you don’t let it show “It’s okay. You can cry if you need too,”

You cry and cry and cry.

And Gojo thinks the call of heaven is nothing in comparison to the sound.

In the end, Gojo can’t forgive him.

It’s not without effort. He tries to do it at your request, because after all the tears he wants to help. He says he can maybe pull some strings. But that gentle heart you have declines. You don’t want it to become a big deal. You feel a little better knowing he knows. In the end, you don’t want it to affect that brats reputation.

“You know how kids can be,” You say, voice full of concern for everyone but yourself “I don’t want to make school life anymore difficult than his life at home must be,”

So, Gojo tries to listen to you. But days pass, and days turn into weeks. In the end, a month goes by and Gojo is full of terrible and divine anger.

In the end, Gojo won’t forgive him. Gojo can’t let it go. He feels so righteous in it, he starts avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. There’s something inside of them he has no desire to look at. Eyes that tell all, Gojo turns away from their gaze. Gojo is angry for you, and it’s not in his character to do nothing about it.

He decides on less of a whim that it looks. He wonders about alternatives, if there’s anything that can stop this feeling from imploding inside of him but nothing comes.

When he decides that nothing can be done, Gojo goes out of his way to start watching him.

Like any mission, he needs enough background information to map out a plan. He wants to make sure that it has virtually no pushback for you. There’s always a possibility you’ll get caught in the crossfire and that’d be the worst possible outcome. Gojo can protect you from a lot of things, but he’s not as confident about the law.

(Not that he can’t. Just not in the good, right way he’s sure you want him to protect you in. Gojo’s love is divine, not right. There’s nothing in this world Gojo can’t shield you from, because he’s the strongest.)

He also can’t make anything obvious or leave any room for interpretation. If there’s anything that feels off when the reports go live - you’ll stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. He thinks in the instance you find out (about all of it, the premeditation especially) you’d probably tuck your tail and run.

(Gojo would find you. But the chase means there’s some time you’re apart. The thought is almost nauseating.)

He likes that you’re curious about everything. In most instances anyways. But he thinks it’s better to leave you in the dark sometimes. Having you worry about it would ruin the point of this. And sometimes, it’s better not knowing every detail. Honeytraps are more ethical than nets.

He’s doing it for you in the end, like he does most things. And the kid will benefit, maybe even get some sympathy from his classmates for a while about the tragedy that befell his father. Gojo thinks it’s a good plan because no one loses. It’s a lot like killing a curse.

It only takes two weeks to learn virtually everything there is to know. A guy like that doesn’t have much he can hide.

The name of his target, he learns, is Nobu Watanabe. Father to Akio Watanbe and ex-husband to Akiko Watanbe. He’s a recently released felon (let off on good behavior) with a battery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. He’s a college drop-out, and has been working a lot of odd-jobs since he was 16.

His personality is bad, worse is his drinking and smoking habits. He’s often found drunk in the street, and has a track record for single nights spent in a cell. His ex-wife is usually the one bailing him out. Gojo can’t help but feel sorry for her. Somehow, he doubts that he’s good to her. He’s a deadbeat father through and through. He only offers to pick up his kid to harass you. At least from what he can tell.

He isn’t as awful to his kid as everyone else. Gojo doubts that was always the case. Akio isn’t a bad kid, but it’s hard not to notice the way the light in his eyes disappears when his father comes around to pick him up. A head always looking towards the floor, hands tucked in his pockets.

It’s difficult for Gojo to feel any guilt about what he’s doing. After everything, he can’t find it in himself to feel any regret.

His target is currently working at a dock, not too far from the city. He seems to work there most days, working at a bar on the weekends. It’s a big company that handles foreign goods that he does physical labor for. Lifting and moving boxings, checking inventory - it’s not a complicated affair.

If there’s not a major shipment, he still seems to clock in so he’s definitely paid some kind of hourly wage. He smokes often on the job, but works diligently when there is something to do. An easy but physical job, he’s strong. Gojo can understand what intimidates you about him.

Gojo, though, isn’t intimidated by him at all.

He waits a week before he takes action. To shake off anyone or anything that might be trailing him, and to make sure that everything is the same as he observed. That his schedule wasn’t going to change. A week passes, and when Gojo has confirmation - he decides to do what he does best.

Gojo Satoru decides to play God on a Sunday.

Sunday is a day shipments come in and a day he often works alone. The pay is better on Sunday and Nobu is the only one on his shift who takes it. He’s not expected to finish the strenuous work because he’s alone for such a long stretch of time - just to make a dent in it. The people at the next shift are the ones who finish the job.

He starts his day as early as 6am. It’s near winter, so the world is painted in a miraculously melancholy blue. Gojo follows him that morning. He knows the route well enough to trail behind him and not attract any attention. They pass together, turning corners and taking bus rides until Nobu’s finally in at his job.

There, they part briefly. His target goes into the big white building and he goes on top. Gojo has to teleport to the roof because everything is gated with security cameras covering every inch of the property. Following him puts Gojo at risk. So he waits on top of the building, hands in his pocket and pacing until Nobu comes out the otherside to the docks. His jumpsuit put on haphazardly, only half-pulled up to his waist, with a clipboard and pen as a bunch of boxes waiting for him to check them.

After Gojo confirms that he’s alone, he lies in wait. He sits and waits - watching as the clouds pass. Watching the open sea, how it remains unchanging no matter what boats pass through to shore. He looks at his phone every now and again to check the time.

It shouldn’t be too difficult to actually do it.

You know, if Gojo turns his infinity on, there’s nothing in the world that can touch him. He can touch it, but it can’t touch him. There will always be a barrier between his hands and the world. Between him and the known universe, a bridge that started burning the minute Gojo was born into it. If Gojo turns on his infinity, there’s no way to leave traces of him behind.

Did you know? If Gojo turns on his infinity, his fingerprints don’t show up. There’s no DNA to find. Not a trace of him in the world that he hasn’t left purposefully. Even if Gojo chokes him with his hands bare hands - he wouldn’t be touching him. But Gojo can feel it. Feel his pulse, feel his breathing come down slowly.

If there’s such a thing as heaven or hell, Gojo wants to ask God about being homicidal. If it was a flaw of human design or their Lord reflected inside of them.

He lies in wait on top of the roof until 7.

When 7 hits, the world around him is still so dark. No one kills in broad daylight. The heavens are murky, sky full of black clouds like puffs of smoke. It’s freezing cold, a spine-tingling chill making its way up Gojo’s skin and hardening his hands. . Gojo waits for the doors of the garage to creak open. When the sound echoes into the air, a metal screech in the void, Gojo stands to his feet.

He jumps to the ground, landing with a dull thud. He comes out unscathed, a cat on his feet. He dusts off the front of his pants. Nobu hasn’t taken notice of him. Gojo takes a look around them. There’s no cameras in the warehouse. Gojo waits alone in the dark.

Five minutes. It’s five minutes when all of the lights go out.

“What the fuck?” Nobu mumbles, dropping his clipboard on top of a bunch of boxes, running a hand through his hair. Gojo waits in silence, watches as he turns around.

When he finally does, he jumps back in shock. Gojo feels a cold chill run through his body.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” Nobu asks. Gojo grins.

“Ah, you don’t remember? We met a few weeks ago! We had a nice little exchange and everything.” He says, voice going higher by an octave. The man in front of him stares, off put by Gojos’ presence. He stumbles in his thinking, his body tensing up.

“Who the…what the fuck is going on?”

“Hey, don’t be so scared,” Gojo says, then uses his teleport to phase himself closer. Nobu’s eyes widen, shocked. Scared out of his wits, with the story of heartbeat like he’s being hunted. “Tough guy like you has nothing to be scared of, does he?”

“W-w-what…how did you…”

Gojo shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” He says, voice calm and smooth and even. He’s surprised by how his emotions feel in his body. Like he’s so angry that he’s not. There’s something inside of him, the white waters that wade, that Gojo can feel. It’s strange “We’ve got about 5 minutes till the lights come back on.”

For a while, they stand at a draw. No one moves. Not him, or Nobu, or the open oceans. It’s quiet for a dock. Even quieter for a dock in Tokyo, and Gojo’s not even using his abilities. He probably won’t need too, other than infinity - there’s not any good reason for him to exert himself any more than he must.

Weeks of planning, weeks of watching, weeks of waiting. Nothing feels like it matters at the moment. He wants it to be over soon-ish.

It’s not that Gojo is particularly sadistic.

It’s just that, everything feels like it’s teetering over this very moment. He thinks it to himself quietly like someone trying to remember where they last left their keys.

Briefly, Gojo thinks “I can’t go back,” after this. In the back of his head he just knows.

He envies this aggravating strangers' ignorance, too.

“What do you want from me?” He says, stuttering - a gasping breath of fear in his lungs that snaps Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo shrugs.

“Nothing, really. I’m not short on money, you know? I make a good living,” He says, spouting off about nothing as he closes the gap between them. Stepping closer infinitely until Gojo backs him into the garage, into the tall tower of boxers where there’s no cameras and no witnesses “Hm…is there anything you can do to fix this?”

No, Gojo answers mostly to himself, But wouldn’t that be nice?

“P-please, I have—”

“A son right? And an ex-wife, and a dead mom in Saitama. You didn’t think I came here without doing any research, did you? We’re the same in that way you know, I might be a frivolous - but hell if I’m not diligent,”

He looks like he’s going to throw up. Gojo remains indifferent.

“Who are you?” He asks, this time really wondering. With that hoarse voice of curiosity, of defeat.

Gojo hums.

“Good question. Who do you think I am?” Gojo poses and lifts his hands up. He puts them around his neck, pushing hard until his back is against the stack of boxes. It’s dark but Gojo can see everything. He keeps his open, tightening the grip of his hands slowly.

Nobu tries to spit something out but the words get sputtered, muffled by lack of oxygen.

“Do you think I’m a devil? An angel? God? I wonder,” Gojo says, staring. With his mask on, but his eyes opened wide. “Guess I’m kind of like a boogeyman,”

Gojo can feel it. His body underneath his palms, gasping and struggling for air. He can feel his hands try to pry his hands off. He can feel his body slowly start to lose its air, how he deflates like a balloon. Gojo is unmoving, unfazed, unworried. He’s near motionless except the hard grip of his hand on his neck and the pulse that slows gently under his palms.

It takes 5 minutes, maybe less, with all the strength in both his hands. Gojo isn’t counting. He holds on for maybe 2 minutes after that, just to make sure it’s not a fluke. He waits till the heart stops sounding in his ears and until the body is completely limp except for where Gojo is holding him away. He goes out sad. Useless, even.

When Gojo stops, Nobu’s body drops to the floor with a dull thud. He stares at it for a while, then sighs. It’d be nice if he could just leave it there, but he does his due diligence. Picks it up from the ground with relative ease, over his shoulders.

He walks it out towards the dock - the very edge, before tossing it in water and watching it sink. When it disappears from his sight, Gojo is left with his reflection in the deep blue. He meets his eyes for the first time in weeks, and knows he’s seeing exactly what he thought he would.

His anger has settled, just barely. Just enough to be able to see the change in his own vision. With his Six Eyes, Gojo can see that there’s no turning back.

With his mask on, he looks at himself, warped in the vision of the sea. The vision of him—crystalline and white and blue—murky and moving.

Gojo jumps to the roof and turns the light on again. The power comes back.

A dog barks distantly, over and over and over. Gojo watches the sun rise alone.

The following weeks pass without a hitch. Gojo feels like nothing has changed.

(But that’s not true. Everything is different. The same but different)

At the two week mark, winter has set in and Gojo is spending time with you in your apartment together. Currently, you’re cooking dinner (after carefully instructing Gojo to stay put in the living room.) Gojo is sitting watching T.V. He’s helping you grade papers at the coffee table, humming to himself.

It’s about 7 when the news starts to play. A local news channel and a familiar face on the T.V. Gojo is surprised when the breaking news report airs.

“Two weeks ago, a missing persons report was filed for ex-convict Nobu Watanbe. Sources say he was last seen working at a Dock in Tokyo - which experienced a power outage. It’s reported that Nobu seemed to have gone missing at the time, and hasn’t made contact with anyone since then. Could this be the work of a…”

The rest of the report Gojo tunes out. He turns his head slightly to see if you’ve noticed. Your eyes are glued to it., standing and staring silently. You place your spatula on a towel on the counter.

“We got word about a week prior to this,” You say, breaking the silence after some time without Gojo prompting. He looks at you “Akio started coming with his mom again and she gave me the story. It wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear, but he hadn’t done so since Akio was born,”

“That so?” Gojo says, nonplussed. You nod.

“I feel guilty but,” You trail off, rubbing your arm anxiously “I can’t help but be… relieved. Just a little. I don’t want the guy to be dead or anything, but it,”

Gojo stops you in the middle of your sentence.

“You don’t have anything you need to feel guilty about,” He corrects, voice stern. You give him a sad look but he remains firm in his stance “He was harassing you for weeks. It’s only natural that you feel relieved, you know?”

You’re not entirely content with the response, but you seem to know well enough this isn’t something Gojo will compromise on. You sigh, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah. That’s true I guess, but still. I wonder what happened to him, or if he just decided to run away,”

Gojo pretends to think about it.

“Maybe. Otherwise…guess it was God’s divine punishment,” He says, continuing to grade papers. He doesn’t even look up as he says it. You let out a puff of air through your nose in amusement .

“Yeah,” You say, “Maybe. I should thank him some time,”

Gojo hums.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,”

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #manipulation cw #writing tag #dark content cw #yandere cw #noncon cw #murder cw #yandere!gojo #stalking cw #i tried to add the most major tags #lmk if you need more #ok. gn #part two will be out whenever ame has read lol

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primofate · 2 years

Text

You faint during an argument/disagreement [Genshin Impact] (Part 1)

Summary: You’ve been feeling under the weather for the whole day, you just didn’t bother to tell him nor anyone, thinking that the headache would go away. He doesn’t notice at all due to him getting caught up with some work, or in general just having a bad day himself.

Notes and credits: Wholly inspired by minejiro.tumblr.com (They’re inactive now, according to the blog, but they wrote a Haikyuu one a while ago and I loved their rendition of it so much that I just had to bring it over to Genshin. I asked them for permission a while ago and they agreed :D)

Characters: Tartaglia, Diluc, Zhongli, gn!reader

Warnings: might have some harsh words/arguments, fainting spells, feeling unwell, panic attacks/hyperventilating maybe, not proofread, you and the genshin character live together, I seriously had trouble writing about what you might argue about with Diluc and Zhongli because these two are usually calm and collected. Not really a disagreement on Zhongli’s part, maybe just a misunderstanding. zhongli changes your clothes but its completely innocent.

Tartaglia

Could have a short-temper, depending on how his day has gone.

He adores you and thinks you’re his whole world but he does get some stressors once in a while, mainly because he works in the Fatui

Could easily overlook things when he has a lot of things on his mind

He comes home today tired and rather annoyed. Something about Dottore not taking his suggestions seriously, and Pierro never taking his side. It must be one of those Harbinger meetings again. He always seemed to be in a sour mood after one.

He hangs his coat on the hanger by the door, kicking his boots off and wanting nothing more than a hot bath, a quiet dinner and spending some rest and relaxation with you. “Y/N?” he calls through the house and you, half awake on your shared bed, stir a little, pushing yourself up with difficulty.

It feels so hot, despite the cold country you were in. “Tartaglia, welcome home. I’m just in the room,” you call out, stilling to hear his response. Tartaglia thought it was a little weird, cause you would usually come up to greet him when he arrived, but he just guessed that you were busy with something in the room.

“Alright! I’m taking a bath first, love,” he shouts. “Have you eaten?” He asks and you answer after a short pause, mostly because you found it difficult to even concentrate on keeping upright, and you wondered if you could handle preparing dinner today.

“I haven’t, I’ll get it ready when you finish,” Still, maybe you just needed to walk around a little and get some fresh air. So, as he took his time in the bathroom you struggled to make dinner, in the end you only made enough for him, seeing as you didn’t have an appetite today.

“Here you go,” You smile at him as he dries his hair, putting down the meal in front of him. If he wasn’t busy, he actually cooks a lot for you too, it just so happened that it was your turn today.

He blinks when he sees that there’s only one set of food just enough for him. He narrows his eyes, a little disappointed that you didn’t seem to be planning on eating with him. He was looking forward to spending a bit of time with you.

“You’re not eating?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, I don’t feel like it,” you simply reply and you hear him scoff a little.

“Don’t feel like it? Well, that’s okay. Are you at least going to sit and talk with me while I eat?” He looked as if he wanted to vent about something, but your head was really bothering you now.

“...Actually I was just planning on going to bed early today...” You breathe out, your eyes dart up to the ceiling, it looks to be swaying a little.

“...You know, I wonder why you’re so tired. You had a day off today,” Tartaglia’s voice borders on mocking, as if accusing you of doing nothing all day and yet going to bed earlier than him who was at work till late.

“I’m not feeling well Tartaglia, that’s all,” You quip back with a sigh and move away to get yourself a glass of water. The clink of cutlery against the plate signals to you that he started eating, but not before he mutters a resentful “Suit yourself...”

You ignore him, having no energy at all to argue and bring back the glass of water with you to the room. You left the bedroom door open, just to get a bit of air circulation, but you stop in your tracks when the walls start to turn into squiggles, your perception of reality starts to distort and you try your best to tell yourself the bed is just there, just a few steps away.

A sharp pain attacks your temples and you drop the glass, it shattering on the floor just before you yourself come toppling down on your side, blacked out.

Tartaglia freezes at the sound, he’s midway to taking a bite of the stabbed steak on his fork but he retracts it to call out to you again. “Y/N?” You’ve disappeared into the room already and he can’t see what’s going on, but the sound had alarmed him. He waits a few seconds, before he drops his cutlery and pushes his chair back to stand and check on you.

“Y/N?” He repeats, walking at a leisurely pace over to the room. His mouth falls open at the sight of shattered glass but his throat closes up at your unconscious form. “Y/N?!” He hurries next to you and cradles your upper body in his arms, patting your cheek to get some sort of response from you. “Y/N, hey,” he gently tries to coax you into waking up, but realizes that it’s not working.

Now he’s conscious of the way your face flushes pink, and now it dawns on him that you really weren’t feeling well, your forehead was burning up. He picks you up and sets you down on the bed, calling for a doctor immediately.

“Are they okay?” Tartaglia asks once the doctor was done checking up on you. The doctor shrugs. “Not to worry, it’s just a simple fever. They’ll be fine with some bed rest,” The relief that spreads through his being is unreal. For a moment he thought it was something serious, you’d never fainted before, and he was also just guilty that he didn’t spot it out sooner.

When you woke up he was still awake and sitting on a chair next to you, there’s a damp cloth on your forehead and it takes you a moment to piece together what happened. You sighed and closed your eyes again, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pass out, it was just--” and you started to feel nauseous again.

Tartaglia gave you a stern look. “Don’t apologize for that, stop thinking too much and rest,” You obeyed as he continues. “You could’ve told me earlier that you were feeling unwell,” he rants.

“I DID tell you I was feeling unwell, you were just being snappy today,” you state as a matter of factly. That makes him open his mouth then close it again, defeated by your statement.

“...I know, I’m sorry... That wasn’t...my best moment,” he admits and has a look of regret on his face. You sigh and shake your head a little, used to his tantrums from time to time. He asks you once again, now willing to make up for it and make amends. “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything? You haven’t eaten so I made some food in case you were hungry,”

And there’s the doting Tartaglia that you knew. The one that always listened to your beck and call, he’s like putty in your hands, just melts at the sight of you. “I’m alright honey, I just need some sleep. Come join me? You must be tired as well,”

He sighs again, unsatisfied with how little he has done but relents and leans forward to land a kiss on your forehead. “Alright, but wake me up if you feel worse, got it?”

Diluc

Has deep-set issues, particularly when it came to family.

You’ve always tried to repair his relationship with Kaeya but soon noticed that it probably wasn’t your business, despite Diluc respecting you a lot and putting your opinions in high regard.

He was just a little sensitive when it came to topics like that.

“It was just a suggestion ‘Luc. You don’t have to think too much about it,” Said suggestion was you wanting to spend your birthday with your beloved partner, but also the Knights of Favonius. However, you weren’t really one for eating out or fancy dinners, so you suggested that your birthday lunch could be done in the mansion, essentially suggesting that you wanted to invite them to Diluc’s house.

Maybe you imposed too much, but Diluc’s face fell the moment that suggestion came out into the open. “You say not to think too much about it but this is something that YOU want, it’s your birthday wish, how can I say no?” he counters and you can feel a petty argument coming up.

Your hand absentmindedly massages your forehead as you sit at the long table, eyes closed and focusing on the soothing sensation. “I have other birthday wishes Diluc, and I’m flexible, we don’t have to do something that you don’t want,”

“And like I said, this is the FIRST suggestion you made, which means that you must like this idea the most,” He crosses his arms over his chest, gaze lingering over you, clearly disappointed.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that, I promise we don’t have to do this. It’s selfish of me to assume that I can use your house for anything I want anyway,” You attempt to give him a small smile, but he looks to be past being nice.

“I wish you had thought about that before saying anything,” He continues, gaze stern. “Instead of spilling it out and making me feel as if I have no choice in the matter,”

“It.was.a.suggestion.” You say in between grit teeth. This wasn’t helping the intense headache you were having right now.

“Clearly you haven’t been listening at all,” Your eyes snap up to look at Diluc, he had never taken that tone towards you before. He sounded extremely displeased. “If you MADE the suggestion, then it means that it’s something that you WANT. Is this something that’s not clear to you?”

You wince at the tone he takes, somehow a part of you starts to unravel, as if you feel like you don’t know this person in front of you. “Diluc, that’s not--”

“And for someone like me, who only wants the best for you, I have to follow every wish that you desire,” there’s a sarcastic tone to his voice, like the tone he takes towards Kaeya and it somehow bruises you so well.

He starts to look as if he hates you, or was that your imagination? His mouth keeps moving, but none of the words register in your mind. You can’t grasp the fact that Diluc is angry at you. Your usually sweet and subtle Diluc is gone. It suddenly feels like the ground under you is falling apart. You stand up all of a sudden and feel your breath waver.

Diluc cuts his speech off, watching as you anchor yourself to the table with both arms. Your breathing is deep and your hands are trembling. “...Y/N?” You shake your head, unable to answer him because all you can feel is the sense of doom, as if the world was ending. Your peaceful world with Diluc shattered all because of a selfish request you made.

“Y/N,” Diluc stands when he finally realizes somethings wrong, you’re sweating and you’re breathing so heavily, as if you couldn’t catch your breath. He takes you into his arms hoping that it was some form of comfort. “Y/N, deep breaths, you’re fine, love,”

But you go limp in his arms and it takes him a huge amount of self control not to panic himself. He races up the stairs to put you on the bed, opening the windows to give you some air and asking one of the passing by maids to call a doctor.

Sure enough as Diluc describes what happened the doctor confirms that you were probably overwhelmed and panicked, in addition to running a small fever. He feels like trash after that, and almost wants to stab himself for engaging in such petty squabble with you.

When you wake up you hardly remember what happened, until you see Diluc’s concerned face looking at you and you can’t help but wince at the expression you remember on him. You almost can’t bring yourself to look at him and instinctively turn your face away.

That breaks his heart into pieces. “Y/N, I...” he sits at the edge of the bed next to you, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder. “Is it ok if you look at me, love?” He gently requests and you blink, unsure of why you were so deterred by him.

“I don’t mean to look away, it’s just...I don’t want you to hate me,” because that’s the look you remember on his face, like he despised you.

You hear his intake of breath. “Y/N I can never hate you,” he explains. “I...I apologize, I should have dropped the matter and listened to you but I was...I only wanted to have your wishes come true, but I didn’t know how to do that with your request, so I...” he paused a little, and realized that the more he talked the more it sounded stupid. He opts to change his direction. “...I won’t ask for your forgiveness but...please, let me take care of you,”

Diluc had always been sincere with his feelings towards you, and you knew that was hard for him. In some senses you understood where he was coming from, and you also played a part in the little disagreement. You sigh and your eyes easily glide towards him. “...It’s alright ‘Luc, let’s not dwell on it anymore, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow...I’m a little tired right now,”

It seems as if he breathes a sigh of relief at your nickname for him, that brought a little bit of normalcy back into the situation. “Of course,” he agrees and brushes your forehead with his hand. “You’re still running a fever, I’ll wake you up when it’s time to take your medications,”

“You’re not sleeping with me?” You ask and he takes a moment to answer.

“...Not yet, I...I’m not all that tired yet,”

In reality, as you slept peacefully on your shared bed he tenderly looks at you and drowns in his regret, unable to believe that he had pushed you over the edge and thinking over and over again that he doesn’t deserve you in his life, but he will definitely fight to be better and worthy of you.

Zhongli

Rarely gets angry and you rarely have arguments or disagreements with him because he’s always wiling to communicate or see other people’s point of view.

It doesn’t mean that he never gets displeased though, he’s just good at hiding it or concealing it with better sounding words.

Zhongli sometimes likes to make trades with the people of Liyue, mostly for valuable ore, artifacts or keepsakes. When he does this he usually has you to tag along (mostly because he can’t keep track of how much mora he has and relies on you to guide him through that part)

“Ready, darling?” Zhongli asks, his hand placing itself on the small of your back. You’re jolted to attention and you look up at him with a smile.

“Mmhmm, I have our balances and notes ready,” It was like a small hobby of yours and his, collecting treasures and valuable artifacts. It was really mostly his thing, you just loved watching him converse with others and bargain his way through, even though he wasn’t good at it. That’s what you were there for.

Today, however, you’re a little out of it because of a dull pain on the whole front part of your head. It somewhat feels as if you’d been punched in the nose, and the pain was resonating upwards to your forehead. It was a strange feeling, but you pushed through it and thought that it wasn’t a big deal.

Stepping out of your home you instantly realized that this was not going to be a good day. The sun was high in the sky and it was sweltering hot, you were already sweating 5 minutes into walking. Luckily, the man you were trading with opted to meet at a nearby teahouse so you arrived and sat down. The only unfortunate thing was that the seating was outdoors, and so you couldn’t completely escape the heat.

The man greeted the two of you, and invited you to sit. The talks started at once, with Zhongli first relaying a wonderful story about the artifact the man possessed. Frankly you were hardly listening, all you could focus on was how uncomfortable the sweat running down your neck was, for a moment you thought to excuse yourself, but that was strange since you just arrived.

You toughed it out, and tried to keep up with the conversation, opening the notebook on the table as the servers continued to pour tea.

“100,000 mora is not a bad price,” You heard Zhongli state, and that was usually your cue to follow up on your approval or disapproval, but this time, it took you longer than usual to think.

“Ah, um...” You looked at the notes in front of you, you barely wrote anything and the letters were starting to look a little blurred. “A 100,000 mora is fine indeed, but since it’s a little aged and older now, it wouldn’t be impossible to lower the price down to 80,000, right, good sir?” You forced a smile.

Zhongli has a good eye, and observes that you’re rather out of your element today, though he’s unsure what the problem was, so he continues the talk further.

Somewhere down the conversation the two of them look at you, and you blink back at them. There are questioning gazes on their faces and you realize that they had asked you a question.

“Oh...I...apologize, could you repeat that? I must have missed the question,” The man chuckles and talks, but you could only see his mouth moving and there was no sound except the ringing in your ears. The heat was getting to you.

“...Y/N...Y/N,” It was Zhongli’s voice that snaps you out of your stupor, he’s looking at you with concealed worry, but you also see a hint of disappointment there. “...Perhaps it’d be better if you went home first, I’ll put you up to speed on my and the good sir’s conversation later on,” It sounded as if he was trying to get rid of you, but he was merely worried about your lack of concentration today.

“...Yeah, alright,” You agree with a weak smile and bow towards the two of them, gathering your notes and balances when Zhongli stops you. “Leave those, I’ll handle them,” he says it rather curtly, but you nod your head and turn to leave, feeling a little useless.

You took two steps and feel the world spinning around you, bright spots appear in your eyes and it was hard to see anything at all. You force yourself to move forward, not wanting to pass out in the middle of a teahouse, but your fears came true when you trip over your feet and come tumbling down the cobbled pavement of Liyue. It was just so incredibly hot, and your head was killing you with pulses of pain and discomfort.

Zhongli rises to his feet in a hurry, striding towards you and picking you up in his arms easily, careful not to jostle you. Your eyes are shut tight, grimace on your face and it was clear that you were in pain. “Beloved, tell me what’s wrong,” there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, and people around you were staring, though you weren’t aware of it.

You whimper in response, the heat is still beating down on you and the sun’s rays were not helping. “It’s...I can’t breathe properly, it’s...It’s too hot,” you writhe in his hold, just wanting some form of breeze but it was also a windless day today.

Zhongli moves fast, he grabs the notes you left, excuses himself from the good sir and makes it home in a minute. He lays you down on the bed and grabs water and a newspaper from the living room. He lays the glass on the bedside tale and starts fanning you with the folded newspaper, watching your flushed, uncomfortable expression.

He feels disappointed only at himself for not being mindful enough of your condition, sometimes he forgets how fragile humans really are. “Drink some water, please,” he coaxes you, knowing that it would help your overheated system. He’d wanted to get you out of your current clothes as well, and have you change into looser and cooler ones.

“Y/N I’m going to help you out of your clothes and into new ones, would that be alright?” He’s been intimate with you a thousand times, so this was not something he was unfamiliar with. Only this time he was far too worried instead of feeling intimate.

When that was done, you had easily fallen asleep and he had called for a doctor, just to make sure everything was fine. Heat exhaustion was the answer that he got, and he was given a few home remedies and tips as well as medication to help regulate your temperature a little better.

He spent the whole time silently scolding himself at the fact he missed the tell tale signs. You being distracted during the whole trade was already a sign and yet he thought you were just tired. He sighed and closed his eyes as he sat on a chair next to the bed, feeling that he had really failed in taking care of you today.

“’Li?” Your voice snaps his eyes open and causes him to lean forward towards you.

“Is there something you need, darling?” he asks, the rare expression of worry etched on his face. You shake your head, already feeling better now that you were indoors.

“...Sorry we couldn’t go through with the--”

“Y/N, please don’t apologize for that,” his stern voice stops you, but his gaze softens and he takes your hand in his, cradling it as if it was porcelain. “There isn’t anything that’s more important to me than your health, do you understand?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for you to answer. “However small or slight it is, please let me know next time if you feel unwell or uncomfortable. You have to promise me this...”

You can’t help but smile at how serious he sounds, but you completely understood. “Okay, ‘Li, I promise to let you know,”

He sighs, and presses his lips onto your knuckles. “Thank you,”

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leahwllmsn · 5 months

Text

august

alessia russo x reader

Alessia has someone else and you should’ve known better.

; angst, cheating

I’m in love with Alessia Russo. It was that thought that kept on repeating in your head as Alessia’s blue eyes stared right into yours. With that thought playing on a loop in your head, your gaze dropped to her lips and you unconsciously bit your own. You saw she did the same and you almost, almost leaned forward to capture those plump lips in yours.

But this was Alessia Russo and Alessia Russo had a boyfriend and you knew it wouldn’t be right.

It took everything in you to get your back off the lockers and push her away.

You didn’t even remember how you got into that position in the first place—with Alessia inches away from you, pinning you against the lockers of the changing room.

Shaking your head, you swore that you would never let yourself get that close to Alessia again. You didn’t think you’d have the willpower to resist next time.

But nothing ever went your way and next time came a second later.

Alessia grabbed your wrist and tugged you closer. It was the closest you had ever been to each other and you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Alessia…” you whispered. You didn’t know what she wanted from you. Alessia had someone, why would she want you?

“Kiss me.” Alessia whispered back and you thought you had to be dreaming. But she repeated her words once again and you felt all the air rush out your body.

“Are you sure?”

You knew that you were crazy to even think about agreeing to the girl in front of you. But having Alessia so close after years of admiring her from afar, you were starting to feel every selfish bone in your body.

So when Alessia nodded, you didn’t waste another second before you pulled her neck and crashed your lips together.

Her hands immediately went to your hips, lifting you up and pushing you against the wall. You knew the door was unlocked and anyone could come in at any moment, but you didn’t care. Besides, it was off-season so no one was likely to be here. So you wrapped your legs around Alessia’s waist and enjoyed the soft moans coming from the blonde as you ran your hand through her hair.

It was the middle of summer. You were exploring the Arsenal training grounds—your future club once the new season starts. The staff told you that you were welcome to use the facilities before training resumed, allowing you to familiarize yourself with the place. Nobody had any more reason to be here since the season has ended, so it was a surprise when you found Alessia Russo doing some shooting practicing on the empty field.

It was another surprise to have your training kit forgotten on the floor as you spent hours worshiping every single inch of Alessia Russo’s body.

But I can see us lost in the memory

August slipped away into a moment in time

'Cause it was never mine

You’ve met Alessia a number of times, your paths always seemed to intertwine. Her playing for England as a forward and you for the Netherlands as a defender, it was inevitable, really.

You two were the same age, thus making appearances for the U15 squad at around the same time until you both made it to the senior squad, at the same time too.

But your relationship with Alessia never went further than the typical hellos and how are yous, which seemed ridiculous with the amount of times your paths crossed. You didn’t even think you two could be considered as friends.

Still though, you managed to develop a crush on her, which over the years, seemed to only magnified—a result of your longing glances from afar on and off the pitch, you watching her post-match interviews from the side like she hung the stars in the sky (plus you watching all the videos of her on Youtube—it was a bit pathetic), and how you hang on to every word your teammates said whenever they shared stories about the great Alessia Russo.

Despite all that, you didn’t try to form some sort of relationship with her. You weren’t the most confident kid on the block. You were fine with that though—admiring her from afar.

Alessia had always seemed to be a galaxy away from your reach.

You knew the incident that happened at the locker room—stupidly charming Alessia Russo looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and not the other way around, it was a nice change for once—you knew it was a one-in-a-million type of thing, and although it was wrong, you couldn't help it. It was all the pent up longing emotions.

You promised yourself that you weren’t going to let your feelings for Alessia clouded your judgment anymore. As much as you wanted it to happen again, you knew better.

Turns out, the incident at the locker room happened again a week later. (You hated how weak you were for Alessia).

You went with your parents to have dinner at their friends’ house, who turned out to be Alessia’s parents and you couldn’t help how wide your eyes went at the sight of none other than Alessia opening the front door.

Unlike last time, Alessia didn’t have her training gear on. This Alessia had a pair of skinny jeans and a white crop top that slightly showed off her abs and you felt so full of a sin for having memories of ripping Alessia’s top while she was with her parents.

“Mr and Mrs y/l/n, happy to see you again,” Alessia greeted them with a hug and a smile on her face. She turned to you and you were surprised when Alessia went to hug you too. “Happy to see you again too, y/n.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you two knew each other!” Your mom’s tone was full of surprise and you didn’t blame her one bit—you usually kept to yourself. The only people your parents were familiar with were your Netherlands teammate, Viv and Jill.

“Just recently,” Alessia answered, her eyes fixated on you. “We spent hours getting to know each other last week.” You want to wipe that damn smirk off her face. “We are going to be teammates after all.”

You cleared her throat, looking away. You definitely spent hours getting to know each other, but it most definitely wasn’t what your parents were thinking about.

“Oh yes! That’s so lovely!” Your mom laughed. “You must bring her out more often, Alessia. We keep on worrying that our schatje will be stuck with two friends for the rest of her life.”

You grimaced at your mom. “I do have friends.”

“Schatje?”

Your dad went on to explain that it was a term of endearment, mentioning how you didn’t really like it when they called you that, and how you especially didn’t like it when they called you y/n/n.

“Oh that’s a cute one,” Alessia told your dad and your scowl deepened further. You hated how Alessia’s eyes glimmered in amusement.

“It’s just a shortened version of my name,” you waved off. “It’s not that hard to say the whole thing.”

“Any other nickname of hers I should know about?” Alessia grinned at your mom.

“Didn’t you say you two spent hours with each other last week?” Your dad asked, head shaking in amusement.

You could only pray that your face wasn’t turning completely red. “It—it didn’t come up.”

Alessia only laughed and ushered them inside. When your parents were out of earshot, Alessia whispered to your ears, “Can’t wait to know which of your names will be my favourite to scream out.”

You couldn’t concentrate on the entire dinner.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine

Alessia’s face was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. She was looking at you, lying on her side with one hand under her head. Her blonde hair was messy, the sunlight seeping through the curtains made her skin glow more than usual. You thought that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

You cleared your throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Alessia said back. “Thanks for sleeping over.”

“Thanks?” you laughed.

Alessia hummed, grinning. “Yes, thanks. You are so good with your—”

“Less!” you immediately put your hand on her mouth and she laughed in response.

“I’m only joking,” Alessia took your hand and intertwined it with hers. “You’re fun to talk to.”

“We only talked for… an hour,” you noted.

“Still,” Alessia shrugged. “I really like talking to you.”

You went quiet after that. You noted how the silence was far from awkward despite you two barely knowing each other.

Alessia’s hands moved to caress your cheeks and you were starting to feel the weight of her touch. What were you doing? You had no right to be in Alessia’s bed. You knew how wrong it was.

But at the same time, it felt so right that you couldn’t help but bury yourself deeper into Alessia’s bedsheets, swallowing yourself with scents of the blonde girl.

“Why are you staring at me?” you whispered.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

You scoffed. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Alessia furrowed her brows. “You’re very beautiful, y/n.”

“There are more beautiful people.”

“Like who?” Alessia looked curious.

“You.”

You had front row seats to the way Alessia’s cheek turned a brighter red and you enjoyed how she tried to act unaffected by your words.

“Well, I am beautiful.” Alessia said, her voice teasing.

“Aaand I’m leaving.” you sat up, pretending to leave.

“No,” Alessia whined, tugging you back down. “But you’re more beautiful, is what I meant to say.”

You snuggled into her chest. You wondered how something so wrong could feel so right.

“Should we put some clothes on?”

“Why?” Alessia asked, her hand gently stroking your back.

“Because,” you stopped her hand that was trailing further and further down. “Your parents can come in at any second.”

“True.” Despite that, Alessia made no move to untangle herself from you, only hugging you tighter.

You giggled. “So can you let go of me or…?”

“This feels nice.”

“But your parents—”

“I locked the door.”

You playfully slapped her arms. “You couldn’t say that in the beginning?”

Alessia giggled and kissed the top of your head.

You closed your eyes and sighed in content. It felt really nice being in Alessia’s arms. With her this close to you, you could pretend that she was yours—even if it was just for a moment.

“Lessi?”

“Hm?”

“This does feel nice, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“What are you doing for the rest of the summer?” you asked.

“Spending time with you, if you’re free.” Alessia answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ll make myself free for you then.” That wasn’t what you should have answered. You should’ve resisted Alessia’s grip and gone home that day and erased any memories of her.

“How does every day this summer sound?”

But you decided that being with Alessia was too addicting.

“It sounds perfect.”

So you let yourself pretend a little longer.

less: come join me at the beach

y/n: it’s so hot out today

less: it’s the perfect weather

less: plus I miss you

y/n: fine

Your back

Beneath the sun

Wishing I could write my name on it

“Told you it’s the perfect weather.”

You looked to your right. Alessia was laying on her front, her back in full display and you wanted nothing more than to run her hands up and down the bare skin. But there were people around and you were sure that what they had could only happen behind closed doors.

“Yeah.” you turned your attention back to your book, but you couldn’t concentrate on what you were reading. Not when you could feel Alessia’s gaze on you.

“What book are you reading?”

“Anna Karenina.”

“Oh, I’ve read that before.”

You looked at her, amused. “You have?”

Alessia laughed. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You shrugged, a smile on your lips. “You don’t seem like the type who reads books.”

“Hey! I do!” she lifted her head up, resting her chin on the palm of her hands. “Anna had an affair right? And she ran away with her lover to Italy, or something.”

You hummed. “Like what we’re doing right now, isn’t it? Minus the running away part.”

Alessia didn’t say anything at that and you realized how they had never talked about their situation before.

“Less—”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” It was the first time that you heard her sound so timid. “I’m still with my boyfriend.”

Your heart broke at Alessia’s words. You did know from the start that she had someone else and that this wasn’t meant to be anything more than a love affair, but still, it hurt.

“I won’t,” you tried her best to smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know it’s not fair to you,” she broke your eye contact, her fingers started playing aimlessly with the sand. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay,” you replied. You focused your gaze back to your book, trying your best to not show your emotions—at least, not now, not when Alessia was in front of you. “I’ve always known you have him.”

It was far from fine. You felt horrible. You knew a million reasons why this whole thing was wrong.

But you were in love with Alessia Russo and you just wanted to be selfish for a little longer.

So when a notification popped up in Alessia’s phone and you saw a boy kissing her cheek on the lockscreen, you pretended you didn’t see it.

Will you call when you're back at school?

I remember thinkin' I had you

Meeting everyday became a frequent thing and soon enough, Alessia was everywhere.

You would walk down to your kitchen to find her already having breakfast with your parents. Or on days where you woke up earlier than usual, you would jog to Alessia’s house and jump on top of her sleeping figure (to which Alessia would always complain but you could still see the hint of a smile).

You would have sleepovers and mornings together before you two decided to play some football together, it was the one thing you two loved more than anything.

If the security guards and the few staff around started noticing how you and Alessia were always together, they never mentioned it.

Once you two are done, Alessia would drag you off the field to an unused closet and you truly hated how you were getting used to the comfort of tight places with the amount of time you spent hiding away.

“You know,” Alessia trailed a finger down your chest. “You’re the best one I ever had.”

You rolled her eyes. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

You two were on the floor, your clothes spread out haphazardly around you. You were laying on your back, Alessia on top of you. Despite the cold, hard floor, you enjoyed every second of having Alessia’s weight pressed against you.

“No, it’s true,” Alessia smiled flirtatiously. “Who knew? y/n l/n, a monster in bed.”

“You’re always so blunt,” you laughed and leaned forward to peck Alessia’s lips. “We’re not even in a bed right now.”

“Does your back hurt?”

“Just a bit.” Alessia looked worried at your answer so you quickly flashed her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay though, I’m getting used to the floor.”

Alessia shook her head and smiled amusedly at you. “Maybe I should buy an inflatable bed.”

You hummed. “And how will you explain to everyone when they see you carrying a bed to this tiny closet?”

Alessia rested her head on your chest and you instantly wrapped your arms around Alessia. “I’ll just say that it’s none of their business.”

You laughed in response and hugged Alessia tighter.

“Are you hungry?” Alessia asked.

“I’m always hungry.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Alessia’s tone was full of endearment and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. “Let me sleep for five minutes then we’ll grab some food, okay?”

Before you could reply, you could already hear Alessia’s soft snores. You let out a chuckle, your hand tracing circles on Alessia’s back as you stared at the ceiling.

You didn’t know how long this would last. You were naive to think it would be forever.

You ended up bumping into Alessia’s ex-teammate at lunch. You and Alessia were standing outside a sushi restaurant, waiting to be seated, when you saw two familiar figures walking towards you.

You tugged at your intertwined hands. “Less, isn’t that-”

“Mary and Ella.” you weren't surprised when Alessia immediately dropped your hand.

Alessia looked anxious, she was looking around and you wondered if she was going to ask you to leave.

You could see Mary and Ella recognizing Alessia as they walked closer and closer. And once they were right in front of you, Ella spoke up. “Less? Thought you were too tired to join us!”

“I am.” Alessia answered quickly. Her posture was tense and any trace of smile that she had on previously had now completely disappeared.

It was then that Alessia’s friends noticed you standing next to Alessia. They looked at you and their faces lit up in recognition. “Hi, y/n! How have you been, mate? Did you and Less come here to have lunch?”

Alessia moved away from you and you would be lying to say that it didn’t hurt.

“Oh, we didn’t come together. Must be a coincidence.” You weren't surprised at Alessia’s answer, after all no one was supposed to know about them.

Mary and Ella didn’t seem to believe Alessia, so you stepped back, moving to leave. “Yeah, no, I saw Alessia standing by herself and went to say hello.”

When Alessia didn’t say anything else, still keeping her eyes glued to the floor, you bid goodbyes to Mary and Ella, turned around and left.

less: I’m sorry

Back when we were still changin' for the better

Wanting was enough

For me, it was enough

To live for the hope of it all

Cancel plans just in case you'd call

Alessia didn’t call or text you again for a few days and you decided that you weren't going to be the first one to do so.

But despite everything, you missed Alessia.

And it was for that reason that you spent your mornings waiting by your phone in hopes that a notification from Alessia would appear.

When night time came and there was still nothing from the blonde girl, you decided that waiting was hopeless, you turned off your phone and get ready for bed. It felt like an endless cycle.

You managed to turn off all the lights and slid under the covers, yet every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was you and Alessia tangled in bedsheets.

You wondered how you could forget about Alessia when she was all you think about.

You woke up in the middle of the night, exactly four days since you last spoke with Alessia. The first thing you noticed was the sudden weight against your back. You looked down and saw an arm encircling your waist and you were surprised that Alessia managed to enter your room without waking you up (Alessia was the noisiest and clumsiest person you had ever met).

You sighed and turned around. Alessia wasn’t asleep. After hours of watching her sleep, you could tell when she was only pretending. So you leaned forward and placed your forehead against hers.

Alessia’s eyes slowly blinked open and despite it being dark, the moonlight from the window was able to illuminate Alessia’s features perfectly.

“Hi,” Alessia whispered. “Your parents let me in.”

“I thought you were never going to come,” you confessed.

“I’m late, but I’m here.” Alessia brought her hand up to your face, trailing a finger from your forehead down to your chin.

You offered a small smile. Were you pathetic for finally feeling at ease with Alessia next to you?

“About the thing with Ella and—” she started but you quickly interrupted her.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t.

You knew what Alessia did was unnecessary. You two were going to be teammates—heck, you two were friends. There was no reason to hide any friendship. But you guessed Alessia didn’t want to be associated with you at all and it hurt.

So, no, it wasn’t okay.

But you were in love with Alessia and you didn’t want to lose her. “No one can know, right?” you gave her a small smile—it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’d take having Alessia in secret than not having her at all.

So much for summer love and saying "us"

'Cause you weren't mine to lose

“My boyfriend’s back in town.”

Alessia said it so casually one night that you were caught off guard. Your hand that was gently stroking Alessia’s back stopped mid-air and you slowly sat up, leaning against the headboard and bringing the covers closer to your chest.

All at once, all the dread that you had been trying not to feel came rushing in and after a month of running around with Alessia by your side in secret, reality had finally sunk in and you couldn’t do anything but hope that after everything, you meant something to her.

You knew it was a long shot, but you hoped she would choose you.

“Right.” you replied, because what else were you supposed to say? You didn’t even know where he had gone, you never asked about him and Alessia never talked about him either.

The only thing you knew about Alessia’s boyfriend was that he had something that you so badly wanted.

Alessia fished for a t-shirt that was on the floor and put it on. (You tried to count just how many of your clothing Alessia had brought home and never returned).

The blonde sat cross-legged in front of you. “What’s with the face?”

“What face?”

She gently touched your forehead. “You’re frowning.”

“Oh,” you shook her head, giving a chuckle. “I don’t know.”

You were quiet for a while. You knew how this night would end—you hoped you were wrong though.

But when Alessia smiled and it was a smile so wistful, you knew that you were going to end up with a broken heart.

“You made my summer more bearable, you know,” Alessia admitted. “My family’s a drive away but I see them all the time and I would hang out with the few friends I have here sometimes, but with you, it was so… exhilarating. You made me feel so many things at once, I always felt like I couldn’t keep up.”

You stayed quiet. This wasn’t fair. You did know she had someone else, but after everything you had been through this August, did everything mean nothing to her?

“You’re going to end things, aren’t you?” you spoke up, your voice barely a whisper.

Alessia didn’t answer and it was the confirmation you needed.

“I know what we did was wrong,” you continued. “It will never be right and I’ll always feel guilty about it. But don’t I mean something to you, Less?”

Alessia pulled her knees to her chest, a sigh escaping her lips. “You mean everything to me.”

“Then?” your voice was desperate. “Why are you still with him?”

“It’s complicated.”

You scoffed. “What can be so complicated?”

Alessia gave a small shrug and didn’t elaborate further. So you took a deep breath and leaned forward, taking her hands in yours. “Be with me.”

“y/n… I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“But I love you.”

Alessia’s head immediately snapped up. “You can’t.”

You furrowed your brows. Who was she to tell you that you couldn't feel that way? “But I do.”

“We can’t do this anymore, y/n,” Alessia took her hands away from your grip. “Summer’s over.”

“Was that all I ever was to you? A summer fling?”

Alessia didn’t reply, instead she stood up and put her pants on, rummaging around for her bag.

“Lessi,” your voice was a plea. “You’re leaving?”

She took a deep breath and you could see how teary her eyes were. “Please don’t chase after me, y/n. We can’t do this anymore.”

Stopping at the door, she turned to you one last time and whispered an “I’m sorry”.

That was the last time Alessia stepped foot in your bedroom.

You should’ve known better.

Parking your car at the training ground, you looked around and saw how alive this place was after days of secret moments shared between you and Alessia through the barren place. Your heart stings at the memories and you couldn’t help but search for Alessia. With every move you took—stepping out of the car, opening the back door to retrieve your kit bag, locking your car—your mind always returned to her.

And when you finally spotted her, standing by the entrance as she kissed her boyfriend goodbye, their hands staying intertwined until he walked away, you heard your heart break in two.

You should’ve known better.

Your eyes met and you still hoped that Alessia would change her mind.

But Alessia looked away and you had to swallow the bitter reality that she would never be yours.

Walking to the locker room, you wondered how you could ever find someone else when the only person that you wanted was Alessia.

“y/n, hey! Welcome! How was your summer?”

You shrugged. You didn’t even know who had asked you the question, you kept your eyes on your kit bag, rummaging around for your training kit, not bothering to look sideways.

“I feel you,” the girl continued. “August was somehow the worst month.”

You scoffed, your heart breaking and breaking at all the memories. “I agree.”

It was at that moment that Alessia entered the room, hair in a ponytail, looking everywhere but you.

You wondered how quickly she was able to forget about August when you still had dreams of it every time you close your eyes.

When your first training with your new club ended, before you went home, you found a note in your locker. You hated how a piece of paper was able to make you cry, but you kept it in the pocket of your jacket, close to your heart, nonetheless.

You spent the whole ride home thinking about whether you should forget or keep your dreams of Alessia.

You decided that for now, having Alessia’s smile in your dreams was better than not seeing it at all.

I really am sorry for everything

- Lessi

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #woso #woso x reader #awfc x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso community

528 notes · View notes

hobvitr · 1 year

Note

Can we get some Pavitr prabhakar x fem reader where we play with his hair, thanks u in advance :3

pavitr prabhakar x reader

fem!reader

genre/warnings: fluff, established relationship, cuddling, unrevised writing

note: thank you for requesting this! it was so fun and cute to write!! isn't he just so dreamy? he occupied 98% of my brain. recommend song: glue song - beabadoobee

sinopses: your boyfriend is so pretty that you can't help but play with his fluffy hair and cuddle.

saturday is the best day of the week, you and pavitr have more time to spend together and hang out in each other's house. and it's exactly what you're doing now, pavitr asked you to come in and who are you to deny your boyfriend?

you were chilling, half laying on his bed while he was telling you something about him and hobie partnering up on a mission and telling the most shocking details as it was the most normal thing in anyone's life.

"...then hobie told me he was going to take care of the citizens while i was fighting the big guy! i was winning, of course but it was so intense!"

pavitr kept talking about the mission, but your mind was at a different place. the sound of his voice and laugh at times making you feel head over heels for the boy in front of you. you noticed every detail of his upper body (with special attention to his hands, because he loves gesturing while talking), discovering spots at his neck you felt the need to point out and even give a kiss, the thought of it making you blush slightly, catching your boyfriend's attention.

"...and... babe, are you listening?" he wave his hand playfully in front of your face, making you chuckle at being catch staring. "sorry, got a little distracted..." you travel with your right hand to caress a lock of his hair that was too close to his eye. "can... can you turn so i can play with your hair?"

you asked softly, eyes looking through his with a soft gaze. he nodded while smiling. "of course ma'am" he shifted slightly, until he stopped in his tracks. "actually, what about i lay against you so i can still take a look at you while you get what you want, hm?" you giggled at his idea, nodding almost instantly.

he pressed his back at your middle, getting comfortable between your legs and laid his head at your shoulder. "much better." he said sighing happily while taking a look at you from the new angle. you finally got your hands on his fluffy hair, intertwining your fingers between the strands, taking another satisfied sigh from him.

"you're too handsome for your own good" you mumble to him, eyes only leaving the view of his face to take a look at his perfect hair. you hear a laugh bursting out of him, making you smile. "i must be. you deserve someone as beautiful as you" he's now grinning at you, making you roll your eyes. "I'm being serious, you're the most pretty, cute, gorgeous, beautiful girl I've ever seen and I'm so lucky to have you." his soothing voice go straight to your racing heart and you whisper a small 'thank you'.

you two have this moment, sharing lovesick stares and smiles to each other. one of your hands leave his hair to point out the new spot you found. "you have a signal here" your finger pressed ever so softly above his skin, making him shiver under your touch. he closed his eyes briefly, only opening it when his body was now facing you. each of his hands at a side of your waist, making you take his face between your hands.

"i wanna find some of yours too" he said, clearly enjoying the situation. you giggle shyly at his initiative, but welcomed him to do what he wanted. and surely he started to kiss every little mark he found on you face and neck, even your hands, making you chuckle at every contact he made and you could feel his smile against your skin.

"that's unfair, i wanted to do that to you first!" you tried to reverse the situation but you couldn't help it. "next time you need to be faster than me" pavitr said chuckling.

#pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr x reader #pavitr prabhakar x you #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman india #fem!reader #across the spiderverse x reader #spider man across the spider verse

1K notes · View notes

billybob598 · 7 months

Text

Monster (Alessia Russo x Reader)

What's up my mammals? anyways, this was requested originally as an air ambulance reader but I decided to switch it up a bit, if that's ok. i was planning on doing the olga fic next but I really wanna do a kcc fic so I might work on both. enough of me, though. like always, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Happy reading!

Word Count: 2k (I mean...COME ON MOTHERTRUCKERS)

Warnings: Swearing, a bit of violence, emotional crisis

“Ooh, how about this one?” Alessia says from above you while pointing at a picture in the magazine you were holding.

“Mmm, no I don’t like that one,” you respond, shaking your head. Alessia pouts, begrudgingly flipping the page. The two of you were engaged to be married and were currently picking out tables for your reception. You continue to flip through the magazine pages as you lie between your fiancee’s legs. After a few more minutes of vetoing each other's choices, you both decided to take a break. You get up and start making some coffee while Alessia takes a little longer to get out of bed. Just as you’re pouring the coffee into your mugs, Alessia calls you to the bedroom,

“Y/N! Come here now!” Startled, you hastily head towards your shared room.

“Everything okay, love?” Peeking around the corner you find your girlfriend, white as a ghost, your phone a few inches away from her ear. Rushing over, you carefully remove the phone from her hand and put it beside your ear. “Who is this?”

“Lieutenant Y/L/N, good to talk to you again,” the unmistakable deep voice says through the speaker. Unknowingly, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back, chest puffing out.

“Sir,” you say, your voice miles different than the one you were just speaking to Alessia in.

“I’m going to get straight to the point, you’re being deployed. I’ll send you the details and your flight information. I’m not asking, soldier,” his tone left no room for arguing. You sigh, glancing over at Alessia who watched and listened to your conversation intently.

“Sir, with all due respect, is there no one else that you could take?” You say exasperated.

“Are you saying you don’t want to serve your country, Lieutenant?”

“No, no, not at all. But, you see I’m getting married in a few months here, sir.”

“Well, in a few months, you’ll be back. As I said, this isn’t a request.” With a sigh you nod and mutter out a “yes sir” before hanging up the phone and turning to look at the Arsenal striker.

“Less?” She doesn’t respond. She’s rooted to the spot. Her mind racing at a million miles an hour. They were going send you and hundreds of other British soldiers in there to fight a military that looked very far from surrendering. No. She couldn’t let you go like that. She was this close to finally being able to call you her wife. There was no chance in hell that she’d let you slip through her fingers like that. She’s broken out of her thoughts by your hand gently grasping hers.

“Sorry, what?” She asks, meeting your eyes for the first time since receiving the phone call.

“Are you okay, Less?” You speak softly while slowly caressing the back of her hand.

“Mhm, of course I am. Not like they’re deploying you into a country in absolute carnage or anything,” she mutters, her frustration getting the better of her.

“Baby, come on now. You know I can’t control this and it’s my job. It’s what I signed up for, it’s what you signed up for,” you reason.

“I know it’s what I signed up for, but what I didn’t sign up for is you leaving for duty with only a few months until we’re supposed to get married,” her voice stern.

“Baby, I can’t say no, I’ll get dishonourably discharged. I’ll be fine Alessia, don’t worry,” you try to reason, getting a bit frustrated. Your girlfriend nods her head sadly.

“Okay, okay. You’re right, you have to go. But, you have to call at least once a day, deal?”

A grin comes across your face as you pull her into a soft kiss, “Deal.”

A few weeks later, you’re tiredly peeling off your combat dress. Throwing the last few bits of armour onto the ground, you sigh and lie down on the bottom bunk. After a long day of bullets, bombs, and blood all you want to do is get just a few minutes of sleep before you’re put back on patrol duty. Just as your eyes begin to shut, your phone rings. The special ringtone you have set indicates who it is.

“Hey, love!” Your favourite blonde’s cheery voice exclaims through the speakers.

“Hi Lessi,” you mumble out, tiredly. She frowns.

“Everything okay, love?”

You try to muster up a convincing smile, “Yeah, yeah everything’s fine, baby. Just tired is all.” Alessia isn’t convinced by your attempts, however.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says softly.

“It’s okay, baby. How about you tell me about your day,” you sigh, obviously not wanting to talk. The striker nods and begins to talk in great detail about her day. You nod along and throw a question in every once and a while. After almost thirty minutes, you begin to yawn and your eyelids get heavier and heavier by the second.

“How about you go to sleep now, honey,” Alessia’s soft, sweet voice whispers to you.

“Mmm, okay. Don’t hang up, though,” you mumble sleepily.

“Why not?”

“I don’t wanna be alone, please,” Alessia’s heart cracks slightly at how sad and scared you sound.

“Of course, baby. I’ll be right here, you go to sleep now,” she coos. Within thirty seconds you’re out. Alessia laughs quietly and continues to get ready for training. She puts herself on mute as she goes about her day. While she was eating her breakfast with the team, she was teased relentlessly. It was fine by her though, she was just happy to see your face. And to see that you were finally resting. She knew that you weren’t exactly getting your 7-8 hours of sleep, so seeing you sleeping, if only for a bit, brought her some peace.

As Alessia and Kyra Cooney-Cross were walking through the halls, on their way to the changeroom, a sudden and loud bang could be heard from your side. Startled, Alessia looks at her phone only to find you wide awake, eyes big.

The striker unmutes herself, “Y/N, love, is everything okay?”

Your eyes widen even further when you hear her voice, “Err, yeah, everything’s good.” Alessia is not convinced at all.

Even less so when she hears a random voice yell through the night, “We’re under attack!” This springs you into action, you rush to put on your combat dress. Alessia is rooted to the spot. This couldn’t be happening, could it? Grabbing your phone, you sprint out of the barrack and towards the weaponry. Flinging the door open, you and a dozen other soldiers rush to grab rifles or pistols or anything really.

“Less, I’ve got to go…” you say loudly, over the bullets and shouts.

“Y/N? Are you okay? What’s happ-” Alessia is cut short when you hang up. Tears are already filling her eyes as Kyra pulls her into a tight hug.

“I’m sure she’s gonna be okay,” Kyra says into her ear.

Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you tuck your phone away.

“Y/L/N! Take a team. Try and see if you can get in behind them,” One of your superior officers tells you. Nodding, you pick seven other people and lead them into the darkness. Everyone was silent as you trekked through the desert. Every once and awhile someone would say something over the radio or there would a random burst of gunfire, making everyone’s head swivel. The tension was palpable. It felt that if anyone so much as breathed a hair too loudly, that you’d be discovered. In the distance you could see the tanks and soldiers going at it. The eight of you continued on, nerves only increasing the closer you got to the enemies camp. After twenty more minutes of walking, your little group was only a few hundred metres out from their first line of defence. Suddenly, there was a round of shots fired. Shit, they’d seen you. Everyone scattered as best they could. That was the downside of warfare in the desert, there was nowhere to hide.

“This way! Come on, run!” You yell into the blackness, hoping someone had heard you. Loading your rifle, you turned and fired a few shots back, giving enough time for everyone else on your team to take cover behind a sand ridge. When the final person ran past you, you turned and sprinted up the massive hill. You were almost at the top when the guy in front of you hit the ground with a grunt. Blood almost immediately leaking through the back of his shirt. “Come on, come on, man.” You grabbed his arm roughly and dragged him behind you. Reaching the peak of the ridge, you pulled the two of you down the other side.

“Ahh, fuck,” he mutters out. Quickly, you and another soldier cover up his wound.

“You’re gonna be fine, mate,” you say to him, “Keep applying pressure.” The other soldier nods and ensures that their hands are covering everything. “Alright guys, we have two options. One, we turn back, try to use this ridge as cover and try to make it back to base. Two, some of us stay here and try and snipe them. The others move in and try to take out their tanks. I saw them, they’re not very heavily guarded and I bet we could rush them and take out them out.”

Everyone looks around at each other. A few of them shrug non-chalantly. Finally, Colgate, a Second Liuetenant who had been given his nickname from the odd spelling of his last name, spoke up, “Let’s blow these motherfuckers.” Hearty laughs erupt from everyone.

Two people set up as snipers while the wounded guy also grabs his rifle to try and contribute. The restof you talk over the plan, deciding on two rushing to the left and taking out any guards covering the side and the rest go through the middle.

“Okay, everyone ready?” You ask to the group. You get nods in response, “Let’s roll out then.”

Stalking through the night, every footstep sounds painfully loud. The five of you successfully get to the tanks, two taking cover behind some storage container. The other three of you hide behind an abandoned car. Giving the go-ahead signal, everyone surges forward. Pressing down on the trigger of your gun, your arms shake from the recoil. You direct the bullets at the few guards standing around. If you weren’t able to see the bullets coming from beside you, you wouldn’t of known that anyone else was shooting. Everything seemed so distant, you could barely make out the sound of your own gun firing. As each one of the soldiers dropped, you rushed forward. Reaching into the backpack hanging off your back, you took out enough grenades to blow everything within their blast radius to bits. Placing them strategically around the tanks, you made sure everyone was ready to run before lighting the spark. Everyone started to sprint towards the snipers, who were covering you. As you began to run, you paused, looking down at the people you had just killed. A lump forms in your throat. You had killed them. You shot them with real bullets, not those Nerf darts you used against your siblings. They were dead. They were real people. Their families were going to get those letters, the same ones you swore you would never let Alessia get.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. Run!” A yell breaks you out of your thoughts. Remembering your current situation, you get going again, barely making it behind the sand ridge in time. The explosion rings through your ears, the sight of the fireball stretching upwards was spectacular. All eight of you let out a sigh of relief. You were safe, no one was going to find you, especially since they were all to preoccupied with checking on their tanks.

You sat down in the sand, putting your head in your hands. Tears slowly fall from your eyes. War had turned you into a monster. You killed without a second thought. You didn’t want to be here. The only place you wanted to be was in your Alessia’s arms. Preparing for your storybook wedding with the love of your life. Instead, here you were, in the middle of an all-out war, killing complete strangers for no apparent reason other than you were told to.

Monster.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #engwnt x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso x military reader

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joelscurls · 5 months

Text

a heart for melting

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.7k

warnings: post-outbreak, implied age gap, themes surrounding child loss and grief, some angst but mostly festive fluff, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (Joel is a grinch & reader loves the holidays), reader is described as having long-ish hair

summary: Jackson's first annual Holiday Market brings about more than just cheer.

a/n: Merry Christmas @thetriumphantpanda; I'm your pedrostories secret santa! I hope you enjoy this lil festive take on grumpy!joel x sunshine!reader — I had lots of fun writing it 🤍🎄 🥧 🪵 🦌

Joel doesn’t want to be here — surrounded by garland and ribbons and so much unadulterated joy, it’s nauseating. No, he was forced to be here.

Please, Ellie had begged, it’ll be good for you to do something other than patrol or drinking with Tommy. Plus, they’re too good to keep to yourself.

They, being wood carvings — the tiny sculptures of deer and bears and birds, tufts of hair and bunches of feathers drawn out of driftwood with the tip of his blade. It was only ever meant to be a hobby, a way to busy his hands after they’d been wrapped around the cold metal of his rifle all day. Something lighter, creative rather than destructive, an act of giving rather than taking.

But sharing them with other people? He hadn’t been interested. Maybe he’d make one for Ellie or Tommy. Wrap it up in a piece of cloth and offer it as a gift for their birthday.

Not that he thought they were any good, really.

With the announcement of Jackson’s first annual Holiday Market, though, came Ellie’s pleading. “I’ll help you,” she’d bargained. “You don’t even have to give me anything!”

“Who said I would anyway?” he’d grumbled, digging his spoon into the bottom of his bowl of stew and sifting out a chunk of meat.

Joel despises the Holiday Season. He’d welcomed its disappearance with the end of the world. Because he had no reason to celebrate, with Sarah gone. Her absence stung like salt in an open wound on any normal day. But on Christmas, memories of her hanging her favorite ornaments on the tree and sneaking one of the cookies baked for Santa burned behind his eyelids. Left him heaving through hot tears.

The holidays had no place in his world, but they certainly had a place in Jackson. The first time he and Ellie had strode through those gates, they’d been met with that damned Christmas Tree, towering over the settlement like a beacon. And he hated it, hated the way it brought about that pounding in his chest and that spinning in his head.

How could anyone find any good in such a poignant reminder of loss?

Tommy says it’s about new beginnings, finding ways to be happy again. And what’s happier ‘n Christmas? God damn Santa Clause, hot chocolate, children singin’ carols?

Still, Joel isn’t convinced — not yet.

Standing across the mess hall, at your table piled high with baked goods, you are far too cheerful. You’re humming some song with a jovial beat, absentmindedly swaying as you rearrange rows of gingerbread and muffins and scones — all of which are draped in white icing, like flocking on Christmas trees. You pause to wish a happy holiday to everyone who passes through.

Joel knows he’s seen you before, flitting in and out of the community’s kitchen, always with that signature smile scrawled across your face.

And god, you’re so bubbly, taking to everyone you meet like a bee to honey, letting them in without a care in the world. Popping from table to table, making sure they have enough to eat. That they’re doing well.

It shouldn’t surprise him that you’re so…spirited, too. You seem to find the good in everyone and everything, after all.

It infuriates him, nonetheless.

Joel groans to himself. Stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans as an elderly couple rounds on him.

He grumbles a hello to them when they approach. They offer him half-smiles in return, beginning to pick up some of the carvings laid out on the table — turning them, inspecting them.

“This one’s nice,” the man says to his wife. She hums in agreement.

“You got any tigers?” the man asks.

“Tigers?”

“Yeah — I used to love ‘em as a kid.”

“Got what’s on the table,” Joel grumbles.

“You make ‘em custom? I can offer some homemade jam in return — elderberry.”

Joel sighs in annoyance.

“Don’t make ‘em custom. Got what I got.”

The man seems defeated, nodding and walking off without another word. The woman follows closely behind.

Just as they leave, Ellie appears. She sidles up to Joel and shrugs her jacket off. Pulls a chair up next to him.

“There’s so much cool shit here!” she exclaims, too loud. A judgemental set of eyes flit her direction. She glares right back at them.

“Do you mind?” Joel huffs, jaw ticking.

“Jesus, who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“How do you even know what Cheerios are?”

“Don’t,” she admits. “I read it in a book.”

“Of course you did.”

Ellie leans back in her chair, pulling an apple out of her backpack and biting into it. She shuffles some of the carvings around on the table. “Gotta fill in these gaps, man,” she says, juice dribbling down her chin.

Joel ignores her. He sneaks a glance at you; finds that you’re already looking. Your expression is unreadable, gaze unmoving as he studies you.

Despite your upbeat disposition bothering him, he can’t deny that you’re gorgeous: bright, beckoning eyes, siren-like smile — it’s like you’re peering into his soul.

He didn’t think he still had one of those.

“Dude.” Ellie nudges him. He peels his eyes from you reluctantly. “I asked how many takers you’ve had.”

“Uh.” He pretends to think.

“You have no fucking idea, do you? Too busy staring at that girl.”

“Wasn’t starin’,” he clips defensively.

“No? Well she’s coming over here, man.”

Sure enough, you’re striding right toward him, abandoning your post. Joel barely has time to prepare for impact.

He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his hands out of his pockets. He brushes them on his jeans just as you stop in front of his table.

“Hi there,” you say.

“Hi!” Ellie chimes.

You pick up a carving of a two-headed deer. His favorite.

“This is beautiful,” you coo. “The craftsmanship is lovely.” You’re running a finger along the grooves in the wood, holding the piece delicately in the palm of your hand — as if it’s made of glass, not wood. “You have a real gift…”

“Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeat. He ignores how sweet his name sounds coming out of your mouth. You tell him your name, and it fits you, he thinks. It’s pretty.

“How long have you been making them?”

“Just since I got to Jackson. ‘ts somethin’ to pass the time.”

You nod. Continue scanning over the intricacies of the deer. “I was never much of a baker before I got here, either,” you joke, gesturing back toward your table.

“Good one,” Ellie laughs. “You’re funny — isn’t she funny, Joel?”

In his head, he’s glowering at her. Outwardly, he feigns amusement.

“Real funny.”

“I’d love to see how you make these sometime,” you say, then, placing the deer back on the table gingerly. “Do you have a workshop?”

“In our shed,” Ellie pipes in before he can say anything. “You should come by tomorrow! Joel’s off patrol.”

He shoots her daggers. She pretends not to notice.

“I’d love that! I have to work in the kitchen, though. I could come by after?”

Joel starts to shake his head no. Ellie’s hand wraps around his arm like a vice grip. He stills.

“Sure,” he grits.

“I can bring some pastries, if you’d like.”

“Don’t like sweets.”

“Oh,” you say, a little thwarted, but you’re undeterred. You shift on your feet. Chew your bottom lip. “Well, how about something not sweet, then?”

Your brows lift, narrowed eyes on him as you await a response. Joel still isn’t thrilled about the prospect of a visitor. Really, he doesn’t like anyone on his property that isn’t Ellie, or Tommy and Maria if he’s invited them. But you don’t seem so bad, offering to bring him food.

He can probably deal with your sunny disposition in exchange for a full belly. Lord knows he went too long without that luxury, and he’d be a fool to deny himself of it ever again.

So, he agrees, the garbled sure less than enthusiastic leaving his mouth. Still, you don’t seem too offended. In fact, you smirk at him, wordlessly sauntering back to your table, sneaking glances at him every so often for the remainder of the afternoon.

Sure enough, the next evening, while Joel is whittling in the shed, you show up.

You’re wielding a basket of savory hand pies, as promised, and Joel has to stop himself from drooling. They smell incredible. And they’re still warm, somehow, steam wafting off of them even after your walk here.

“Come in,” he gruffs, his nose following the scent like a dog’s as he trails behind you inside.

His set up is minimal: a rocking chair next to a bench, a couple stools he made for when Tommy comes by to play poker. But his works are scattered throughout, every surface in the small room cluttered with little carvings.

He settles atop one of the stools as you begin to wander around the room, plucking sculptures off shelves and awing at them with such genuine admiration, it causes something to pull in his chest.

Every so often, you make a remark about the details in a piece, how the fur on the deer looks real, how you can practically smell the replica evergreen in your grasp.

And something shifts — carried by your kind words through the stuffy shed.

Taken by the slight lilt in your voice when you speak to him, the almost-shy smile that pulls at the corners of your lips — Joel is attracted to you.

He’s following the line of your neck down to your collarbone, ogling at the exposed skin there when you pick another carving up off the shelf. And he feels guilty — he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. You’re just being nice, being neighborly, and he’s gawking at you like you’d have any interest in him.

No; you’re young, beautiful, could do a lot better than an old grump like him.

He averts his gaze quickly when you suddenly set down the tiny, carved bird that had been in your palm, round the workbench and perch yourself atop the stool next to his. You retrieve a handpie out of the basket and pass it over to him.

“It has braised rabbit and carmelized onions in it,” you explain, taking a bite and letting the steam roll out.

He follows suit and — it tastes just as good as it smells, if not better. He’s salivating again, letting the dough melt in his mouth before swallowing.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, getting through the entire basket in mere minutes.

When you’re finished, you ask him where he’s from.

The question shouldn’t feel like such a shock to the system. But after a year of being in Jackson, successfully avoiding conversation about his life before the outbreak, it sets off a panging between his eyes, a dull ache in his viscera.

“Texas,” he tells you plainly. “From Austin, originally.”

You nod. And you must be able to tell that he’s not used to talking about himself — by the tick of his jaw or the lack of eye contact — he’s not sure. Because you don’t pry. Instead, you say, “you can ask me something.”

He nods. Thinks on it for a moment.

“When did you arrive here? To Jackson?”

Unlike him, you do not grimace at the intrusion. Instead, you tell him: about your parents, their untimely deaths, the harrowing road that led you here. You do not cry, but Joel can see the pain in your shiny eyes.

It’s inevitable; there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t been dealt a bad hand. But you wear your past like a badge of honor, like you’re still grateful, after it all, to be alive.

Joel envies your tenacity.

So when you ask him about Ellie, if she is his daughter, he lets the walls around him down — just an inch. He doesn’t get upset when he stumbles over his words while telling you about Sarah. He finds comfort in confiding in you, in the way you so attentively listen, quietly nodding along as he recalls his version of the end of the world.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done, burying his hands back in his pockets.

“For what?”

“For sharing that with me. I know it can be difficult to relive it.”

“I relive it everyday,” he admits. “Everything reminds me of her in one way or another.”

“I understand,” you nod. He believes you do.

So sweet, gaze like honey, you are an enigma to him. He hasn’t met many people who are kind just for the sake of it — not in a long while. Maybe that’s why he’d been so bothered by it at the market. It had felt almost unnatural to him, bound to be laced with an ulterior motive.

He’s still learning how to trust people again. It doesn’t come easily after twenty-odd years of rationing it like the pills he’d stowed. Still, there is something innate about baring his soul to you. Letting you in through the cracks in his battered being. You are safe, he’s sure of it; benevolence radiating from you like warmth.

It drips off your tongue when you ask him to show you how he does his craft — slips down your fluttering lashes. No longer can he deny you of anything — he’s accepted this swiftly — and so he obliges.

A half-whittled fox materializes from his coat pocket, along with his blade. He passes both to you and pulls his stool closer to yours.

He guides you, taking your hand in his, encouraging the press of the blade into the wood. Shows you how to round out a corner with a subtle twist of the knife. You’re a fast learner, Joel notes, attentive, taking every instruction like gospel.

The slow drag of steel, your fingers wrapped tightly around the handle; you’re so focused that you jump slightly when he places a reassuring hand on your knee.

“Doin’ great, darlin’,” he says, and your lips pull around pearlescent teeth. Joel feels as enraptured by you as you do the carving — the loose tendrils of hair that drape over your shoulder, the clinging of cotton to your soft curves. Though he hardened into stone a long time ago, he feels smelted in your presence. So he cannot help it when his fingers begin to drift up your leg, settling at your side as he turns his body toward yours.

The blade stalls, tip still stuck into the wood, puncturing the fox’s non-existent spine, and your face lifts.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. You nod, gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

You’re so close like this; Joel can smell the floral perfume dappled along your neck, can feel your warm breath fanning his face. He has half a mind to stop himself from sealing the sliver of distance left between you. But then you’re sighing, placing the blade and the wooden fox on the tabletop. And it’s your turn to guide him — winding your delicate fingers around his wrist and settling his hand at the small of your back.

The air in the tiny workshop grows heavy with unspoken desire, a longing to disrupt; to create. Your body forms to his languidly, arms interlocking behind his neck, fingers weaving in his hair to pull him closer to you. And then your lips press to his — hesitant at first, then not. You drink from each other until you are drunk, breathless and giddy when you separate.

“That was nice,” you whisper, and Joel chuckles.

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you amend. “It was great. Better than I imagined, even.”

“You imagined this?”

“Yes,” you smirk. “On a loop since I first saw you at the market.”

He pulls you back in. Gives you another chaste kiss. “For good measure.”

“Joel,” you say then, “will you and Ellie come by mine on Christmas? I could even cook — it’s just-”

“Yes,” he’s accepting before you can finish. “I’d love that. As long as you make more of those,” he gestures toward the empty basket on the workbench.

“That can be arranged,” you grin.

As soon as you leave that evening — sent off with a goodbye muttered between slotted mouths — Joel starts on your Christmas present.

end notes: thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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cypherthesuccubus · 2 months

Text

You can call us both….Daddy~

Alastor x Reader x Luci -Part 1- (NSFW) (MDNI)!!!!!!

WARNINGS: smut, threesome, daddy kink, praise kink, body worship, cock worship, Gentle Dom Luci, Dom Alastor, mate marking, blood kink, slight bondage, S&M, tentacle play, anal, DP, she/ her pronouns, vaginal sex, creampie, facial, slight RadioApple action

Other tags: fluff, angst

Reader will always receive aftercare!!! ✨

Winner by popular vote!!!! Here’s Part 1 of your spicy endeavors with the radio demon and the big boss of hell himself~ I hope you sinners enjoy ~😈✨

(Y/N’s P.O.V)

My eyes open slowly as the Hell’s sun’s rays hit my face through the window pain of my glass doors; leading to my recently built balcony. I sit up to stretch my arms out while letting out a big yawn. Slowly pulling back the covers, I trudge out of bed as I make my way to the bathroom to start my morning routine. I soon then step out the foggy bathroom; already dressed for the day as I finish drying my hair. I make my way my vanity; sitting down as I go through my self care products. As I’m putting on lotion on my arms and legs, I hear some knocking coming from my sliding glass door. I look confused as to who that could be, but then remember the only person who greets me from my balcony was none other than the king himself. He waved at me as he presses his cheek against the glass “You gonna let me in (Y/N)?” I giggle at him as I make my way to the door; sliding it open as he proceeds to step inside. It’s funny how Luci and me got to be really good friends now. The first time we met was just like any other day; going through the motions and joining the group activities on time. It had been 3 months since being a part of the hotel on that day actually. It was that morning Charlie made this announcement saying that her dad was on the way here to see how things were going. It was nerve racking to say the least as I’ve never been in front of the King himself. But when introductions were made and small talk turned into joining the group activity we had planned that day. All the way up to him and me literally having a sleepover in my room; sitting at my vanity together while talking and sharing each other’s products we use. He made me laugh hysterically when I saw him put hair curlers on and he quotes “Whaaat~? They help give my hair its iconic style. Gotta look pretty for the public.” I was rolling when he placed his chin on top of his hands as he interlocked his fingers; batting his eyelashes for effect.

Ever since we would always hang out, thus making him come by the hotel more often. He really is good company. His goofball energy always knew how to cheer me up. We would talk about everything, including some secrets no one else knew. But lately, there’s been a secret that I can’t really bring up around him. I’ve kind of started developing feelings for him, which has became really conflicting. Before we met officially, I would hang around Alastor from time to time when I first became a part of the hotel. He was charismatic and polite when welcoming me to the hotel. We would occasionally sit on his balcony; having a cup of tea as we chatted about how our days went. We even had some very interesting and intellectual discussions on similar interests we shared. He went as far as showing me around his radio tower, which he never does to just anyone. It was even more of a privilege when he invited me to do a podcast with him. He told me that he enjoyed our conversations so much that he wanted to put it on the air. It was a lot of fun doing it too. After our podcast, there was surprisingly a lot of positive feedback. It seemed people really loved our views on things and wanted more. Soon through those 3 months, once a week, we had a podcast together and he called it “Radio Tea Time.” I thought it was clever since we started having these talks over a cup of tea.

Now here’s where the confliction of my developing feelings for Luci comes to play here. Since I’ve been doing these podcasts with Alastor, then just enjoyed in each others company after the show; I’ve also developed feelings for him too. Honestly, I don’t think I’m gonna get anywhere with Alastor to be fair. He never was interested in those sort of things to begin with. My best bet would be to pursue Luci all the way, but this part of me doesn’t want to forget my feelings for Alastor either. “Hey (Y/N), are you doing ok?” Luci snaps me out of my thoughts as I give him a reassuring smile. “Oh yes Luci I’m alright. I was just thinking about what I was gonna do after breakfast today.” He pauses for a moment to think of something. His face then lights up as he has a brilliant idea. “I got it! How about I take you and everyone in the hotel to Lu Lu World!” I look at him baffled by the tremendous offer. Seriously?! Lu Lu World?!?! I’ve never been there before and always wanted to go, but could never afford it. “For real?!?! You would take us to Lu Lu World?!?!” He grins sheepishly at me “Of course dear! I know the owner personally~” I laughed as I lightly punch him in the shoulder “Oh stop it you goofball.” He laughs as he then places his hand on the small of my back; directing me towards my bedroom door “Come on, let’s go tell the others on today’s change of plans.”

(Luci’s P.O.V)

I was pretty excited to show (Y/N) around Lu Lu World, since it her first time being here. Of course I was excited to spend more time with my daughter and all her friends at the park too. But to be honest, I really wanted to see (Y/N’s) eyes light up by all the amazing sights she was gonna see. As soon as we arrived at the entrance, she squealed in excitement like a kid in a candy store. Everyone and I had to chase her down cause she was so excited to ride some rides already. The first ride she wanted to ride first was the roller coaster call “The Second Death.” This ride is very popular to visitors so the line was super long, but luckily I’m the king so everyone and me can cut the line through VIP. The ride never disappoints with all its twists and turns. The ride will always leave your stomach doing loops, thus why so many sinners get sick afterwards. After the coaster, we then proceeded to the mini games that’s spread through out the park. I think (Y/N) enjoyed playing the games more than the rides. I even played a game with her cause she wanted the grand prize, which was a big stuffed yellow duck that wore a cute red bow tie. Of course me being the king I easily won it for her. “We have a winner!!! Here you go sir!!!” I take the duck from the imp behind the counter and hand it to her “For you, sweetheart.” She went all giddy and pulled me in for a tight hug “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!!”

She then lets me go and heads towards the group; showing them what she has. A smile takes over my face as I watch how happy (Y/N) was right now. Seeing her smile is all the serotonin I need to keep going through this eternal life in hell. Since her and I have be really good friends since first meeting her; she’s always brought this glowing aura everywhere she went. She was always helping my daughter around the hotel whenever she can. Even when Charlie insisted that she could do it herself, (Y/N) always persuaded her otherwise to say yes to her help. Sometimes (Y/N’s) kindness would shine just as brightly as Charlie’s. They really were the definition of being the best of friends. “That was really nice of you dad!” I jump and turn to see Charlie standing behind me. “Ah Charlie! I didn’t see you there sweetie.” I straighten my coat and hat while dusting off my sleeves “I’m really glad that you found a friend in (Y/N) just like I do!” She smiles as she gives me a hug as well. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine sweetie.” She lets go as she leads me back to the group as we continue onto the next ride. Sometimes I wish I was more honest with myself, especially with my daughter. I honestly don’t know how much longer I can keep this secret of mine.

In long story short, the longer I spent time with (Y/N)….the more I started to like her…..like….really like her. What do they call it these days? A crush? Yeah that sounds about right. But we have such a good thing going already; I really don’t want to mess anything up. Ever since Lilith and I separated, I’ve been scared to move on like this; thinking maybe she would come back. But since meeting (Y/N); helping me through some tough times and encouraging me to take care of myself; things have changed tremendously and I’m so afraid to take the next step. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if this ruins our friendship if I decide to make a move? I don’t know what to do anymore!!!!

(Alastor’s P.O.V)

I honestly never intended to come to this wretched place they have the nerve to call an “Amusement Park” There’s nothing really amusing about it. Just simple lack luster thrills all for a ridiculous price. The only reason why I’m even here is because (Y/N) expressed interest on coming here. It’s fascinating really. We have so many common interests that we have expressed over our podcast; and yet here she is getting excited over something as simple as a theme park. Now that I find amusing. Her excitement is the only reason I’m still here; walking around this place along with a buffoon that calls himself a king. Watching (Y/N) run around; getting easily excited by one thing after another would be more entertaining; If Lucifer wasn’t following her around like a lost puppy. I will never understand how she can be “friends” with him out of all beings of hell. Husker I can understand. Angel is pushing it, but is fine. Even Charlie I can definitely understand, due to how much alike they are naturally. But Lucifer? He doesn’t honestly offer anything except the title, which doesn’t mean shit to begin with. I don’t know why this bothers me so much. These things usually don’t have me even taking a second glance at; let alone look its way. For some unholy reason, I seethe at the sight of Lucifer getting too close to (Y/N).

What is my deal?! I never waste my time on petty thoughts like this!! Why should I care?! Why do I care?!? This is not becoming of me!!! I need to focus on something else other than this. Just pretend that he’s not there. Focus more on (Y/N) and how entertaining she is. I soon then watch her grab the grand prize from Lucifer as she hugged him tightly for it. I grip my staff; almost bending it out of shape as I see Lucifer watch her walk away after the hug; him smiling as he looks at her….differently than usual. What is that look? What does it mean? WHY DO I STILL EVEN CARE?!?! I had a bad feeling this would be a bad idea to come. But something wanted me to, thus pushing all rational thoughts out of the question. That reason other than (Y/N) being amusing; I don’t know what else this feeling is. When I see (Y/N) being….close to Lucifer; I instantly want to kick his teeth in.

Why am I getting so possessive over (Y/N)?! I would never do anything like this for anyone!!! Yet here we are!!! I need to figure out things before I drive myself even more insane than I already am. Soon enough I will get answers to this conundrum, but right now I need to focus on how to keep my demeanor afloat while I’m still here.

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kelcemenow · 7 months

Text

Pleased To Meet You.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1288

Warnings Literally nothing! This is super soft and fluffy.

Thank you to the Anon who sent this in! It's super cute and fluffy and just what I needed for a break from all of the smut! But don't worry, the smut will be back soon enough! "would you write a fic where kelce introduces reader to his parents & family 👀👀"

"I'm so nervous." You whimpered, shaking your hands in front of you in an attempt to dry your moist palms.

Travis rested his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in closer, "Baby, it's just coffee. Relax."

"It's coffee with your Mom! I know how important your family is to you, I just want her to like me."

"And they will." He pressed a warming kiss into your temple.

Your eyebrows clenched together, "Wait, what do you mean by 'they'?"

Travis took hold of your hand and walked a little faster, heading towards the coffee shop door, "Nothing, come on. Mom'll be here in a minute."

The heated air of the coffee shop washed over you and your hands instantly clammed up again. You wiped your palms against your sweater, silently scolding yourself for wearing something so warm. Looking around, you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself. The room was bright and welcoming, with soft leather sofas scattered around and old and black and white movie stills adorning the walls.

"What do you want, sweetie?" Travis asked over his shoulder to you.

"A vanilla latte...and an espresso."

He narrowed his eyes.

"What? I need the energy!" You shrugged.

Travis beamed a smile and you turned on your heels, noticing a cosy area in the corner of the room surrounded by hanging plants and warm lighting. As you walked towards it, you passed various groups of people; a smartly dressed man typing on his laptop, a trio of girls sipping iced coffees and giggling, an older couple sharing a blueberry muffin. You reached the corner, your fingers dancing across the top of the deep orange armchair when Travis appeared with your two coffees and a large cinnamon roll.

"Aww thank you baby! My favourite!" You cooed as you took hold of the plate.

Travis rocked back on his heel awkwardly, "Yeah, I got it so you would remember what a great guy I am."

"What does that mean?" You questioned.

Just then, the bell above the door rang and you glanced over to the entrance to see Donna, Travis' Mom walking over to you, a wide smile on her face. You stood up, smoothing down your skirt and running a hand through your hair.

"Hello hello hello!" Donna sang out.

"Hey Momma!" Travis called, walking towards her with his arms out-stretched.

Donna waved him away, her focus solely on you, "You can wait! I wanna meet this beauty first!" She grabbed onto your hands and looked you up and down, "Travvy, how did you get a girl like this?"

You giggled, "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Kelce."

Donna's eyes widened, "And polite too! Honestly sweetie, Donna is absolutely fine, but I appreciate it."

She pulled you in for a tight hug and you instantly relaxed.

"Uh...hello?"

Donna smiled as she turned around, "Oh stop your whining, how many times have you brought a girl home?" She laughed and buried her face in his chest, his large arms wrapped around her.

You loved seeing this side of Travis. He had made it clear that his family were incredibly important to him, and that he loved his Mom more than anything in the world. But to see him interact with her was special.

"Can I get you a coffee?" Travis said, still holding his Mom close.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask! Just a cappuccino for me please." She let go of her 6 foot 5 inched son and stepped towards you, sitting down on the sofa.

You followed and sat next to her, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils and calming you further. She grabbed at your hands, smiling warmly.

"It really is so good to meet you, Travis has told me a lot about you."

You blushed slightly, "He's told me so much about you too, I feel like I know you already!"

"He's a good boy." She looked over to the coffee counter where Travis was waiting, "When he moved to Missouri a couple of years ago I was worried, of course, as any Mom would be. But he seems to have settled well. And now he's a got a good woman to keep him right."

You winked, "I'll try my best!"

"So, how long have you been dating?"

"It's a been a couple of months, so still really early days but it's going really well. He's a good guy."

Donna squeezed her shoulders upwards in elation, "I am so happy for the both of you!"

Your cheeks flushed again, Donna's warmth radiating to you. You looked up and watched as Travis waited patiently in the queue, occasionally glancing over to you and smiling so broad that his eyes disappeared into slits. You felt a strong flutter in the pit of your stomach, but this time it wasn't nerves, it was sheer happiness.

You chatted more with Donna, talking about your work, your family and your relationship so far when Travis finally arrived back with the cappuccino. His cell phone beeped in his pocket and when he checked it, his face subtly lit up. You narrowed your eyes, watching as he looked back towards the door.

"Is everything okay?" You asked.

Travis smiled and picked up his mug, "Sure." He glanced back at the door before turning to look at Donna, a sly grin forming on both of their lips.

"Okay, what's going on?"

Before either of them had chance to answer, the coffee shop door swung open and a large, bearded man walked in with a dark blonde haired woman in tow. His eyes were fully focused on Travis and they were heading straight for you. You shifted in your seat as another man followed, he was older and had white hair on his head and chin. Donna squeezed your hands whilst Travis gave you a guilty look.

"Heyyyyyy!" The first man shouted, grabbing Travis and slapping his back.

"Y/N, this is my brother Jason, his girlfriend Kylie and my Dad Ed."

You swallowed hard, your eyebrows raised, "Wow, I wasn't expecting to meet everyone at once!"

Travis laughed, "Hence the cinnamon roll. You're not mad are you?"

"No no!" You smiled, "This is awesome! It's so nice to meet you all." You quickly rose to your feet and greeted each of them with a warm embrace.

"Well, we thought whilst everyone was in town." Ed said as he pulled you closer.

Kylie moved around the table to sit with you and Donna, "Don't worry Y/N, I got the ambush too when me and Jason started dating. It's nice not to be the new girl anymore!"

You laughed, "Well, you're welcome! How long have you two been together?"

Kylie rested back on the sofa, "Around 6 months, so it's still fresh."

"You two can hold each others hands through the madness of dating a Kelce!" Donna quipped.

Jason's mouth dropped open in mock offense, "I heard that, Mom."

"I hope Travis is treating you well, Y/N." Ed smiled, "Speaking of which, how did Travis get a lovely girl like you to go out with him?"

"Damn...why does everyone keep saying that?" Travis asked, his hands in the air.

Donna sipped her coffee, struggling to keep herself from laughing. You pouted your lips to Travis, giggling under your breath. Jason covered his in an attempt to muffle his loud howl.

"It's a little cramped here with all of us now." Donna finished the rest of her coffee before standing up, "How about a big family barbeque at Mom's?"

"I heard that!" Ed shouted, slapping his stomach.

Travis looked over the table at you, his head titled and his eyebrows raised, "How about it?"

The familiar stomach flutter came back, stronger this time, "I would love to."

______________________________________________________________

I did this one a little different and set it somewhere around 2015, when Jason and Kylie first started dating, and Travis wasn't the big superstar that he is now. This was very cute to write as they seem like such an amazing family so I didn't struggle at all! To be on my Taglist, just let me know!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219 @vanwritesfan-fiction

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #nfl fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #nfl smut #nfl angst #nfl fic #kelcemenow requests

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voidvannie · 24 days

Text

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐓𝐒

☄. *. ⋆ 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 !

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ｡｡｡ kaelyn takes part in a game of spill your guts alongside james corden and niall horan when she admits to liking hockey more than football.

ੈ✩ ━ ❪ feel free to send an any request of things you want to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts about what your read! i would love that! ❫

"Welcome back, everybody!" James greets the audiance as he sat at the table with Kaelyn, Niall Horan and Ewan McGregor, "Let's take a look at the food that we have. We have salmon smoothie, beef tongue, bird saliva, herring rollmop, scorpion, fish head, hot sauce and finally, bull penis."

"Can I call my brother to come pick me up?" Kaelyn scrunches her nose up at the foods placed in front of her.

Everyone laughs, including the audiance.

"Do you always get your brother to pick you up from nasty things?" Niall laughs at the blonde to the right of him.

"Yes."

"So here's how it works, Ewan and I will be asking questions to Kaelyn and Niall, and vise versa." James explained how the game works. "Now, if someone on your team chooses not to answer their question, you both will have to eat the disgusting food. Have we got it?"

"Yes."

"Legally, and with the remind of my brother, I am required to tell you that I have a sever peanut allergy and I do not have my Epipen on me." Kaelyn informs everyone at the table.

"We made sure before we asked you on." James smirked at the blonde.

"I figured as much." She sighed.

"Niall, you're up first." James calls out the Irish man, "Niall, I am going to give you."

"Please don't do that. My acid reflex will freak out." Niall points to the hot sauce as James spins the trey around.

"Please, anything but the scorpion." Kaelyn whines, brushing her hair out of her face.

"The salmon smoothie.” The chunky pink drink stops in front of the two. “Here is your question. So if you answer the question you don’t have to eat. If you don’t answer the question, you both have to have a big glug of the salmon smoothie.”

“I don’t know what I’m more nervous about, the question or the smoothie.” Niall laughs.

James looks down at the flash card in his hands, “Well, I’ve just seen the question, I think it might be the question. Niall, who is your least favorite member of One Direction?”

“My Directioner heart can’t take it!” Kaelyn dramatically slaps a hand over her heart with a pout on her lips.

The audience screams out at the question while Niall gives off a nervous laugh.

Niall picks the drink off of the table, pushing it towards Kaelyn before sitting it back down as she reaches for it.

“Shit.” Niall laughs, “Um—,”

“As much as I hate this, I think you should drink.” Kaelyn reaches a hand out to touch Niall on the arm, “I am not your publicist. But I don’t know that you should.”

“Don’t think of your teammate, think of your life.” James tells the Irish singer.

“I think I might and just take the daily mail hit tomorrow, and throw out a crap answer.” Niall laughs, “I’m trying to help out Kaelyn.”

“I’ll drink it.” Kaelyn cringed at the thought of the thick substance as she used the green cloth to put around his neck.

“Are you gonna go salmon!”

“Yeah, for future life, yeah, I think I’ll go with this. Sorry, Kaelyn.” Niall picks up two glasses, handing one to the blonde next to him.

“Down the hatch!”

Kaelyn brings the cup up, tipping it but the drink is so thick that it doesn’t even move.

“Hang on, there you go.” James passed Niall a fork as Kaelyn grabs the one from next to her and dips it into the cup.

“No!” Kaelyn can’t help but to gag as she moves to spilt it out, reaching for the glass of water. “Oh, my gos! That’s just nasty!”

“It’s not so much of the taste, it’s the texture, it’s like having a salmon yogurt.” Niall explained the best he can.

“Right, so now is Kaelyn, you will ask your question to me.” James gestures to the singer. “Which would you like me and Ewan to have?”

“Hmm.” A smirk sets on her face as she looked at the question.

“Oh no. I don’t like the look on your face.” James laughs.

“I’m gonna give you guys the scorpion.” Kaelyn turned the table, the same smirk on her face, “James, name one artist you have turned down carpool karaoke.”

“How long have you got?” Niall laughs.

James picks the Scorpio up, “Cheers mate. Ewan, you question to Kaelyn.”

“I think I’m going for the tongue.”

“Fuck my life.”

The crowd and men at the table burst out laughing at the girl.

“Kaelyn, your brother is Joe Burrow, the quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, who is your actual favorite football team?”

The crowed ‘oohs’ as the blonde bows her head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“Aren’t you on a plane to Cincinnati when you leave here?” Niall questioned.

“Yes.” She groaned before looking up, her face twisted if false confusion, “Truthfully, I watch football a lot less than other sports. I love supporting Joe, but my heart is, and will always be, a die hard hockey fan.”

“Hockey?”

“Yes, and not just any hockey team, the New Jersey Devils.” Kaelyn says before looking straight at the camera, “Jack Hughes, if you are watching this, slide into my DM’s. I promise, I’ll reply.” She winks.

“Shoot your shot, girl!” Everyone laughs as someone from the audience yells it out.

“I am!”

James laughed, clapping his hands. “Unfortunately, that is all we have time for today! Kaelyn, I want a thank you at your wedding in a couple of years whenever you married this hockey player you’re obsessed with! Jack Hughes, DM her please!”

#🏹kaelynburrow #jack hughes x burrow!sister #jack hughes x reader #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #hockey x reader #hockey imagine

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i-write-things · 4 months

Text

Cuddle Spider

(Yan! Chrollo x Willing! Reader)

It is in human nature to seek warmth. Achieving homeostasis is a characteristic of all living things. When we are cold, we seek warmth, be it physically or emotionally.

Imagine being freezing outside, and right next to you is a fire. But you are not allowed to cuddle up to said fire. You can only admire. A mysterious force is holding you back from gratifying yourself with such a comfort.

That is you right now. You are the one freezing. The cold is a combination of it being winter, and the AC running too much for your liking. Even as you sit on the edge of the bed you feel no warmth. The fire is the very man sitting across from you in a chair, reading and unbothered by the temperatures. And the mysterious force is your conscious.

A part of you wants to cuddle up to him. You're well aware he would be willing to do so. He's not doing a hefty task currently. Even if he only wanted to continue reading, who could hold you and read. His heat would be certainly welcome. Not to mention, the feeling of safety that comes with being wrapped up in his arms.

However, you feel- no, you know this is wrong. This man, though charismatic, intelligent, and thoughtful in his own unique way, is a monster. He took you. Without your consent, he scooped you up and away. And while you no longer have to worry about taxes, morons for customers and coworkers, and feeling touch starved, it doesn't change the fact he is not a good person. He steals things that are considered to be national treasures for the sake of, not even riches nor status, but rather for the thrill of the swiping. And also for a second reason you couldn't quite decipher, though you have your interpretations as to what he meant.

Still. That wasn't even the worst of it. As you look at him now- his raven colored hair hanging over his forehead, covering up that mysterious tattoo and just barely dangling over his eyes. Enigmatic, deep stone colored eyes that carefully scan over the contents of the page that tells a tale of who knows what.- he acts so calm. He is calm, really. But how? After all he's done, the stealing of precious valuables, stealing of people, the mass murderings...You just can't seem to wrap around your head how he can sit here, so relaxed and at ease, all whilst knowing the atrocities he's committed.

And yet, despite this, you still feel that compelling urge to crawl into his lap. To get him to lay down on the bed you now share, and lay down on his chest, his muscular arms creating a safe haven for you. Is it real love you experience, or is it the succumbing to Stockholm Syndrome? The latter being the most likely choice in this scenario. You've been kept here for what you estimate to be about 9 or 10 months. Truthfully, you have no real idea, but this is simply your best guess, judging by the weather and seasons. Though, it feels more like a year or 2 than anything.

Stockholm Syndrome was doing funny things to you. It made you crave the touch of a man you should despise with all your might. You continue to stare and think deeper and deeper about this. Truly, you where the beauty and he was the beast. Although he was an alternate, more backwards version. He started off as the handsome prince, then revealed himself to be a beast.

You and Chrollo. Beauty and the best. You chuckle at the thought. A grave mistake to make while staring at the chap. His observant eyes picked up to you, and a small, amused smirk sneaks onto his face as well.

"What's so funny?" He asked charmingly, as if you had just giggled at a joke he made.

"I-Its...nothin'. Just um...just a dumb thought I had."

"Care to share?"

"As I said, it's pretty dumb. it wasn't even all that funny, really."

"Then what's holding you back from telling me. You seemed as carefree as the wind when you where staring at me a couple of moments ago." His mouth transformed from an amused smirk, to a smug grin. Jerk. Doesn't he know how pretty he looks when he does that? He probably does.

"I-..." Your words die on your tongue and go back down your throat. Of course he knew you where looking. He's Chrollo fucking Lucilfer, of all people.

You have a couple of options. You can compliment him. Distract his thoughts, but you know from experience he will take it, and not give you your reward of changing the subject. You could insult him. But...something tells you not to, and it isn't fear. Just a feeling that you don't want to. You could flip the tables, and ask him what he thinks it is, but he would turn it once more and back to you. He was crafty with his words like that. Lying would be fruitless, as he would know immediately. He knows all your ticks and give aways. Your only option is the truth, and hope he doesn't feel insulted.

"I was just thinking...this whole...thing. It reminds me of beauty and the beast."

"Assuming I'm the beast?" He raises an eyebrow. "and what whole thing are you referring to?"

"I just- Well, um. Okay, yes. in this situation, you are the beast. Or at least, a reverse version. You used to be the handsome prince, and now you're the beast. And the thing I was referring to is...y'know, the not letting me go, thing."

"Hm..." He watches you for a moment with those predatory eyes before speaking. "You thought I was the handsome prince. Though I have revealed my true colors, my looks haven't changed."

Jerk. Handsome jerk.

"Well, yes," You sigh, knowing exactly what he was suggesting. And, it was true. "You're looks haven't changed and...you maybe still are um...y'know. But that doesn't take away from the fact you're a beast."

"I'll take that as a compliment. The beast did anything he could for Belle, if I'm not mistaken. And she did fall for him at some point as well. Are you sure you're still Belle and I'm the beast in this whole 'thing', as you put it?"

"It's only Stockholm Syndrome." You scoff playfully, not being able to help the small smile as you cross your arms.

"Excuse me?"

"I said it was just- oh."

You realize your mistake. A very, very stupid one.

You just admitted you having fallen for him. And that stupid smug grin you so dearly want to either kiss or smack off his face isn't helping.

"L-look, okay, I admit-"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He queries, going to sit beside you on the edge of the bed. His hand started to slowly creep up and down your bicep, causing goosebumps to wake in his touch. Something he felt and was aware of.

"B-because I...W-well.." You nervously spout, looking for any sort of out. You can't tell this...this psychopath your true feelings. Instead of saying something smug, he does something worse:

He waits patiently and silently as you dig yourself into a deeper whole. Of course, you could deny, deny, deny. But...the fire is so close. Despite the force holding you back....if you could only just...relent a little. Besides, you'd feel releived, wouldn't you? Like finally telling your childhood crush you like them while on the playground at recess. That's exactly what this is. You're both on the playground, and he is your silly little crush, and none of this will matter. That doesn't stop your hummingbird of a heart.

Taking in a deep breath, with a face radiating the warmth you wish you'd receive from Chrollo, you finally talk. "Look, I just...Ok. I'm not even sure if I should love you. I mean, yes, I do love you, and I do want to be held and I secretly enjoyed it everytime you held me at night these past couple weeks. I cannot deny the way my h-heart skips everytime your gorgeous eyes observe my every action. Though I find it creepy, I also find it very fascinating. But I still feel like this isn't right. You-You stole many things, killed many people, and outright took me. I just- I just feel like I'm not supposed to love you."

He stares at you quietly for a beat or two after. For a moment, you're afraid you babbled on too fast, and he'd make you repeat yourself. But that's dumb for two reasons. 1. he can see and move faster than you can comprehend. 2. he speaks up after.

"None of your situation calls for normal circumstances. In the world you live in right now, your options are limited."

"Yes, but...-" Your chin is lifted up with his index finger and now you face him. What a sappy, cliche move. It doesn't prevent the already prevalent blush on your face to increase, however.

"You don't have to feel a certain way just because society wouldn't be pleased with it. After all, society wouldn't be pleased about any of this. And yet, no matter what, this will happen, anyway. So why care? It's not as though society has tried to save you."

He raises a point. A fair one, at that. That, doubled with the fact you so badly want to crawl into his arms right now. Who is stopping you? No one has dared help you before. Why should you care?

"I can see the stirring in your mind. You know I'm right." He states. You nod quietly.

"Then, what are you going to do about it?"

After a moment of silence, you give in. You gently push him back down to lay on the bed. At first, his eyebrows raise in surprise. He didn't think he convinced you to go this fast. But his confusion is soon quelled with an answer as you lay down on him, cuddling up to him in a much more wholesome manner than he thought you would. His expression softens. As you lay your head on his chest and curl up to him, he wraps his warm, protective arms around you. The book and mysterious force now gone. It all had dissolved much like a weak resolute in a strong resolvent. He let's out a peaceful, happy sigh, and you follow suit.

"You know, I've known about how you felt for some time." He reveals.

...Honestly, you knew. You are well aware nothing gets passed him. You where only just saving yourself from the embarrassment of admitting, and from the force that had held you back for what felt like a year.

"I know," you sigh "I'm just glad I get to do this now. Is it....is it okay of we do it more often?"

He let's out a handsome chuckle "Of course, my dear. How can I say no to denying you of what you desire when it's something as simple and precious as this? I had a feeling you might like this. Before I took you away, you where quite the cuddle bug."

"Hmm....." You hum. "Cuddle spider." You correct, nuzzling his chest. This felt much better than just staring at him from afar.

"Yes," he chuckles, liking your little pun. "My cuddle spider."

#i write for you #chrollo #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #writing for you #chrollo headcanon #Loosely proof read #probably a lot of mistakes #sorry if there is #chrollo x willing reader #yandere chrollo x Willing reader

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steves-strapcollection · 11 months

Text

would you find me in the stars?

Something soft I wrote for my dear friend @scarcrossdlvrs who wanted a hug but, cruelly, we're separated by two time zones and an international border 💕 Posting for anyone else who needs a hug.

Eddie sat on the steps of the porch on his and Wayne’s new trailer, arms propped on his knees with a cigarette pinched between two fingers, largely forgotten. The trailer park and the forest surrounding it were silent, something that was rare and usually welcome, but it just made Eddie itch. His head was swimming with thoughts he knew weren’t true—that no one cared about him, he was a burden, everyone wished he’d died in the Upside Down and spared them the trouble.

At least if there was an argument happening in one of the other trailers, or animals making a ruckus, Eddie’s spinning mind would have something to latch onto and he could break out of the spiral in his mind.

But no, the world was silent while his head was loud, and he never felt more like a speck than he did right then. Insignificant, unnoticeable, forgettable, dirty. The world was silent, empty, devoid of life, affirming his lonely fears.

“—Eds?”

Eddie startled as a hand waved in front of his face, dropping his cigarette into the dirt between his feet as he looked up with wide eyes, meeting a concerned, hazel gaze.

“Harrington?” Eddie asked, glancing around the still silent trailer park. Steve’s car was parked just a few feet away, which meant the man drove up, parked, got out, and even spoke to him and Eddie didn’t snap out of his swirling thoughts.

Steve’s mouth tensed at the corners for a second before he asked, “You okay, Eddie? You were pretty far away.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Eddie lied weakly, grimacing at how obvious the lie was. “What’s—what’re you doing here?”

Steve looked around then back at Eddie. “I just got off work,” he said as if it explained everything.

“I’m not exactly on your way home, Steve,” Eddie pressed when Steve didn’t elaborate further and Steve snorted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I got off work and wanted to come over and see you, to check on you, y’know?” Steve admitted, shocking Eddie to his core before he held up a plastic bag. “I brought some take-out from that new Chinese place that opened right by Family Video.”

Seeing the bag of food had Eddie’s stomach rumbling loud enough that Steve could hear it. “Shit, I’m starved, c’mon in,” Eddie said with a forced smile, and he carefully got up off the steps, gesturing for Steve to go inside ahead of him.

The two of them make quick work of eating the food, the conversation limited between them, but it was a nice sort of quiet. It was a shared quiet, and slowly Eddie felt himself lifting out of that mood from earlier. When Steve dropped one of the empty cartons he was scraping out with his fork with a sigh, Eddie looked at the clock on the wall. He wasn’t ready for Steve the head out, but he also couldn’t justify asking him to stay.

“Well, I guess I’ll let you get to the rest of your rounds?” Eddie said, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

Steve looked up at Eddie with a perplexed expression. “Rounds? What rounds?”” he asked.

Eddie floundered at his confusion. “You—you’re not checking up on everybody?” he asked, his voice a bit quiet.

“No, man, I mean sometimes I do, but usually I’m good with using the radios,” Steve replied, shrugging.

“Then why’re you here?” Eddie asked, his head a bit hazy as he tried to understand what Steve was saying.

Steve’s face got a bit pinched with his own confusion before it softened, unbearably so. “I came to check on you and hang out. If you want me to leave—”

“Why, though?” Eddie asked, a bit more forcefully, his eyes stinging with the emotion that was welling up.

“I was thinking about you while I was at work, then I realized I hadn’t seen you in a couple days,” Steve explained, reaching across to wrap a hand loosely around Eddie’s wrist. “What’s going on, Eds?”

It was the little nickname that did it, the cute little name that only Steve called him these days, and Eddie couldn’t blow Steve off when he was being earnest like this, even if he wanted to.

“You ever feel like you’re just… completely fucking alone? That no one gives a shit about you? That you survived one too many near-death experiences to be worth the trouble?” Eddie asked quietly, and the whole world seemed to settle just a little bit more when Steve’s grip on his wrist tightened a bit.

“All the time, Eds,” Steve admitted a bit breathlessly, and that honestly took Eddie by surprise. Meeting Steve’s eyes again, he could see just how sincerely Steve had meant it.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed, chuckling humorlessly. “Just been feeling a helluva lot like that, lately.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Steve asked and Eddie smiled, the expression real this time.

“Could use a hug, but you’re already doing plent—oof!”

It took several moments for Eddie to realize that they were standing, Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist and chin resting on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing Eddie around the middle firmly. Perfectly.

With a happy, teary sigh, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and held on desperately. Steve melted against his front with a sigh of his own before turning his face to rest his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, his breath puffing across Eddie’s throat.

“Damn, Stevie, if I knew you’d just give me what I asked for, I would’ve asked for something better,” Eddie teased, dropping his own chin onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Anything you want, Eds,” Steve promised, and Eddie shivered. That was a dangerous promise.

“Careful, pretty boy, what if I asked for a kiss to make the hurt go away, huh?” Eddie asked, acutely aware of how close to his throat Steve’s lips were.

“I’d ask where you wanted that kiss, where it hurt the most,” Steve hummed, and Eddie felt a pang of want surge through him. It wasn’t even the desperate, horny want he was used to. It was yearning.

Eddie was feeling better, enough so that the vulnerability was getting difficult to keep rolling. “And if I said my dick…?” Eddie deflected, trailing off and laughing when Steve snorted and pinched his side.

“I’d say…” Steve started, pulling back enough to meet Eddie’s eyes and cup his cheek with one hand. Steve’s eyes met Eddie’s before looking down at his lips, not looking away as he said, “I’d take a raincheck on that, just for tonight. Then I’d ask if a kiss on the lips would be a good enough substitute.”

“I’d say yes—mmph!”

Eddie blinked, wide-eyed and actually giddy as Steve’s lips slotted perfectly against his own. The kiss was chaste, sweet, perfect. Even if Eddie started crying, especially as Steve brought his other hand up to determinedly wipe the tears on his cheeks away. And Steve, bless him, didn’t stop kissing him no matter how many more tears fell, or the way Eddie’s breathing turned into hiccupping sobs.

Steve just held him tight, kissed him sweetly, and brought him back to a world where he was allowed to be, wanted even, and Eddie knew the man wouldn’t let him forget it.

#steddie #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #gerry writes

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simplyholl · 1 year

Text

Out of My System Pt. 1

Summary: Loki doesn’t understand Thor’s attraction to Midgardians. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Avenger Loki x F. Avenger Reader

Warnings: Eventual smut.

W/C: 1K

See my Masterlist here

You were sitting beside Loki just like you did every movie night, a large bowl of popcorn perched in his lap for sharing. You jumped and screamed so loud, when the monster grabbed the woman on the screen that it even startled Loki, who almost dropped the snack in the floor.

You reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his long skinny digits. He stayed still for just a moment unsure of how to react to your touch. You felt him relax against you, accepting the affection. Each time, a scary part came on you would hide your face against his arm. He began to anticipate it. He wrapped his arm around you snuggling you closer. Now you could press your face against his broad chest.

You laid your ear against him, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heart beating. You had only been this close to the mischievous god while training. Otherwise, your friendship never crossed any unspoken boundaries. You were surprised how he had welcomed your touch. He wasn’t huge on affection, shying away from hugs, shoulder pats, even handshakes which surprised you. He only shook the hand of business men Stark needed him to schmooze, and only when necessary.

The movie was over too soon. The loss of warmth his body provided made you shiver as you walked to your room. Hurrying to your bed, your mind ran wild with thoughts of the creature from that horrible movie waiting for you underneath, grabbing your feet as you walked by and dragging you under there with it. You got under the blankets covering up every inch of skin. You were an Avenger for crying out loud. You had fought villains way scarier than the monster in the movie.

Still you couldn’t help the thoughts of it waiting to get you as soon as you peaked out from under the blanket. You heard the floor creak and you swear you stopped breathing for a second. Relax! It’s probably somebody walking in the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut willing yourself to fall asleep.

You convince yourself you feel someone staring at you. You give yourself a little pep talk slinging the heavy blanket off your face and retrieving your phone off your nightstand. You get back in your cocoon. You pull up the contact on your phone praying he answers.

“H..hello?” his groggy voice comes over the line and you’ve never been more grateful to hear anyone. “Loki, I need you to come to my room right now.” your voice barely comes out as a whisper. You are trying to stay quite just in case that creature can hear you.

“Darling, it’s three in the morning. I can barely hear you. This is not a good prank.” Click. He ended the call before you could ask for help. You dial his number again. He answers on the third ring. You decide you better make this call count so you start frantically yelling into your phone. “Loki, please don’t hang up! I know it’s three AM, but it’s the witching hour! That means this thing is gonna be that much stronger!! I need you to get in here right now before it kills me!”

You hear your door fling open. You stick your head out from your fortress. Loki is standing in your room, daggers in hand assessing the situation. “Where is it?” he growls. You can’t help the giggles erupting. He looks at you, confusion clearly eating him up.

“Promise you won’t be mad?” “I will make no such promise. Tell me what is so funny about your life being in danger.” You take a deep breath trying to suppress your laughter. “I kept thinking about that movie and I freaked myself out. I convinced myself it was in here with me. So there’s no real danger.”

Loki sighs heavily, running his hands through his slept on curls. He sets his daggers on your nightstand. “You said it was going to kill you.” “Sorry, I was being dramatic. I just didn’t want to be alone because I was scared. I didn’t expect you to burst in here like that. But since you’re here, do you mind staying with me? I know I’m safe with you here.” Loki agrees walking toward your couch.

“Can you sleep in the bed with me, please? I really freaked myself out and I just need to know that you’re right here if I need you.” He gets in beside you, and every fear fades into the darkness as you press your back against his chest. His arm rests against your stomach.

Loki planned to leave right after you fell asleep. He was sure he wouldn’t rest well, if at all. So he was surprised when the sun light peaked through your window and woke him the next morning. He was shocked to find your warm body still snuggled in so closely to his. He had only wrapped his arms around you to comfort you. He didn’t think he would be so reluctant to remove them.

He took the time to study your features. How your hair was a tangled mess even though it seemed like you hadn’t moved at all through the night. How the sun light made your face look almost angelic. He took note of how comfortable he was beside you. And that terrified him. That thought alone was enough motivation for him to go back to his own rooms.

Loki was sure he would never share Thor’s love for Midgardians. He didn’t understand his attraction to them. After Thor and Jane broke up, Thor had successfully seduced every woman he came across. It made Loki sick. He and his brother were gods. Midgardians were beneath them.

Loki waited until their trips to Asgard to sleep around. Those so called models paled in comparison to the goddesses back home. He had never thought highly of any person from Earth, until you.

You stumbled into his life and turned it upside down. You weren’t repulsive. You were beautiful. You weren’t ignorant, but intelligent. You were kind to him, when the rest of the pathetic planet either feared him or hated him. Loki had quickly offered you something he didn’t give lightly to any other person on Earth - his companionship.

Part Two

Tags (as always if you want to be added or removed let me know!)

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @potter-puff007 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @anukulee @sheris532 @multifandom-worlds @lokixryss @javagirl328 @assemblingavenger @lilibet261 @lemonadygirl @joyofbebbanburg

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki #loki x yn #loki x yn smut #loki x y/n #loki fanfction #loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki x you #mcu loki #loki friggason #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #out of my system

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mando-fando · 11 months

Text

The Other Man

Okay, here's my FIRST FIC in ages. I wrote it in a very specific style bc of the ~vibe~

Hope you like it!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Words: 3k

Warnings: smut, established relationship, (idk if there's more pls tell me?)

The love story of Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara

You’re Gabriella’s mother and Miguel’s wife. A few weeks ago, things were a little off with your husband; you wrote it off until now…

Your heart pounded in your chest as you set a timer on your phone and waited. You thought of your darling daughter, and her bubbly, beautiful personality. You thought of your family, and how arguably perfect your life was thanks to your husband’s dedication and tenacity.

You were panicking, on the verge of tears as the timer silently counted down on your phone screen. You thought of your husband. Your real husband.

13yearsago

Miguel was the first person you’d met at your college orientation. A tall lanky kid who stepped onto the campus tour bus at the last minute and had nowhere to sit but next to you. You felt yourself fall for him instantly when his eyes met your own.

You both chatted awkwardly like teenagers do; you mentioned your majors (he was genetics and you were communications), you talked about your high schools, your friends, and anything else your distracted minds could come up with.

You mentioned that science wasn’t your strong suit, and Miguel suggested taking a science class together so he could be your lab partner. You settled on chemistry, and looked forward to starting classes in the fall.

You exchanged numbers and texted through the rest of the summer. By the time the semester started, you were attached at the hip.

The week that you moved into the dorms, he brought you a bouquet of carnations (you were allergic to roses) and asked you to be his girlfriend right in front of everyone. You said yes with bright pink cheeks.

That night, when all the new freshmen were out enjoying welcoming activities, you and Miguel lost your virginities to each other with soft music playing in the background. You’d heard from your friends that the first time was awful, but you two were slow with each other. You knew you’d chosen the right guy, and you couldn’t imagine sharing the experience with anyone else.

It rained on the first day of classes. Torrential downpour, and you walked into the library together soaked and giggling to take a picture in front of your school’s “Welcome Freshmen!” backdrop.

That photo was framed and hanging above your bed like many others you’d taken over the years.

The chemistry class was hard. Your hardest class by far, but Miguel was there with you every week. He came over to your dorm after the lab to explain everything in detail as many times as you needed. He’d stay late and you’d share cheap pizza and watch movies.

Your friends started calling you Mrs. O’Hara long before you were actually married. You two were the one constant couple among them. You and Miguel would go for ice cream with them after every fresh heartbreak. You reminded them that love exists because you two had it. They’d always lick their wounds and get back out there, thanking you both for your encouragement.

When sophomore year rolled around, your parents offered to rent you an apartment. You begged for them to let Miguel live with you (they loved him of course), and, to your surprise, they said yes.

In between classes, you and Miguel lived in domestic bliss. You had no idea that building furniture, grocery shopping late at night, and decorating could be so fun. He made it so much more enjoyable.

You learned so much about him, sometimes swearing that you knew him better than you knew yourself. You loved how his brow twitched in his sleep, and you loved how he was considerate enough to cover your face with the blanket before he turned on the bedroom light. He made your heart melt every single day, and you couldn’t imagine loving someone more.

You stayed up late on Sundays with him and proofread his papers. He was brilliant, but he couldn’t string together a sentence on paper to save his life.

“Do you even know what a comma is!?” You’d asked as you aggressively hit the backspace button on his laptop.

“Do you know what an autosome is?” He replied in a sarcastic voice, ruffling your hair. (he always ruffled your hair.)

You rolled your eyes and finished proofreading his paper. After he submitted it, he closed both of your laptops and bent you over the table. Your pajama pants were around your ankles as you moaned into the cheap veneer.

Miguel fucked you on every surface in that apartment: the shower, bent over the counters and the table, against the wall, on the floor. It was your space together, and he was ready to claim the 600 sqft and your body for himself.

God, you missed that apartment.

A year later, you took your first vacation alone together to Mexico. You’d never been, but he’d gone a few times when he was younger. You felt secure with him as he easily switched between English and Spanish, and you listened intently as he showed you the places that he remembered visiting years prior.

You walked along the beach, hand in hand watching the sunset. He was explaining something about the tides, and you smiled wide at him and then looked at the pinky-purple sky.

When you looked back, he was on one knee with a ring box. You swear your heart stopped for a moment.

“Yes! Are you kidding me!? Yes!” you nearly screeched at the top of your lungs. He swung you around and dipped you into a kiss. It felt like a scene from a movie. (The only thing he hadn’t thought of was a photographer, but some passersby took a few candid photos and sent them to you.)

A year later, you graduated in May and had your wedding in June. The wedding felt like something out of a fairytale.

Your mother had been insistent on every last detail being perfect, and you were so grateful for her meticulousness as you walked down the aisle. The sun was beginning to set as you said your vows, and you nearly died of embarrassment when he tore your garter off with his teeth in front of everyone.

Now, Miguel was your husband.

Your husband whose eyes were brimming with tears as you walked down the aisle.

Your husband who hugged your parents as if they were his own.

Your husband who looked at you as if you hung the moon.

Your husband.

A few months later, you started your first job and Miguel started grad school.

You’d come home in your blazers and slacks and heels, and he’d give you a particular look.

“What are you looking at?” You asked one day while making dinner.

“Nothing, I just think it’s hot that I’m married to a sexy businesswoman,” he grinned.

He especially loved when you wore tights and that little black dress. (He usually tore them off of you when you got home and promised to buy you new ones.)

Six months into your new job, you called in sick.

“Are you alright?” he sat on your side of the bed and pet your hair gently.

“I just feel so nauseous. It must be something I ate. Do you feel nauseous?”

He shook his head. “Do you want me to get you anything? I could stay home from classes to take care of you.”

“No, school is first. I’ll be okay.” you squeezed his hand.

He kissed you on the forehead and left you a glass of water on your nightstand.

After throwing up the contents of your stomach twice over, a thought crossed your mind.

You ran to the store and picked up two pregnancy tests.

You practically ripped them out of their boxes in your bathroom.

You sat and waited, worrying about what your husband would say.

In both of your minds, kids were still years away.

The pink plus signs on both tests brought you to the harsh reality that those plans were no longer relevant.

Your mind flooded with worry. You were a newbie at your job, you hadn’t even been married for a year, Miguel had so much school left.

You spent the afternoon drowning in your anxiety.

“Amor, I brought you that soup that you like.” Miguel called from the living room. He found you in your bedroom with a tear-stained, puffy face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You turned around and showed him the tests. “What are we going to do?!” you cried. You searched his face, waiting to see his brow crease with worry just like yours.

Instead, he beamed. His face lit up brighter than the sun, and you felt every awful scenario that you’d tortured yourself with melt away at his excitement. He hugged you without saying a word, one of his amazing bear hugs that he knew always made you feel better. You petted his hair, and you knew everything was going to be just fine.

He pulled back from you and you saw tears sliding down his face. “This is amazing,” he whispered.

You kissed his cheek and hugged him again.

“Yeah, it really is, huh?” you whispered back.

There was no better word for your pregnancy than miserable. Your morning sickness lasted longer than the first trimester, and despite being young, you experienced health issue after health issue.

You were bedridden for the last few months of pregnancy, but your husband made it all better.

Your husband who somehow had boundless energy when you had none. Your husband who nearly tripled his class load to graduate early.

Your husband who held your hair back as you emptied the breakfast he made you into the toilet.

Your husband who put on over 100 pounds of muscle so he could ‘be strong enough for the baby.’

Your husband whom you somehow fell even more in love with, which you didn’t even think was possible.

He received his master’s degree in May. You felt enormous, but you begged him to let you take him out to celebrate.

Your water broke in the restaurant.

He rushed you out, you’re not even sure if you paid for the food. He drove you to the hospital as you squeezed his hand with all your might and swore at him.

After making it to the hospital in record time, your doctors looked at you sympathetically.

Of course, after an extremely rough pregnancy, you were going to have a rough delivery too.

Hours and hours of labor and deliberating. Hours of worry and discontentment. Hours of pain and exhaustion.

Everyone eventually decided that a c-section was the way to go. You stared up at the ceiling as your body was being sliced and poked and prodded, and your husband held your hand and gave you words of encouragement.

A loud cry broke through your anxious thoughts. The entire world stopped.

“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara, it’s a girl; 10 fingers and 10 toes and a great head of hair!” the doctor plopped her on your chest.

In that moment, you three were the only ones in the entire universe. Your baby, your husband, and you. Nothing had ever been more perfect.

Hours later, after you’d gotten some much needed rest and food, you both gazed down at her sleeping face. “We never even had time to talk about names,” Miguel whispered. He ran a gentle finger over her tiny little hand. Your heart swelled for him even more.

“I was thinking…” you started, “Maybe we could name her Gabriella, after your brother?”

You heard him gasp quietly. You began to open your mouth to suggest something else. “It’s perfect. She looks like a Gabriella, don’t you think?” he never took his eyes off of her.

“She looks like an O’Hara,” you chuckled. “Of course, she lived in my body for 9 months and came out looking like you.”

Despite all the trouble she gave you during your pregnancy, Gabriella was such an easy baby. She slept through the night, she was easy to feed, and she was always content to sit with you.

Those first few weeks of parenthood were surreal. You and Miguel would simply stare at her for hours, unsure how you made such a precious, perfect thing. She mesmerized the both of you.

One evening, you were making dinner while Miguel fed her. His phone rang, and you overheard him in the living room.

“Yes, I’d be happy to accept the offer! You have no idea what this means for my family, thank you so much.”

He’d gotten a job at Alchemax. A fancy, well-paying job in his field.

“You know, I’ll be making enough that you can stay home with Gabi if you want,” he said after you’d put her to bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that? I can go back to work when my maternity leave is up - my parents offered to watch her during the day.”

He pulled you close, “I want you to get to spend time with our daughter. I want you to raise her, no offense to your parents.”

And so you did.

The time flew by. You two bought a house close to your parents, he bought you a new car for your birthday, and all of the sudden, your daughter was turning one.

Your house was filled with friends from college (many now with their own spouses), relatives, and friends from Miguel’s new job and your old one.

You all watched as Gabriella smashed a white cupcake straight into her thick black hair. You and your husband sat together with your bubbly baby girl and opened present after present, making a mess of the wrapping paper.

Suddenly, time was moving even faster. Preschool, kindergarten, soccer practice, family vacations. Miguel had the biggest soft spot for your daughter.

Watching him be a parent made your heart grow ten times bigger. He woke up before the sun rose every day so he could be home to put her to bed every night.

He read to her, he answered every question she had and never discounted her curiosity.

He made it to every practice and soccer game, and took the whole team out for ice cream periodically.

He let you sleep in late on Sundays and made pancakes and coffee.

He was perfect. There was no other way to describe it.

Suddenly, your daughter was 8 years old. She was constantly outgrowing her clothes, reading voraciously, and performing well in school. Her teachers and coaches praised your parenting to no end. You and Miguel smiled, “She’s just the most amazing kid.”

You felt on top of the moon. You couldn’t believe that you’d stressed so much all those years ago in that little apartment when you’d seen the positive pregnancy test.

Everything seemed right with the world. At least until a few weeks ago.

Your husband wasn’t home yet. You checked your phone incessantly, but you never received a call or text.

You got through bedtime with your daughter. She asked three different times where her father was.

After she was sound asleep, you began to get worried. You called his phone again and he didn’t answer.

A sickly feeling bubbled in your gut. Not the churning anxiety that you’d felt so many times before, this was different. This felt like intuition. Something was terribly wrong.

You texted everyone you knew asking if they had heard from him. You called the businesses that you thought he could be at. No one. It was like he had fallen off the face of the Earth.

Just after 2am, you considered calling the police. As you began to dial, you heard a key turn in the lock.

He walked in looking disheveled. You ran over to him and jumped into his arms.

“I was so worried! Where were you!?” you squeezed him tight around his neck.

“I’m sorry, we got caught up in a chem testing sequence. I’m not supposed to tell anyone about the project, so that’s why they said I wasn’t there.” He kissed your cheek and squeezed you.

“You smell weird,” you said. He had such a distinct smell, a combination of the laundry detergent you used, his cologne, and his deodorant. He smelled all wrong for some reason.

He looked you in the eyes and smiled. You’d never noticed how his smile was just the slightest bit crooked.

“Let’s take a shower, amor.” He set you back on your feet. “I want to go take a peek at Gabriella, though. I’ll meet you in the bathroom,” he kissed you on the forehead and made his way to her room.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was off about your husband that evening. At first, you blamed his late night. He claimed that his workload in the lab was increasing, but something still didn’t sit quite right with you.

You’d stare at him out of the corner of your eye, not sure what you were hoping to see.

He’d found a new interest in your sex life, as well. He pawed at you in your sleep and pressed your cheek up against the shower door late at night. He seemed like he was learning your body all over again.

In some ways, he was the man you married. He still threw himself into parenting your daughter. He still made it to every soccer practice and game, still read to her every night.

But you knew something was wrong.

Your best guess was that he was cheating, but it seemed so out of character for him. Still, you had nothing else.

He came home late again and found you sitting in the bedroom with your bedside lamp on. “You’re still up?” he asked.

“What the hell is going on with you?” You demanded.

His brows knitted together in a confused look, “What do you mean?”

“Are you cheating on me, Miguel?”

“Amor, I would ne-”

“Then what is it?” Your voice was low with suspicion.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He sat next to you and leaned in close.

“I don’t know what it is, Miguel. But something’s not right. I know you, and I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” You flipped the light off and pulled the covers up.

“I love you, honey. Nothing’s wrong, I promise,” he said in the darkness.

“Whatever, Miguel. I’m going to sleep,” you turned away from him and shut your eyes.

The timer on your phone went off.

You thought again about your husband.

Your husband who brought you roses yesterday.

Your husband who couldn’t remember what size jersey your daughter wears.

Your husband who’d had a vasectomy 5 years ago.

You stared at the positive pregnancy test and sobbed.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderverse

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

Text

| Ida’s Law

Introductory Part

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlisting and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life, if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Warnings: disturbing content- if you made it through last one this one should be a breeze, however it picks up where we left off so expect mentions of war, wounds, illusions to past rapes, Nazis being racist fucks, possibly some internalized misogyny about it all and some hopefully very 🥹🤧 reunions

A Note Going Forward: With this part now published, I am happy to open this series up for prompts. Ideally I’d like this series to end up being exclusively prompt-inspired and will be putting out prompt lists accordingly. I think that will be a fun way to keep the interaction going, stretch my own skills and explore all the different scenarios that may intrigue y’all. You’re welcome to come up with your own prompts, too. All are welcome, none guaranteed but let’s be real -I’m obsessed with this AU so I’ll likely do it. For now I’ll be keeping all writing to POW Camp and Liberation and Post-Liberation timelines.

“Well, what do we know?” Ida Brady asked the first officer out on the other side as they began to filter through the laborious processing of the camp. She counted them down, one familiar face after another appearing through the doorway again with no worse indignity than the new identification tags hanging from their necks.

“I hate a guy named Johann, and I like a guy named Fritz, and the lieutenant guy wasn’t bad.” Maureen declared, straightening her precious cap atop muddy auburn tresses. “Who went and named their son Fritz after the last war? I mean really? Who does that to a kid? It’s like he’s making up for it now, though, awfully nice.”

“Mm, I thought so, too.” Ida hummed, “Might keep an eye on that one, work on him a bit. You think, Kendeigh?”

“Work on him yourself, Ida.” Maureen scoffed.

“Not much to work with.” Ida retorted, the first general reference to her disfigurement she’d made. “What do you know? What’s up?” she left off to inquire after Tallulah Smith who came out the other side of processing looking more than exasperated.

“Know? They don’t know squat.” she said, “Never heard of a Cherokee.”

“I’ll be.” Maureen was grinning sharply. “Wasn't enough being a woman for ya Smith, ya had to go and be a brown one.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” She griped, “They kept insisting I was a fighter pilot. That’s what all the ‘dark ones’ are, according to them. Told them I’d rewire their insides and maybe then they’d take my engineering degree seriously.”

“I’d like to see that.” Maureen murmured, drowsiness beginning to take over at the comparative calm of their new surroundings.

“Looks like we got everyone, yeah?” Ida peered over the heads of the crowing room and counted out her charges in a silent tally.

“Looks like.” Smith agreed. “Got billet assignments?”

“I do. Colonel Clark, most senior prisoner here, said the combines are strict but the rooms aren’t. Let’s try to behave until we feel our way, then we can swap, if they allow.”

“It’s going to smell like feet no matter where and who we share it with.” Smith pointed out and Ida heaved a great sigh as if that were the hardest prospect she’d yet encountered.

“Mm.”

“Buck is out there!” Maureen suddenly cried out, grabbing at Ida’s arm, pointing out the window at the muddy yard.

“How nice. Gotta get this sorted first, eyes in, Kendeigh.”

Maureen reluctantly tore her eyes away from her dearly missed pilot. “Yes sir.”

“All right,” Ida’s voice carried as well as it ever had, commanding immediate quiet and attention, “those in the 350th, 419th, -the hundredth!- on me. Gather ‘round. That’s it, come on. Alright, well, we made it, well done. Truly, well done to all of you. Now I know you well enough to not accuse any of you of being pure idiots, just because we made it to where we wanted to go doesn’t mean any of what’s ahead is going to be easy. Be wary, don’t let your guard down, you don’t know plenty of these men and they don’t know you, I’m sure there are measures in place for spying already. Be sensible. I am certain we can rely on the kindness of those in the hundredth, but even then keep in mind, if you are cold, they are too, if you're hungry, you best believe they are hungrier, the last thing we need is a crisis of chivalry in here. Rely on them, except their help, but don’t ever take from them. Understood? And one more thing, since the human spirit is irrepressible I feel it’s warranted to make one more housekeeping note. None, and I do mean none, no inner relations at all are allowed. I don’t care how cold you are, how sweet he’s been, or how much you’ve missed him. The Red Cross aren’t sending rubbers, and don’t ever take the promise of a pull out. Do you want a one-way ticket to a death camp or a bullet to the head? Get pregnant. Simple as that. You think the Jerries think poorly of you now for being female? Try being a matron. The point is to blend in as much as possible, keep that in mind. Whatever you do, keep that in mind. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Colonel?” One voice demurred, raised hand and respectful title only forerunners for an obvious objection incoming.

“Yes? Sanchez, isn’t it? You’re not one of mine, I think.”

“No, sir, 55th -fighters.”

“Yes, well, welcome. What’s your question?”

“No offense sir but- what about the guards?” Sanchez asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Brady replied with typical candor, “I believe so far we’ve seen a mix here. I’m sure our friends can give us tips on who to watch out for.”

“No sir, sorry I meant-“ Sanchez kept her teeth clenched until her thoughts seemed to form better, “-you said no relations. What about the guards? No disrespect meant colonel and I don’t know about yours, but mine -they weren’t pulling out.”

“Mm.” Maureen thought that if Ida smashed her lips together any tighter they’d turn whiter than her skin, the bent aviators she had managed to preserve this entire time did a remarkable job of masking whatever feeling was stiffening her spine to the current degree, but all the same, her spine was stiff, “no offense taken, an excellent point. I’ll inquire about any possible…remedies. Anyone else?”

A multitude of hands shot up and Ida Brady scanned them with bewilderment until she realized her lapse in specificity. “Anyone else with questions, I meant! Saints alive. No? Good, let’s claim our bunks and see about a wash.”

After the dark interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He was searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

The Major’s lanky frame staggered under her surprise attack, perhaps more from shock and ill preparedness than poor rations and a weakened constitution. Or at least Ida, hoped that was the case.

Well, there went all intentions for discretion about partiality on their part, five seconds had gone by and Maureen still hadn’t let go, her valued cap about ready to knock off her head and his too. Seeing the gig was up, Cleven even belatedly brought an arm up to hug her shoulders, his pleased face bashfully pacifying her intensity. “If it isn’t my favorite bombardier.” Cleven mumbled, his lips failing not to tug upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he gave her a pat on the back.

“Buck!” Smith was coming in hot behind Kendeigh and knocked Ida’s shoulder in her haste to get around her and join in. “Thank Jesus you’re here.” she grunted as she squeezed him and Kendeigh both, “I mean -we’re sorry you’re here but since we’re here-“

“Glad you’re here, too, Smith.” he assured her gently, another pat on another back and Ida watched Cleven’s composure began to flake as he took stock of their roughened appearances. “It’s gonna be ok now.” he offered, and coming from someone else that statement would’ve sounded a great deal less impressive than it did coming from him. It also sounded hollow without Bucky’s typical parroting of the upbeat sentiment. “Let’s get you girls sorted.” he nodded at Ida who fell in alongside him, if only to distance and displace Kendeigh and her over familiarity just a tad.

“What’s your Kommandant like?” Ida asked by way of conversation as Gale directed them in a trudge along the brown paths towards his specified hut.

“Think I know him as well as you.” Gale admitted, “Tried to stay low, been no reason for socializing. Wouldn’t advise a trip to the camp doctor though.” He added the last part after a beat.

“Why?”

“Your Johnny says he’s got an experimental mind.” Gale smiled wryly but there was a grieved look behind it that made Ida’s pulse pound in alarm, “If you go in with a cold, you might come out with a radioactive arm instead.”

“Noted.” Ida muttured with a shiver, wishing to god her jacket hadn’t been taken off her a couple stops ago, the sun was waning in the dull sky and the breeze was frigid without it. “Speaking of doctors,” she decided to go for it, “is Johnny -my John- is he alright? At the gate it was such a racket, was he…standing?”

Gale paused in his step up into the combine, brows knitted in surprise and she noticed along with him that their little march had drawn quite a little audience from the fellow inmates. Females in a Stalag -what a novelty. “Yeah, John’s fine. He’s fit.” Gale still had that quizzical look on his face.

Ida swallowed hard and gave him another curt nod, one she wanted to come across as grateful but wasn’t sure it did, her battered cheek was responding less and less to her mind’s commands. “Right. This us?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d try to keep as many close as possible.” He explained, “Welcome to paradise.”

“What did y’all name this shack?” Maureen asked him as she stepped over the threshold, it was dark inside and smelled of lumber and smoke.

“We haven’t.” Gale admitted, forlorn at the realization that things like that didn’t occur to people like him. If Bucky had been here, he’d have had it named in an hour, and something awful, too. Something that would make them all laugh.

“Damn oversight, Gingerale.” Maureen teased merrily but Cleven noticed the dimming light in her eyes as she took in the cramped, uninspired utility of the place. One wooden doorway after another.

“Talked it over with Colonel Clark during your processing,” Gale said, “decided it were best if we mingle you all among the men we know. Boys from your squadrons, friendly faces. A few of you in each room.”

“I call dibs on yours.” Maureen unabashedly grinned up at Cleven but Ida saw how a heartbroken look of protectiveness skittered across his features.

“Alright.” he muttered without a fight for once.

“Mm, Smith, Sanchez, Tong, you in here.” Ida decided and having snapped her fingers she was moving on to the next stuffy room. Asking Cleven at each about their current occupants, and with the precision of memory required of a woman who had to memorize her opponents on the promotional ladder, chose their new bunk mates accordingly.

“And where’s Johnny bunked?” she asked him in a low tone as she watched the next set settle in from the doorway.

“In with me, further down the hall, Demarco, Hambone, a few others.”

Ida seemed to hesitate as she eyed up an extra bunk in the current room that the last of her girls were settling into.

“Don’t be a stick, colonel,” Maureen spoke up gently, a surprising liberty even for her, “you need friends right now. Bunk with us. Everyone’s going to be fine. Can’t be all places at all times, ya know?”

Ida didn’t reply but after a moment she admitted, “I should go see John.”

Gale and Maureen exchanged a look and then moved in unison to catch up to her as Ida Brady walked, brisk as if she were back home at Thorpe and about to pick a fight with Jack Kidd, down the long hall to one of the last rooms. “In here?” she asked Gale, pointing at the closed door -they liked to keep it so for warmth and privacy, and to acclimate the guards to it being closed when the radio was out.

“Yeah that’s us.” Cleven replied, reaching out and snagging Maureen back a step as Ida turned the handle. “Let’s give ‘em a minute.” he suggested, referring to the Bradys.

He held her jacket sleeve for a brief moment before turning it to grab her hand, he’d missed those hands. To his horror their usual calloused elegance was a swollen paw of bruises. “The hell, Maureen?” he whispered in shock, turning it over to examine it, grip strong around her wrist before she could pull away. “Who did this?”

Maureen did her best to shrug, “Some bitch stood on them.” she said simply, and surrendered the other hand for a similar heartbroken inspection.

Kendeigh was indeed not as visibly marred as Ida Brady or a few of the others, but still, Gale kept turning her crushed hands over and over, recalling with vivid agony the way he’d admired them at all manner of work before. To hurt them that way, to restrain her so meanly- “Maureen,” she’d never heard his voice dip so low, and his eyes were simmering where they cataloged her hurts, “what’d they do to you?”

“What’d they do to your face?” she shot back, perhaps more perturbed by the immaculately symmetrical scars on his once porcelain face than her own condition. Women expected the treatment they’d gotten, in some twisted way, but this on the other hand, it disturbed her.

Gale looked taken aback by her question and quickly dropped her hand to touch his right cheek as if to remind himself the scar was obvious to everyone. “Flak.” he replied a beat too late.

“Awfully precise.” she snarked.

“I asked you first.”

“I told you, a bitch stood on them.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“Who it looks like someone had some fun with,” Maureen snapped back, “who did this?”

“What happened to you?” He hit right back but his voice quavered.

“I’m fine now. I wanna go see the boys. Come on.”

“Just- give them another minute.” Gale insisted, pulling her back away from the doorway again, “It’s a lot.” He reminded, “For a brother to see his sister like -that.”

Maureen couldn’t argue with that, besides Gale looked so sad and more fragile than she’d ever seen him, and the gentle hold he had on her jacket was as needy and scared as a child’s. “I’m glad we’re in this together.” she whispered.

“Me too.” he admitted, guilty and sad over how true that was before letting her press her lips to his.

Ida Brady didn’t know what she expected when she opened the door, not much she supposed, just a living brother with any luck. It was a decently tidy room, plates stacked on a rough hewn board at the far end, eight bunks lining the walls, stacked three tall. A table was in the middle and there sat dear old Crank and Hambone too, Murph with Benny. A card game was ongoing.

They looked so fine, quite normal, all in all.

All motion in the small room stopped upon her entrance. Cards were dropped and cigarettes forgotten in open mouthed shock.

“Holy shit -colonel?” Demarco didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and his disbelieving horror over her appearance came through loud and clear in his greeting. She hadn’t seen him at the gate.

The same for Hambone’s face, one that had never bothered to be discreet in pleasant circumstances, much less in shocking ones like seeing a notorious superior officer come in looking about as battered as a body could get -although his torn cheek was one to talk. Crank recovered first, in his mild, stammering sort of way, glancing at the lean figure who still stood looking out the lone window.

“Well, if it isn’t Ain’t Pretty Brady.” Crank clapped uneasily, summoning her nickname from basic just to cut the tension, it served to startle John.

He turned from the window abruptly, blank faced and unblinking as he realized the sister he had been watching for had already arrived. If their ole nan from the motherland had suddenly materialized before him he could have hardly looked more haunted or aghast, wide fringed fox eyes and that straight fold of a mouth -always so very held together, her little brother. Even after his third belly landing.

But those startled unblinking eyes...

Ida wanted to tell him to blink, that it was all alright now, that they were both alive and that it was good enough, it had to be. But she seemed to have fully lost all power over her throbbing cheek at last, she could feel her lips move in a motion she realized with supreme panic was likely a wobble of emotion. She ripped her aviators off, as if seeing her eyes might help his to come alive.

“John John?” she croaked in greeting, oblivious of the childish endearment tumbling off her lips in a room full of soldiers. If it were something their family was in the habit of doing, Ida Brady might have rushed him like Maureen did her pilot, or held out her own hand to be held, asked for a gesture from him -after what she’d gone through, surely it couldn’t have been weakness to want a clap on the shoulder, a flick to the bicep, a little “well done” for staying alive.

But she just stood there and watched him clock her shame. She could feel her swollen lip splitting in real time as the swelling and incessant trembling tore the taut skin apart, they’d passed around a single canteen in processing and it wasn’t enough, the walls of her throat felt collapsed together. Maybe she should have asked for a mirror first, maybe Cleven or Kendeigh or Smith should have told her she’d bring a whole room to a frozen standstill by her looks alone. They’d seen her at the gate -were these meager lightbulbs really so much more illuminating?

“Eye-eye.” Johnny let it out in a breathy rush as if he’d suddenly come to, and then he was in front of her, hands cradling the sides of her neck, thumbs hooked gently under her bruised jaw. A calloused pad swiped away the ticklish trickle of blood sliding the crease of her mouth.

Eye eye -his onetime baby babble for Ida, and she’d never let him forget it.

She could have wept at the useless sentimentality of it, of the gentle familiarity of familial hands, at the seething loyalty storming across his face.

“The fuck did they do?” he articulated at last, voice gravelly as shit but also reminiscent of the squeaky olden days when his castrato role suddenly no longer served one Sunday in choir.

“You’ve got legs.” she answered instead, sounding maniacal in her happiness.

He looked at her like she’d gone fully crazy as well as beat, “Yeah? Yeah I do.”

“They said, they said you didn’t.” she chuckled, a bizarre merriment trying to take hold in her relief, “During interrogation, that bespectacled cunt told me you had your legs crushed when you crashed.”

“No? No- no I jumped.” He insisted, then let go of her face to step back and gesture to two fit legs, as long and lanky as she remembered, as long and lanky as her own. “I jumped, I’m fine. They told you that?”

“Yeah.” Ida said, “Told me the longer I didn’t comply the longer you were without medical attention. I -I’ve been so…uneasy…about you.”

“I’m fine.” He repeated, hands back on her shoulders and she was grateful for it despite the bruises he was gripping, grateful for the way he kept touching her like he was going to hold her together with his own two hands, same blood, same flesh, same memories, maybe whatever she’d lost he could supply back like a blood donation. “Those sons of bitches.” he cursed them.

“Plasma for planes.” she agreed.

He kept looking at her, at her cheek and at her ragged hair and at the missing buttons, “You didn’t tell them anything did you?” he suddenly asked, wide eyed. “You know i’d rather die than have you tell.”

Ida scoffed, and gave him a grin, the best one she could manage with her cheek and split lip, “What do you take me for, Johnny?”

“A cold hearted bitch, I hope.” he returned the small smile but his voice cracked, still that hint of something long gone and juvenile.

“That’s what their Lieutenant called me.” Ida confirmed, a little proud, and sensing a renewal of his inquiries, Ida chose to take the offensive and call out for a conspicuously absent Kendeigh, “Candy! Didn’t you want to tell Johnny about your charming admirer? The Lieutenant?”

Kendeigh came round the doorway hastily, her lips puffy and cheeks oddly red. Cleven followed after and matched her, and his blush did nothing but highlight those scars of his. “Brady.” Maureen greeted, boldly hugging Ida’s very stiff brother without care —due to his red cheeks and rigid shoulders Ida concluded Cleven had given his own inner-relations talk to the men—, “Yes, I wanted to -oh hello Crank, Benny you son of gun- wanted to tell y'all about my ticket outta here -hell Hambone, how’d you manage to get uglier? -see my integrator, he found me fairly fetching. I think one of these days he’s gonna roll up in his shiny car and take me away from here and you’re all gonna wish you’d taken time to learn a little know-how about Alligators and their hibernation tactics in the winter. He was enthralled.”

There was an awkward silence hanging in the room, Crank grimaced a smile out of sheer generosity of heart and Benny Demarco still sat with his cigarette neglected on his open lip. Cleven, used to her preening brazness kept a tight lip, though a thousand questions seemed to swirl in his eyes.

“He the one who stood on your hands?” John Brady asked her without hesitancy.

Maureen whirled round then, comedy hour over and an angry flush creeping up her neck at his directness. “No.” she snapped. “Can’t some of them be alright?”

“A German’s a German.” he countered.

“There’s Fitzs and then there’s Johanns.” she disagreed nebulously and only Ida got her reference.

“And a shower is a shower,” Ida butted in before this became an experiment in an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force “which we need, badly. We’re…filthy.”

“We’ve got working sinks, trough sinks.” Cleven clarified with an apologetic look as if it were his fault the showers only ran once a week and poorly at that, and the water they had was frigid already in autumn.

“Water is water.” Ida reasoned in return, wondering when Johnny was going to finally let go of her arm.

“We’ll clear it out for ya.” Cleven said.

“And we’ll guard the entrance.” John added emphatically.

“Thanks.” Ida muttured, “Some of us could use to mend our uniforms.” she added, refusing to blanch at the subtle inventory of her jagged tears and crusted blood being made by every man in the room.

Maureen at least had her jacket intact. Her cap, too.

“Here, you can have my trousers while I stitch yours.” her John decided and was unbuckling his belt before she even registered the hand gone from her shoulder.

“What?” Ida balked, “You’re going to go ‘round in your skivvies?”

“Not as uncommon around here as you’d think, Ida.” Gale said, a small smile on his face. “I’m afraid order and decorum has gone to shit without you.”

“Well I’m here now.” she replied sternly but didn’t stop Johnny as he stripped.

“And so am I.” Kendeigh grinned and all Ida could do was to bless the saints for having let only one terror into the camp, were Bucky Egan to be here too, things would become intolerably lax. As soon as she thought it she repented it, sending up a prayer for the poor, absent bastard.

“Say Benny, you’re shorter, can I have your pants?” Maureen pleaded.

“Why mine?” Demarco protested, only offended at the height implication.

“Because Cleven’s too tall and I’ve already been in his pants.”

“Maureen!”

“Ida, order somebody to give me their pants.”

“You can have mine.” Crank offered kindly, and then stood up and bashfully began to unlayer. It left him in skivvies, a snuggly sweater and his flight jacket.

“It’s a good look, Crank,” Maureen grinned at the finished product as he handed the trousers over. “I’m seeing you in a different light.”

“Maureen!”

“Just sayin-“

“Take the pants with you to the washroom!” Brady interjected desperately as Maureen looked ready to strip right here and now. “Jesus, Kendeigh.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Maureen ribbed him, out for blood in her tired state and if she couldn’t have that of the Germans she would of her friends’.

“Alright let’s - let’s settle down.” Gale implored, a tired expression firmly etched onto his face and Ida herself considered giving up on the wash altogether and tumbling into the available bunk to court the oblivion of sleep. Were it only blood and dirt she just might, her usual tidiness be damned.

As it was -it was, there was…the filth was so much worse.

And if Ida thought on it too long she’d go mad and want to pour boiling lye on herself to wash herself clean and to kill the shame of it. She’d have to scrub the pants before she gave them to Johnny to be mended, it was bad enough for a brother to see the blood and busted seams.

“Yes, settle down for God’s sake.” she echoed Cleven, and something about her hoarse voice compelled Maureen to temper herself more than any direct order could. “A wash, come on, let’s get the girls. Oh and one more thing, Cleven-“ Ida turned to Gale and found him alert, eager to help. She was afraid she was only setting him up for failure but she had to make an effort to find those “remedies” she’d promised Sanchez. “There any lemons around?”

The incredulous look on his face suggested he thought she knew better, but he was ever polite in his reply, “No, colonel. No lemons.”

“Mm. Nutmeg?” she tried to recall each wicked trick she’d heard condemned when a girl got herself in the family way without the needed family in place.

“No, no nutmeg.”

“Mm.”

“Nothing but potatoes and cigarettes, ma’am. Do you- why?” he asked.

“Nothing.” she assured, “Just, a hot toddy sounds good right about now. You know?”

“Uh,” he floundered, half in suspicion and half in genuine confusion, “never had one.”

“Well then,” she grinned as she passed him, “that’s something to add to our to-do list for when this is all over. Jameson, though, none of that Kentucky stuff.”

“Yes ma’am.” his tone was vacant, smiling concern brittle, “You uh, you alright, Colonel?”

Ida gave him a withering look and then Gale too, had cause to be repentant.

“Come on Kendeigh, let's get the rest.” Ida gestured as she followed Gale back into the hall, aware of Johnny’s eyes still on her, still taking stock, “They better not be in bunks without a wash. Come on, showers, everyone! Out, come on out. You can sleep afterwards. Out! Would one of you be so kind as to wake us up in time for roll call?” she inquired of the male officers straggling behind her in the hall.

“Course! Yeah, for sure.” about five offers went up.

“You wake Me up.” she clarified coming to a full stop, wary of the enthusiasm, “I’ll wake up the rest.”

“I’ll get you up.” Her John said.

He’d probably sit and watch her sleep, too, needle and torn pants in hand, like a creepy little owl but that was one of those things she figured make or break a family, you either find it endearing you have a brother who rarely blinks or you go mad. Today, after all of it, she didn’t mind having a guardian Angel. Or a watchdog. Speaking of-

“Hey,” she asked him, “you two flew out together, where’s Bucky?”

But no one had an answer for that, not even Little John.

💋Hope you enjoyed AND REMEMBER -prompts are now open.

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