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sweet lies [03.final]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. toxic! megumi, SEXY TOXIC MEGUMI 🥵, toxic college settings, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, explicit smut, car sex, biting, scratching, sukuna is a sex god, MEGUMI WITH A LIP RING, slight angst

note. FINALLY FINISHED THIS SERIES AAAAHHH I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN WITH THIS SERIES TYSM FOR EVERYTHING! lotsa lub lub for each and everyone of you! anyways let me just say…sweet lies sukuna can politely rail me.

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

It’s…a different story when you have to move back and forth between your newly made acquaintance slash fuck buddy, Sukuna, to your actual fuck buddy and crush, Megumi.

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home from war | sukuna x reader

Home from War | sukuna x reader

featuring: sukuna x reader (historical au) with small moments of megumi x reader

warnings: very mild suggestive content, mentions of manslaughter and slight yandere tendencies + a toxic sukuna + angst + not proofread :D

part two!

How does one soothe their lover who’s come from war?

You ponder about this carefully, eyes dark as you let your gaze travel from the opening door. Sukuna comes in, bare chest littered with cuts caked in mud, blood, and dirt, and you see the way the grip around his katana falters just a little bit. The room is dark – it is late at night, after all, and you had stirred awake in your accidental slumber from waiting too long for him to return home – but you see him under the darkness clearly. Way too clearly.

Those markings on his face you so dearly love don’t even seem threatening. You seriously question your sanity at this point because he is the Ryomen Sukuna; King of Curses. It’s no secret that he does as he pleases, taking someone’s life as if it was second nature to him, claiming territories, wealth, and even people as if they were his own.

You should be scared, and in a way, you are.

But not in that way.

You’re scared because his shoulders slump, those once burning red eyes fluttering close as he drops to his knees on the floor. Without wasting another second, you leap off the bed, your arms wrapping around his figure. He reeks of death, and before you know it, you wash his exhaustion away by peppering his face with the pads of your lips.

Sukuna hums, pulling you closer to him until there is no space between skin, his neck nuzzling in your face. “I’m home,” his lips brush the bare skin of your neck, his breath warm and ticklish. “I made it home to you, my love. Safely like you asked.”

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cockwarming.

CONTENT WARNING: female reader, nsfw, p in v, unprotected sex, cockwarming

it was 3am, your needy needy boy watched his girl play competitively in valorant. watching as you played his own agent as you sat directly on top of his cock.

everytime you moved to get comfortable, he whined.

“baby.. fuck.. i cant think like this.. this is torture.”

he whined, directly in your ears as you moved and shifted to get more comfortable. he was so horny, he couldn’t even think.

all he thought was to wait for you finish your game and finally get you back for all the torture you put him in by cockwarming him.

9-3. great.

he whimpered as he felt his girl bounce slightly from excitement, hearing him and yours whimpering. you had just clutched up a round.

“fuck.. good girl..”

he whispered and whimpered into your ears. his head resting on your shoulder as he whines in one ear. after what felt like ages, you finally won his game. his hands finding the way to your waist.

he smirked as he slowly moved your hips to make his cock move inside you as he made sensually kissed and made hickeys on his neck. making you whine out.

“yuyu.. stop teasing..”

“oh.. my girl thinks she wont get a little payback for making me wait..”

he whispered as he kissed your jawline. slowly pushing your head against your desk as you were now bent over on your desk as he grabbed your waist more tightly.

“..be a good girl for me.. okay..?”

he said, grabbing your hair into a ponytail, gently pulling your head back. as you nod. his cock head slowly pulling out of your walls as his cock tip rubbed against your wet entrance.

“..yuyu.. please..” you whine before his cock slammed into you impatiently as you moan. you were in for a long night.

i need him so bad

"i miss her so much," megumi sighs into his pillow.

"miss who?" nobara asks, not sparing him as glance as she continues to file her nails.

"(y/n), she— she's gone." with a heavy heart, he answers her, voice cracking in the middle.

nobara stops filing her nails. she didn't expect megumi to drop such a plot bomb on her. how could that be? she saw you just two days ago!

"...my condolences."

the sudden phrase makes megumi sit up. you're gone, but not that gone.

"oh, she's not dead. she just hasn't texted me back since last night."

the room falls silent. nobara bites one side of her inner cheek, wondering whatever she'll do with such a lovesick friend.

"seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"my girl hasn't texted me," he starts, an attitude bubbling up, "you wouldn't understand my pain because you're unlovable."

it's nobara's turn to stand up, such disrespect won't be tolerated by her.

"i genuinely hope you're cursed with immortality and witness the deaths of your loved ones and experience an excruciating loneliness that can't be lifted even with a god's help."

"yeah, yeah, i'm so scar— SHE TEXTED," the vibration of his phone catches his attention. he didn't see what the pop-up notification was, but he's confident that it's you.

the sight of megumi in love disgusts nobara. she can't bare to witness this anymore, so she leaves him in his own little world.

BEST BIG BROTHER EVER 🥲

A Great Sacrifice. (Scaramouche x reader)

Inspired by Avengers Infinity War: Scene. Thanos sacrifices Gamora.

Summary: Scaramouche will finally get the heart he wanted, but was it really worth it?

Note: Reader is Scara's ex and closest friend who still loves him (unrequited-or is it-) and sacrifices herself to make him happy because that's how she wants him. Happy.

2nd Person Pronouns used.

TW: unrequited love, angst, death (yours), Scara regrets things, add more, swearing, hanahaki disease

You

Rose. Bright red ones symoblizes romance.

"That looks like you." You point at a cloud that looks like a cat.

"It looks nothing like me, idiot." Scara grumbles. Translation. 'Why?'

"You're like a little grumpy cat." 'You're adorable.'

"That's you." He points at a flower looking one.

"Oh?" 'Why?'

"You're weak." 'You are to be protected and cared for. You're precious to me.'

"Charming." Eyeroll.

"Here." A red rose. 'I love you.'

"I'll make it a bookmark." 'I love you too'

Tulips. Represents unrequited love. Has a deep connection to abandoned or forgotten loves.

He was becoming more and more distant for the last few weeks.

Yes, we're both Harbingers, we're always busy. But we always made it work.

Should I have known then? It was the start of the coughs.

Perhaps I already did, why didn't I stop him?

...because nothing could ever stop him once he sets his mind to it, wasn't that what you loved about him?

"Let's break up." Translation. I'm sorry. I don't love you anymore. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

You were not surprised when he said this.

You only sigh and say 'ok.' I understand.

"But." He added, before you could walk away.

...

You turn around with a raised brow.

"Let's stay friends." I can't love you anymore, but I still need you. I'm not ready to lose you yet. Please, don't go.

You know it's a bad idea.

"Ok."

A day.

Cough. Yellow petals.

A week. Cough cough. More yellow petals.

A month. They're recognizable. Yellow tulips.

Oh. Its hanahaki.

...

It's ok. If its to die loving him, then its ok.

Hyssop. “With great love comes great sacrifice.”

He calls your name.

"I found it." He says with a grin. "A heart for me."

There was a glint in his eyes.

He's happy.

"Then what are we standing around for?" 'Let's go get it.'

You both trekked up the hill that led to a cliff. The place was cloudy, no sources of life, and it was quiet. But in a way, it was beautiful. A resting place.

A dark hooded fugure appeared when you reach the peak.

"Welcome, son of Ei, the Electro Archon. And (it welcomed you). I suppose you are here for the 'heart'."

"Yes, what do you want from me?" It was Scara who replied.

"A heart comes with great love, and with great love comes great sacrifice."

"What?" He did not understand.

But you did. "Let's negotiate."

"Excellent." The hooded figure outstretched his hand.

You step forward, but when Scara went to follow, the hooded figure blocked his path.

"Only them."

Scara looks at you for a sign. 'What did he mean?'

"He'll be back for you." You smile at him. The last image of me should be a smile. "Just wait for a little while, I can convince him."

For once, he doesn't argue. He nods at you. 'I trust you. Come back with it.'

You look up to the hooded figure. "Shall we?"

You both continued up the path and disappear from Scara's sight.

“Will it be enough?”

“More than enough.”

Scaramouche.

Something was off.

What did that hooded figure mean?

What did you understand that he didn't?

Why did he take you?

What great sacrifice did he want?

Where are you?

Finally, the hooded figure returns.

No sign of you.

But something floats above the hand of the hooded figure.

A heart.

His heart.

But...

Where are you?

"Where are they?" Scara hesitates before taking the heart from the figures palm.

"You haven't figured it out yet? Great love comes with great sacrifice."

Great love comes with great sacrifice.

Great love comes with great sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

Sacrifice.

...

...

...

...no

...no

No

No.

No.

No

Not you, please.

Please, not you.

Anything but you.

Please!

Please!

Scaramouche didn't even realize that he ran up the path.

He didn't know how far he ran.

He didn't know.

He just knew.

That he can't be too late. This is the one time he can't be too late.

He reaches the edge of the cliff.

But where were you?

He screams your name. "Please answer me!"

Come back.

He screams your name again. Don't go.

"Where are you!?!" Please, just please

"Sacrifice"

He runs to the edge of the cliff.

Look down.

He doesn't want to.

Look down.

But he needs to see it for himself.

He looked down.

And there you were.

You looked so peaceful. You looked asleep. But the blood and the flowers proved otherwise.

No, it's not real.

That's not real.

This is a dream.

This is a dream.

Why can't i wake up?

I need to wake up. I need your smile, your warmth, you, i need you.

This doesn't mean anything without you.

"Bring her back," he tries to shove the heart back to the hooded figure. "This doesn't mean anything without her. Take it back."

"The dead stays dead, nothing can undo that."

His agony was heard by miles.

Orchids. "I will always love you."

He did it.

He is now a god.

He has a heart.

But why does he feel more empty than ever?

"Did you do it?" It was you. No, a vision of you. Healthy, happy, beautiful.

Tears threatened to spill. "Yes."

"What was it worth?"

"Everything."

End.

baby fever going crazy

dad!sukuna based on this tiktok that gave me insane baby fever

the birds chirping outside in the dawn light makes your daughter giggle from where she stands in your bedroom doorway.

"baby," you whisper to her, beckoning her over to your side of the bed. "c'mere."

your 3-year-old wobbles around the bed, having gotten out of bed by herself. she stands before you with her hands out and grabs your arms.

"layla," you whisper, glancing over your shoulder at your husband, whose hair pokes out wildly from under the duvet. "tell daddy mommy wants a coffee."

your daughter's wide eyes round, and she tilts her head. "cowe?"

you suppress a giggle. "coffee."

"coppee?"

"yeah, good enough," you mumble, nodding. and then you lift her onto the bed. layla clambers over your body and falls face-first into the space between you and sukuna, her pink hair splayed everywhere.

you slap your mouth with your palm to stop the laughs from escaping. your husband stirs, groaning deeply under the white blankets. she looks over at you with a smile on her face, and you give her a single thumbs up.

"dada," layla says, climbing on top of him. "wake up!"

"hi, babygirl," sukuna slurs, eyes half open.

"i want coppee."

"hm? what?"

"coppee!"

"coffee...?" sukuna takes a moment to process the word and then looks at you over his shoulder, eyes puffy. "really, bro?"

you giggle, hiding your face in the blankets.

"you want coffee..." sukuna says, pointing at your daughter. "you go get it."

"no, mummy wants coppee! you get it!" she giggles, chubby finger aimed at him, too.

“noooo,” he whines, though it’s barely one. he shoves his face back into his pillow. “you.”

“daddy!” your daughter yells. “coppee!!”

sukuna scoffs a laugh and rubs his eye with his knuckle while your daughter dances around the room singing, "coppee, coppee!"

"you're lucky you're cute," sukuna grumbles, swinging his bare legs out of the bed, looking over at you as he does so. "you too."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

toji loves listening to you ramble. i really think he does. he finds your voice so soothing, so comforting, no matter whatever the fuck you're actually talking about. he's lazing on the coach at home while you're out running some errands and ranting about how stupid people can be over the phone. he laughs quietly to himself, very amused by your annoyed tone. but he loves it. he wants to hear what you've bought, where you've been, what you've eaten, where you're going next. he loves hearing you talk to the barista, never ending the call with him. he listens to you order a sweet little beverage and he's smiling, happy about the fact that you're having a good time.

he can't wait until you come home though. he already knows you're going to step inside and immediately hit him with another ramble as if you weren't just on the phone with him. he watches you kick off your shoes and remove your coat, he watches you place your bags onto the table before making your way over to him. you give him a big toothy grin and he doesn't even have time to respond because you're already falling flat on him. folding your hands on his chest, you rest your chin on top of them - staring at your boyfriend at an uncanny angle. his big arms curl around your middle and now you truly feel at home.

"arytiredfmyet?"

he rumbles a chuckle from beneath you and pinches your side, reveling in the little squeak you let out. "ya gotta speak louder than that, sweetheart."

with an eye-roll, you grumble back. "i asked whether you're tired of me yet..."

he looks so terribly comfy. and homey. and he smells so fucking good. you've never seen a boyfriend look so boyfriend. he's warm and he's looking at you with the softest eyes, despite the little smug grin that's creeping on his lips.

"ya got more for me?"

"i'm afraid so. awful, just awful things happened on the bus." you nod your head, eyes big - emphasizing your words like you almost died on your way back home and his insides feel extremely gooey. you're so close and you're warm, too. he can feel your heartbeat pounding directly above his own, the touch is just right. he knows you're tired; you've had a long day but you're still so set on talking his ears off and he loves you.

his scarred hands knead the skin of your waist. he looks like a big domesticated wolf. you want to scratch his ears. you surpress your desire to tell him that though. his lips stretch into a proper smile and your stomach fills with butterflies.

"can't wait to hear all about it, sweetheart."

All I Ever Wanted

pairing: zuko x reader

notes: this was originally requested by an anon but i also took inspiration from mitski’s song “your best american girl” while writing this. give it a listen during your read !

summary: as a peasant and servant girl for the palace, you should have known better than to fall for the Prince

The sun is warm against your skin and the grass is soft beneath you as you land on your back in a fit of giggles. Azula is unamused by your antics, but Zuko finds himself laughing right along with you. It’s a peaceful summer’s day in the palace gardens, and you spend it as you would any other day by playing with your friends.

“I caught you,” you tell him with a breathless laugh after turning your head to face him.

“No way, I was just going easy on you,” he argues with playful grin, his nose nearly brushing against your own due to your close proximity on the grass. Your heart beats fast in your rib cage as you try to ignore the rising heat on your face and play it off as a result of your exhaustion and not your nerves from lying with the Prince. You haven’t realized it yourself, but you have a crush on Zuko, a painfully obvious one that he hasn’t seemed to notice yet. What you also don’t realize is that he reciprocates the feeling, and he shares the thrill that comes with being your playmate.

“Are you two done yet?” Azula finally interrupts with a roll of her eyes as she offers you her hand and helps you up from the ground. “It’s my turn to hide this time.”

“I don’t think we can play anymore,” Zuko notes with a frown as his mother makes her way towards your group. You quickly bow in respect to the Fire Lady, but she waves you off with a smile.

“I’m sorry, y/n, but Zuko and Azula must attend their fire bending lessons now. I’m afraid playtime is over for today,” she informs you apologetically.

“Yes, Fire Lady Ursa,” you reply politely before turning to give both of your friends departing hugs. “Bye Zuko, bye Azula!”

“It’s too bad you’re not a fire bender,” Azula remarks after halfheartedly returning your embrace. “Maybe dad would let us play with you more if you were.”

Her words make your body hot with embarrassment and shame, and though you don’t voice your discomfort Ursa is instantly able to pick up on it. With a scolding glare, the Fire Lady quickly urges her daughter to apologize.

“Azula, that is not a nice thing to say to a friend.”

“But it’s true,” the girl mutters under her breath only to have her mother drag her away before she can get the chance to say anything else. Zuko hesitates then, giving you an apologetic look and promising to play with you tomorrow before rushing after Ursa and Azula.

You’ve never really cared about being a non-bender, but there’s something about Azula’s words that has you questioning your worth. As the daughter of a royal family servant with no title or money to her name, you knew you were lucky to be able to grow up in the palace and play with the Fire Lord’s children. However, you never once realized that you weren’t their equal. They were royalty, a Prince and a Princess destined to become powerful benders and ruthless leaders of the Fire Nation, and you were simply a girl who would one day grow up to live a life of servitude. You had no real future or purpose ahead of you, not like they did, and yet you were the only one unaware of your unfortunate fate.

Perhaps it’s because they never treated you in such a way, and your mother did her best to shield you from your true heritage. For now you could grow up blissfully unaware of the fact that your friends would one day outgrow you.

“Mom?” Zuko asks once they’re safe inside the palace. “Do you like y/n?”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Ursa notes with a faint smile, “and she makes you both happy. So yes, I like her.”

“Then why doesn’t Dad?”

The Fire Lady’s smile fades into a remorseful frown, and she simply ushers her son forward with a shake of her head. “Let’s not worry about that now. You’re going to be late for your lesson.”

Zuko isn’t satisfied with her answer, but he isn’t give a chance to discuss it further with her. For now, he remains content with the fact that he likes you, and his mother likes you.

That is enough for him.

~~~

The day is calm as you carefully hang the clothes to dry and enjoy the warmth of the sun basking on your skin. It’s rare that you get tasked with the outdoor chores, so you savor the opportunity for as long as you can. Doing the royal family’s laundry certainly beats scrubbing the floors of the palace, and you are grateful the spirits have taken mercy upon you today.

You’re freshly fifteen and the summer is just beginning. You’ve grown into a well-mannered young woman, and you’re old enough now to be able to take on some of the work that once fell to your mother. One day you will take her place and continue to serve the royal family until you’re no longer physically able. You’ll never get to leave, but you consider yourself grateful to live on the palace grounds. You will forever have a roof over your head, food on the table, and, most importantly, your friends.

You take great care to pin Azula’s dresses down without getting any creases or wrinkles in the fabric, and you’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice the figure carefully creeping up behind you. You’re too busy reciting the words to an old Fire Nation folk song your mother had taught you to pay any mind to your surroundings, and it gives Zuko the perfect opportunity to catch you by surprise.

“Y/n!” He exclaims with a grin as his hands land firmly upon your shoulders. You nearly jump out of your skin at the act, and your reaction has the Fire Prince laughing so hard his cheeks begin to hurt.

“Zuko!” You scold with an irritated scowl as you chuck a handful of clothespins at him in retaliation. “You need to stop doing that!”

“I’m sorry, you just make it so easy,” he teases with a light nudge to your side before taking it upon himself to pick up the pins you’d discarded.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to leave for Ember Island?” You ask him with a quizzical look as you resume your previous work of hanging the clothes.

“That’s actually what I was coming to talk to you about,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “I want you to come with us.”

“What? You’re not serious, are you?” You retort apprehensively, halting your movements to gauge his reaction for any hint of insincerity or humor.

“I am serious. You deserve to have fun once in a while too,” he notes with a careful smile. You’re too oblivious to notice the look of admiration on his face and definitely too concerned with finding a way to let him down gently to realize he’s inviting you because he likes you. Despite your own feelings for the Prince you’ve developed over the years, you’re much too self-depreciating to ever believe Zuko could possibly feel the same. If only you knew.

“I can’t just up and leave! There’s work to be done, a-and my mother would be so upset with me if I abandoned my chores and-“

“Azula will tell our father she wishes to bring you along as a personal servant so you can come with us, and someone else will be tasked with taking on your work while you’re away. There’s no way your mom could be upset with you for serving the Princess, could she?”

“Azula would really do that for me?” You question meekly, a hopeful glint in your eyes as you hang on to his every word. You’re trying your best not to get your hopes up, but you wish for nothing more than to leave the capital city to see the ocean for the first time and feel the sand beneath your feet. As the daughter of a servant and now a servant yourself, you know you’d never get a chance like this if not for the fact that the siblings had grown fond of you over your years of friendship together. You’re lucky, because you know without them you’d truly be nothing more than a floor scrubbing peasant.

“Of course she would, she wants you there just as much as I do,” Zuko assures you. Gently taking your hands in his own, he gives them a comforting squeeze and looks into your eyes with a loving smile. “We leave tomorrow morning. Bring enough clothes to last you three days and a bathing suit.”

“I don’t own one,” you admit with an embarrassed frown, but your friend doesn’t display any sign of judgement in the slightest towards your shortcomings.

“Then I’ll take you shopping myself when we get there.”

Your heart melts at his words, your gaze falling to the ground bashfully as you try not to dwell on the fact that he’s still holding your hands. You’re in love with the Prince, and the Prince is in love with you, and everyone but you has figured out just how much you mean to each other.

Even Fire Lord Ozai, who odiously watches the scene unfold before him from the top of the palace balcony.

~~~

The shores of Ember Island are beautiful.

The waves almost seem to sparkle underneath the moonlight as they crash peacefully against the shore, and down below the lively chatter of your friends carries through the air and fills your heart with contentment. You’ve had the most perfect time here at the beach, and it pains you to know that tonight will be your last night of freedom before you must return home and resume your life as a servant girl.

The wooden doors behind you carefully slide open and closed, and soon a familiar warmth joins you out on the balcony. For a while you say nothing, simply enjoying the closeness of him as you watch Azula, Ty Lee, and Mai practice tricks in the sand below. You don’t know how to thank the Prince for all he’s done for you, for always looking out for you since you were children, for never once treating you as less than for your heritage. You don’t know how to tell him that you love him with your entire being.

So he does it for you.

“I got you something,” Zuko says after a moment’s silence, waiting for you to turn your gaze to him so he may pull out a small clam from beneath his robes. You raise a curious eyebrow at his offering as he gestures for you to take it.

“A clam shell?” You note inquisitively as you turn the gift around in your palms, carefully feeling out its grooves and intricate ridges.

“Open it,” he directs you quietly, anxiously watching your movements with bated breath.

You smile curiously at your friend before delicately pulling the top half of the shell open to reveal the contents inside. Your eyes widen in surprise at the gift that greets you, and you immediately look up to Zuko to ensure this isn’t some kind of joke.

Inside the clam sits a beautiful gold necklace with a dainty sun pendant resting in the center that shimmers under the light of the moon. It’s beautiful, and it’s certainly worth more than your own life, which is why you immediately try to hand it back to him.

“I-I can’t accept this!” You hastily insist with a quick shake of your head as you struggle to return the clam to him. “It’s too nice!”

“You can accept this,” Zuko reassures you as he carefully pushes the gift back towards you. When his efforts fail due to your persistent attempts to give back the shell, he lets out a sigh and carefully removes the necklace from the clam. “Y/n, I want you to have it.”

“But why?” You demand apprehensively, almost flinching away when he moves towards you with the necklace. You’re completely overwhelmed by his gift and unsure of what it means or why you’d ever be deserving of such a thing. You don’t want to take advantage of his kindness or his status, and you feel like he’s done more than enough for you by bringing you along on this trip, so it just feels wrong of you to take it.

“Because you deserve nice things too,” Zuko explains, and after giving you a pointed look you finally allow him to carefully put the necklace on you. The sun rests daintily along your neck, and he thinks it suits you perfectly. “I brought you on this trip because I wanted you to have fun for once, but also because… well, because I love you, and I thought a romantic setting might make it easier to tell you that.”

“You love me?”

“You haven’t noticed?” He retorts with a meek smile. “I’m not the best at words, but I know that I’ve loved you since we were children feeding turtle ducks in the pond and playing tag in the gardens. You have the purest heart of anyone I know, the sweetest smile, you are everything to me. I hope that by accepting this gift, you’ll be accepting me as someone worthy enough to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh, Zuko…” you murmur softly, eyes full of tears as you throw yourself into his arms and hug him as tight as humanly possible. You’re still shocked by the fact that the boy you love will all your heart feels the same, but you try to remind yourself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Zuko is right when he says that you deserve to enjoy what life has to offer just as much as he does, so maybe it’s time you finally start allowing yourself the chance to finally let your guard down. You can be more than just a servant girl from the palace.

You can be happy.

~~~

You sit quietly before the vanity mirror as your mother tediously brushes through your hair to ensure not a single strand is out of place. The wrinkles in her skin crease with her nerves as she carefully begins to pin your hair back into the perfect top knot. Immediately after your return home from Ember Island, you were informed that the Fire Lord wished to speak with you. You were expected to drop your chores for the day and make yourself decent before presenting yourself to him. His request to see you surprised you considering the fact you previously believed he didn’t even know of your existence, but it made you nervous all the same. If anything were to go wrong during your meeting, you’d be jeopardizing both yours and your mother’s jobs.

“Make sure to sit up straight and no slouching,” she reminds you quietly while stopping to admire her work. “Hold your tongue until he allows you to speak and thank him for all he has done for us. It is a great honor to speak to Fire Lord Ozai, so you must treat it as such.”

“Mother, what could the Fire Lord possibly want to talk to me about?”

She doesn’t meet your eyes at first, looking away as if contemplating carefully what her next words should be. With a sigh, she sets the brush down and looks at you through the reflection. “Word has spread quickly about you and Prince Zuko, and I think he knows.”

You swallow nervously at her admission, absently brushing your fingers against the sun that hangs around your neck. You never once considered what Zuko’s father would think about his son’s choice of a partner; Ursa had always treated you as one of her own, and Azula considered you to be a good friend, but what would Ozai say of the peasant girl who had stolen his son’s heart?

You don’t have much time to mull over it further as a guard arrives to escort you from your quarters to the throne room. All eyes seem to follow you as you walk through the palace, the gold and red hues overwhelming your senses as you do your best to remain calm. You have no idea what awaits you at the end of the hallway, but there’s no escape now as the grand doors open and you’re pushed inside.

Ozai sits on the throne with a wall of flames roaring behind him. His features are stoic but his gaze is menacing as his eyes watch your meager form approach. You immediately bow in respect to the man once you reach him and kneel before his seated figure. Just as your mother instructed, you say nothing until you are spoken to.

“So you’re the girl my son has chosen to be his partner?” He drawls with a raised brow, obviously not impressed by the person before him.

“Yes, sir. It is an honor to present myself to you, my Lord,” you profess as earnestly as possible while adding another bow for good measure. You need his approval not only to continue dating Zuko, but also to ensure you and your mother are both able to continue living behind the palace walls. Even if you are there as servants tucked away in the peasant quarters, it certainly is a better place to be than out in the streets.

“I know who you are, child,” Ozai scoffs callously as he peers down at you from his place on the throne. “You are the peasant girl who managed to worm her way into the lives of my children. You are a lowly servant with nothing to your name and nothing special about you, and yet you have managed to corrupt my only son."

“Fire Lord Ozai, I-I apologize if my actions have upset you,” you quickly try to interject, but he holds a hand up and signals you to halt your pathetic rambling. Ozai does not have the time nor care to hear your excuses or explanations. That’s not what this meeting is for.

“Do you know how poorly it would reflect on me to have Zuko galavanting around the palace with a servant? Do you know how poorly it reflects on him to be seen with you? It’s a disgrace, and it is something I will not tolerate.”

“I know,” you utter quietly, trying to make yourself appear as small as you feel on the inside. Despite what Zuko has told you, you know that his father is right. You are nothing compared to him. He is the sun, the Prince, the heir to the throne. His future ahead is bright, and there is much for him to accomplish. You have no future, no plans for your life, nothing as grand or important as him and Azula. You are not the sun or the moon or even the stars that hang in his sky, you are insignificant, and you will never be worthy enough to be his.

“A future Fire Lord cannot have a maid as a wife. You must break his heart so that he no longer wants anything to do with you, so that he can move on and find a girl more worthy of becoming the future Fire Lady. You must make it appear to be your own doing and not mine, otherwise it won’t work. Have I made myself clear, child?”

“Yes, Fire Lord Ozai,” you whisper softly, a single tear sliding down your cheek as you bow to the cruel man before you. “I understand.”

~~~

The clouds that hang overhead are gray as Zuko makes his way towards the servants’ quarters. It is unheard of for any royal to ever set foot on these grounds, and so all eyes watch the Prince curiously as he approaches your humble home and knocks gently on the door. Movement sounds from the other side, and after a moment he is met with the startled face of your mother. It’s clear that she hadn’t been expecting him, and he takes her by surprise when he bows to the woman in respect.

“I apologize for coming unannounced, but I was hoping I could speak to y/n,” he utters with a look of defeat on his face. His sullen features make his lack of sleep obvious, and his eyes are full of desperation. You’ve been avoiding him for weeks and he has no clue as to why, but he hopes to figure it out soon before he starts to spiral any further.

“She’s…” your mother begins to say, glancing unsurely behind her before looking back to him, “she’s not feeling well. You can come back another time.”

“But-“

“Please, Prince Zuko, we can’t risk you catching whatever it is she’s come down with. You must go.”

She gives him no time to argue before slamming the door in his face. Zuko is stunned, but his shock quickly turns to anger as he lets out a frustrated breath of flames from his mouth before stalking off to cool himself down.

His footsteps fade into the distance as he departs, and you can only sit by the window of your room and watch him walk away. There’s a tightness in your chest that makes you feel as if you can’t breathe, and once he finally disappears over the horizon you break down into an inconsolable mess.

You love Zuko with all of your heart, so it kills you to act as if he means nothing to you. You’re trying to do what Ozai has demanded of you, but it’s agonizing and difficult. You’re too much of a coward to face him and break it off for good, so you’ve resorted to avidly avoiding the Prince at all costs. You hope that by pushing him away he’ll take it upon himself to end the relationship; it would be much less painful that way, but he’s too stubborn for his own good, and he’s persisted despite your best efforts.

The days seem to blend together as you lock yourself in your room while your mother continues to turn Zuko away. You haven’t done any of your chores or worked in days, but Ozai has not faulted you for your incompletion of tasks. Breaking Zuko’s heart is your task, and so long as you keep your word he couldn’t care less what you did with yourself.

After another week has passed, suffocation finally catches up to you and you’re forced to leave your room in order to get some fresh air. You sneak out at nightfall when the palace is quiet and your mother is sleeping so that no one can detect your presence. You retreat to the well out in the back and stare contemplatively into the water below. Clutching the sun that hangs from the gold chain around your neck, you admire the moon’s reflection in the ripples and wish you could be anywhere else but here in the Fire Nation.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice utters quietly, causing you to jump in alarm at the intrusion. You turn to meet the solemn gaze of the Prince, and as your back hits the cool stones of the well you find that you are cornered. You can’t avoid him now, and it’s a fact both of you are aware of.

“Zuko, I… I was just leaving,” you stammer hurriedly as you try to push your way past him, but he catches you by the arm before you can get away.

“No, not until you talk to me!” He demands, his eyes full of desperation and despair. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, yet you keep avoiding me. Why? Was it something I did?”

“No, Zuko, you didn’t do anything,” you insist despite refusing to meet his gaze. You’re terrified that someone will see you both together and alert Ozai, and you wish he would just release you so you could go back to hiding away in your room.

“Then why won’t you even look at me?”

Slowly, you peek your head up to meet his exasperated face. It seems he’s not going to give up without a fight, so you’re going to have to resort to doing what you’ve been trying to avoid this entire time.

“I don’t love you.”

“W-What?” Zuko stammers in quiet surprise, his hold on your arm loosening slightly. He doesn’t believe what he’s hearing from you, and his mind is scrambling to process your words.

“I don’t love you. I want nothing to do with you,” you repeat firmly, your eyes hardening as you stare up at him and yank yourself free from his grasp.

“Y/n, you don’t mean that-“

“I do mean it! I feel nothing for you, Zuko. I never have. I just felt like I couldn’t say no to you because you’re the Prince, so I had no choice but to say yes to being your girlfriend.”

Hurt flashes across his features and you’re dying inside at having to be so cruel to him. The heart of your childhood best friend is in your hands and you crush it with every word despite how much it pains you. But it’s better for both of you this way, it must be. Ozai will never let you be happy together, but apart he still has a chance to capture the promised future ahead of him. You’re doing him a favor, and you hope one day he’ll be able to see it that way too.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs weakly, tears beginning to well in his eyes. Then, with frustration clear in his tone, “This doesn’t make any sense!”

“Did you honestly think we could actually be together?” You retort in disbelief. “Azula always said you were a fool, but I didn’t think you were this naive. A servant and a Prince don’t belong together, and you’re the only one who can’t seem to get that!”

“Alright, fine,” Zuko mutters indignantly. His sadness has quickly morphed into anger, and you hate the way it makes you feel. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

You say nothing in response, and he takes your silence as a sign to continue.

“If you don’t love me, then why are you still wearing the necklace?”

Your eyes widen slightly as your hand immediately flies to your neck to clutch the pendant, and your heart slowly begins to sink to your stomach as you realize you’ve been caught in your lie. It’s your turn now to be at a loss for words, unsure what to say as you simply stare up at him with your mouth slight agape.

“You don’t mean what you’re saying,” Zuko says firmly as he moves closer to you. “Someone else is speaking for you, aren’t they?”

“I…”

“What’s going on, y/n?” He presses gently, carefully resting a hand upon your cheek. “Why are you acting this way?”

“I can’t tell you,” you argue weakly, your own eyes becoming full of tears as you allow yourself to melt into his touch. You’ve missed the feeling of his warmth and the comfort of his closeness, and despite your mind screaming at you to remove yourself from him your heart keeps you planted in place.

“That’s nonsense, of course you can. You’ve always been able to tell me anything, so why can’t you now?”

“Can’t you just believe me when I tell you it’s for your own good?” You plead emphatically despite the wavering of your voice.

“How can this possibly be for my own good?!” He retorts in exasperation. “I’ve been miserable without you. Life feels empty when you aren’t around, and I don’t know how to deal with the fact that the girl I’ve loved all my life can’t seem to stand me.”

“It’s not like that!” You cry defensively as the tears finally begin to fall.

“Then what is it?!” Zuko demands, and you can’t seem to take any more of this torture. The lies are killing you, and you can’t help but to finally crack under pressure.

“I’m not good enough for you!” You finally exclaim as you pull yourself away from his touch. You try to choke back your sobs but the ache in your chest makes the task difficult, and you can do nothing but let your words flow freely after keeping them bottled in for weeks. “I-I have nothing to offer you, nothing that makes me special, nothing ahead of me like you do. It’s an embarrassment to the Fire Lord for you to be with me, and it will be an embarrassment for you to have me as your Fire Lady.”

Stunned by your admission, it takes Zuko a moment to process your words. He steps towards you and you flinch, effectively breaking his heart in the process. It’s clear you’re frightened, but not of him. Your fear is geared toward someone else, and the culprit must be responsible for you now feeling this way.

“Who told you such nonsense?”

“Your father,” you admit quietly much to Zuko’s dismay. His eyes immediately harden and his chest is immediately tight with anger, but he does his best to keep his emotions at bay so as to not upset you further. “He spoke to me when we returned from Ember Island and told me we couldn’t be together. Ozai demanded I break your heart so that you can move on and find another girl more suited for this life than I could ever be. I didn’t want to, I still don’t want to, but I’m doing this so that you can have a better future. I’ll only hold you back, Zuko.”

After taking a moment to digest your words, Zuko carefully steps towards you again. You don’t reject his advances this time, so he allows himself the opportunity to carefully wipe away the steady tears that fall down your cool cheeks. Despite how much of a mess you assume you must look like, the Prince still sees you as the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t care what my father says,” he assures you gently as he takes your hands in his own. “You’re not an embarrassment, and there’s no other girl that could ever compare to you. I love you, y/n, and I’m not going to let anyone ever get in the way of that.”

“You mean that?” You ask with a quiet sniffle, holding his hands tight as if he’ll leave if you let go.

“Every word. Let my father and anyone else who disapproves of our relationship say what they want to say. I want to be with you, and I hope you still want to be with me too.”

His looks to you with pleading eyes that seek your reassurance, and for a moment you hesitate. Being with Zuko is all you’ve ever wanted, and now he stands here before you professing his loyalty and his love to you. The boy from your childhood had stolen your heart, and you’d be lying if you said you wanted it back.

You know being with him won’t be easy, especially not with his father’s adamant disapproval of your relationship, but you trust Zuko, and so you have to trust that everything will turn out okay. You meet his desperate gaze and gift him a faint smile, and despite knowing you’ll regret this, you wordlessly lean in to meet his lips in a kiss.

You can worry about Ozai’s wrath later. But for now, you allow yourself to melt into his embrace by the moonlit well as you share your first kiss in weeks. It feels right being in his arms once more after spending so much time apart, and you hope you’ll never have to be without his touch ever again.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy @alexatiu

tojis LMFAO

[ SMAU ] 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! in which reader asks the jujutsu kaisen men if they can eat their food .

୨୧˚ incl; satoru gojo , suguru geto , kento nanami , toji fushiguro , choso kamo

୨୧˚ cw; fluff , profanity , gojo slander

୨୧˚ an; i was KEKEKEKEing writing gojo’s😭😭 also choso’s kind of strayed from the original plot but don’t talk about it or you’re anti woman thank yewww❤️

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

AWWWW

❊ shootin' hoops! - childe . . ajax can't get enough of you. meanwhile, you've definetely had it with him.

ajax is 19 when he falls in love with you.

he meets you in his second year of college, in a stupid, annoying, lame sociology class which he's only in because it's a requirement to his major. why else would he be in a dank room at 8 in the morning? oh, he hates it. the class is slow-paced. his professor is even slower. an old, little man. ajax bets that he could bench his weight. and maybe a little more than that, too, without breaking a sweat.

the class sucks, and it's not even hard, and he would probably skip every single one and pass with a hundred and ten percent. and he really, really considers this course of action, too. until, he sees you in the back of the classroom. he doesn't think he's seen you before. he'd remember if he did.

wow, you look pretty. wow, you're cool. and wow, maybe he'll stick around for the lecture tomorrow after all. ajax grins to himself. and maybe he'll bench his professor, too, if you'd think that was cool. would that make him look strong, and show off his muscles? then he might really try.

after the class lets out (which takes light years, he's convinced) he makes a beeline to where you're packing up your notebook and stationary. "lame class, huh?"

you turn at his words, eyes wide as you take him in. ajax smiles with his teeth, and he can imagine all the girls and guys in the class swooning, he can practically hear their thoughts; 'oh, who's that cute guy? his dimples are so adorable! oh, wow, i should ask his number. he looks like he would be the star player of our college's basketball team! so muscular, and cool!'

and if they're all thinking that, oh, he can't even conceptualise what you must be thinking. he feels butterflies, and a little dizzy, and a lot anxious— but in a cool way, of course— when you open your mouth to respond.

"i thought it was cool, actually."

he's breathless for a second because wow, woah, oh god, your voice is just as nice— no, it's better, than he'd imagined it. and then he registers what you'd just said and it takes everything in him to stay composed as his brain short-circuits looking for something to say in response. so-long to his ingenious plan of bonding over mutual hatred of your professor. hm. he's kind of backed himself in a corner. oh, well, it seems like he'll have to rely on his massive charm to get him through to you. not a problem!

"really? you've got awful taste."

your face sours. his heart thunders— oh, you're so, so cute. he likes it when you look at him like that. actually, he likes it when you look at him in general. he likes the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're irritated. the way you look like you've tasted something bitter makes him think— would your lips taste sour, too? like lemons, and limes? like biting into a cardamom pod?

before he can think about it too much, you speak again, and he's entranced— again. "just my thoughts."

"well clearly, you don't think much."

you blink at him. your eyelashes frame your eyes so nicely, too. he wonders if there's a colour that encapsulates the shade of them. ajax thinks that your eyes are like the rest of you— indescribable. and then you scoff, and walk away with your bag slung over a shoulder, and he can't wait to see you tomorrow.

three weeks go by. ajax doesn't think he could be more in love.

he's showed up to sociology every single day, just for the sake of seeing you. lighting up like a match the second you show up in the doorframe, and going out in a similar fashion once you're gone. he relishes every single second in your company. he carves every half-smile and every grimace, and every time you purse your lips in confusion and every time you nod along to the professor when you understand. oh, he's in love. and it's bad. it's so bad.

"don't tell me you're actually doing the extra credit work," he says, staring at open laptop on your desk. it's work time, and while ajax could hypothetically leave, you're staying, so he's staying too.

you glance up at him. lord knows how you've put up with him for so long. he's annoying, he's bothersome, he does not leave you alone, not for a second. the only time he sees you is sociology so he's got to make the most of it. "i've got nothing better to do, ajax."

oh, he loves, loves, loves it when he says your name. it might be his favourite sound in the world. "you could leave. it's a free class."

you raise a brow— "you could leave too."

"i could. but what'd you do without me?"

you laugh the littlest bit, and he feels a dozen times lighter. maybe your laugh is actually his favourite sound, he can't decide. "probably be a lot more productive."

he likes what you have. he likes this friendship-ish kind of thing. he likes that you only hate him sometimes, and that you can stand to be around him other times. that's not to say he's satisfied. oh, not even close. 3 weeks were enough for ajax to imagine it— a lifetime. he imagines holding your hand at graduation. and he imagines movie nights turned sleepovers, and he imagines what colours you'd choose for the bedsheets of your first house together. he imagines lists of names. he imagines forever. but this is a good start. you're 50-50 now, he's just got to work on that hundred percent.

and, in his opinion, 3 weeks is a long, long time. that's 7 whole days of 24 whole hours. and only god knows how many minutes are in those hours. way too many, he thinks. he's smart enough to know that good things take time, but he doesn't think that he can be only your classmate-sometimes-friend for any longer. he wants more. needs it.

you speak before he can reply, "you really have nothing to be working on?"

he probably does. a lot of business homework, something math related undoubtedly. but that wouldn't take him too long. so he opens his mouth to say as much when he remembers— he likely wouldn't have time later tonight. oh, but he's already not been doing his work— would it be embarrassing to start now? would you think he's stupid? he's so cool, and he'd hate if you didn't agree. in any other situation, he'd pop open his notebooks and get to work. but you make him all conscious, and nervous, and hot in the face. and how long has it been since you asked? he should probably respond. you stare expectantly and he feels warm all over, maybe almost as hot as he looks. (you'd agree. right? you would.)

"maybe just a few small things," he grins at you, "but i can squeeze them in before my game tonight."

you hum in response. "i forgot there was one tonight. against our rivals, right?"

his heart warms— you remembered who it was against. you might've forgotten about it in general, but you remembered it. that must be a good sign. oh, he's got this in the bag.

"yeah. at 7."

you smile at him. he thinks he might die right there. "well, good luck. i'm sure you'll do great."

he beams at the compliment, heart thundering like a caged bird between his ribs. compliments always meant more from you. he could probably definitely recall every single one you've ever spoken to him, if he tried. (and probably even if he didn't.)

ajax doesn't miss a beat, this time. "i'd probably do a lot better if you were there cheering me on."

he doesn't miss it. he doesn't miss the way your mouth twists a little bit in surprise, because this was really not what you were expecting. and he definitely, doesn't miss the way your eyes slide over to your hands, and your fingers which are suddenly all too fidgety. he's embarrassed you. his boyish grin grows tenfold. "don't tell me i've got you going shy on me."

you roll your eyes in mock annoyance, and he knows you well enough at this point to know you're trying to hide your bashfulness. "oh, you wish."

"you're right. i do."

you freeze. he doesn't think he could hide his joy at your embarrassment even if he wanted to, even if he tried. it's hard for ajax to pinpoint his favourite one of your feelings— he thinks you're cute all the time. he thinks it's funny when you're disgusted, or annoyed. he thinks you're adorable when you're happy, and especially so when you're sleepy. but he's beginning to suspect that he's especially fond of you when you're flustered like this.

the professor speaks. ajax's mood is instantly a little more sour because god, even the man's voice is slow and boring. the free class was officially dismissed, and students were free to go. under any other circumstances, ajax would be happy about this. but he really does have to go. he wishes you could come with him. he wishes you could come with him everywhere, really.

"are you serious?"

your question catches him off guard. you're looking at him again, with those pretty eyes, and you have a familiar expression on— it's one he recognises as confusion. you're confused. he softens, more than he thought possible. it takes everything in him to resist pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek, the crease of your furrowed brows, the corner of your lip where an unconscious pout makes itself known. and he realises he might've been unclear with his advances. so he meets your eyes and says, "of course i am. i'm serious about you if you are about me, yeah?"

it's some kind of consent, or acknowledgment. that what you both have can and probably will evolve. you're smart enough to know that he knows, and he's smart enough to know that you know. and you nod softly, and smile like flower petals, and he decides he'll never get over you. he'll never need another.

"i'll see if i can go tonight. but if not, i'll text you."

he thinks he's the happiest person alive. he could kiss you right then, right there, but your wrinkly old dustbag of a professor is still in the room and he won't entertain the geezer. "i'll see you."

he doesn't see you until the final quarter of the game, but you've been there the whole time.

his team is winning, of course, because they have him, but he's been out of it all game. any moment he can, he's scanning the stands with a watchful eye. it's one of the biggest games of the season. he knows he should be laser-focused, but he's not and it's all your fault. there must be hundreds of faces pressed together and he can't seem to find yours. until he does.

you're closer to the ground than he thought you'd be. hiding in plain sight. and when he sees you, he swears he might start floating. there are flowers in his chest, blooming an ache deep inside. something so disgustingly sweet, so addictingly sickening is awoken at the sight of you in his team's colour. he thinks you'd look beautiful in his spare jersey. he smiles, and it's all teeth. a vicious kind of adrenaline fills him as the next play is called to begin. he thinks he'll give it to you after he wins.

and wins he does. with flying colours, really— the other team didn't really stand a chance to begin with, not as soon as he saw you there cheering him on. his teammates flock to him like sheep, piling on him and shouting things he can't really hear over the general public's applause of the home team's victory. and everything is happening; his coach is slapping his back, his teammate is dragging him somewhere, someone's handing him water, people are screaming his name, yelling about his winning shot, and all he hears is his breathing, and all he sees is you, standing with your hands clasped and lips pressed together in a smile. all he sees is you, so you're the first person he runs to.

since you're in the first stand to the bottom, it's easy for him to clear the guard rail and get to your side. someone in the background shouts his name. he doesn't care. the people who were previously next to you are shoved aside— he doesn't care at all. he's right there with you.

"you came," his breath comes raspy, dry. "you came to see me."

you shrug nervously, "i guess i did."

so he kisses you. ajax is 19 when he falls in love, for the first and last time. ajax is 19 when he kisses you, and he's young, and he's stupid, and he will never regret this, not ever, not when you kiss him back almost instantly, pulling him close by his jersey. it feels so right, it feels too real to be true. he's got to be dreaming. any second now, he expects his daft old professor's voice to scold him for falling asleep during a lecture. but the voice never comes, and you really do taste like lemons and spice, and he hears phone cameras clicking and cheering grow tenfold and he doesn't care because he gets to kiss you.

at some point, you break away. your face is red-hot and he can feel the warm blood flooding your cheeks with how close your faces remain. he ikes it when your lips are swollen because of his. he likes it when your eyes are fixed on him. he likes you. he thinks he was doomed to like you from the start.

when the background finally fades back in, he sees his teammates cheering and ooh-ing like stupid junior high boys. you seem a little disoriented, so he laughs and pulls you away from the stands, helping you climb down the safety rail with a hand in yours and another on the small of your back.

ajax hates his sociology class. he hates the lectures, his professor, the subject— but something good came of it. because he really loves you. with your cardamom tongue and smile lines, and the crease of your eyebrows when you're annoyed, and all of it, and more. he loves you the most. more than anything.

flowers chosen: small sunflower & pink camellia . . adoration & longing for you

❊ send a request! ❊ 5k masterlist ❊ event info ❊

☆ IT'S YOU.

characters: childe x gn!reader

tags: angst? i guess, thematic / symbolic descriptions of blood, it is heavily implied (if not explicitly said) that reader is struggling financially (reader is going through it 😭), not proofread, 1.5k words, could be read as platonic or romantic

a/n: YES THERE WILL BE A PART TWO. i promise you i will make a part two when i finally get over my exams and projects but for now im leaving you in suspense HEHEH. tbf the whole time when writing this it felt like writing a slowburn except its very evident that the author is trying not to make them kiss like barbie dolls. anyways reblogs are appreciated and enjoy !!

Ajax remembers the beautiful days of Snezhnaya, because he remembers you.

Snezhnaya was a cold, bitter land, and yet the villages that scattered around were represented of warmth, of love. Wrapped in endless layers that drowned them in fur, kids tried to run through the depths of the snowfall. Fires, in the safety of their hearth, would crackle and dance, showcasing the light of a fiery red and orange, and were a symbol of the people's willpower. And when blizzards tried to rid them of life, the Snezhnayans lifted their heads to the dark skies and moved forward.

Ajax loved Snezhnaya, his Snezhnaya. He had his family, his home, his village.

He had you.

Ever since you looked at him for the first time and grinned, he would remember your eyes. Sparked by the ambitions in your heart, and lit by the fire that reflected your eyes, you've dedicated your heart to the world. Ajax would sit by you and smile as you told him of all the things you would do and see. Every vision, every hope, every future story was told to him, and Ajax almost laughed at how bright your smile was.

Childe mournfully chuckled at the memory.

It almost was a nostalgic foreshadowing. His only regret was never pinky promising you that day, for he would've guaranteed that your future hopes would've been a long-told story. He wished he had promised you that he would see this hope through. Maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

If you give someone a dream, you defend it until the end.

Childe wished he could have protected that hopeful innocence you bore with pride. And yet, he knows; the day you both had lost each other would be your last day as a child.

He wonders if you were horrified of him. Seeing your closest companion, who sparkled at the stories of his father, soon became this distorted manifestation of willpower. Wanting to fight and become the protagonist of his story, he had gone too far, he had wanted too much.

Is wanting to fight and prove himself to the world so antagonistic of him?

Is wanting to fight to save his people from suffering, was it so lustful of him?

Or was it a symbol of his own fire, soon burning with the color of red?

Red.

Red.

It was all for the Tsaritsa. Whatever she deemed was fit, and Childe has no interest in forfeiting her ideals.

And yet, at night, he dreams of red. Red; dripping, dripping, dripping down onto the pure innocence of the Snezhnayan snow. His hydro vision, burning a bright blue, will have been tainted of red, and the blood which drips from his vision will guide him by the hand and lead him to his village. Fires will have burnt a bright red. Red inside, red outside, the red that bursts out of your chest; your face to be lifeless as the snow who cradled your body. The crackling of the fireplaces he had grown up with will have cackled at his inability to save what he loved.

He will have seen red, truly.

It had been so long since he had felt the hug of the Snezhnayan chill. He wonders if you were sitting by the fireplace at some point and thought of the unfulfilled dreams you used to show to the world, only for it to forcefully rip it from your heart.

Childe hadn't seen you in years.

You had lost him.

And yet, he looked to the skies and moved forward; eyes vacant of life. Ocean blue eyes reflected the Liyue sky above, and yet the sun did not reach his eyes.

Liyue Harbor's sun had risen once more for its people, and the clouds had opened themselves to the blue skies above.

Shops opened, childrens' laughter rang through the shops, and steaming hot, fresh food began to swarm his nose.

It was a beautiful day in Liyue Harbor, because it reminded him of home.

And yet, he couldn't have felt so detached from the warm feeling of being home.

“Mr. Tartaglia.”

His body shifted to follow the sound of his name, only to find a tall figure, who's hair had come from the mountains of Liyue itself, looking at him.

“Ah, Mr. Zhongli! What a wonderful day to take a stroll.”

“Indeed, it is. But so early in the morning… Are you not cold? Perhaps I can treat you to one of Liyue's finest meals?”

Childe let out a hearty laugh and shook his head.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Zhongli. However, I am quite used to this. I can't have myself succumbing to the cold so easily now.”

Zhongli smiled and walked next to Childe.

“That is indeed true. A Fatuus, nonetheless a Harbinger, must keep himself resilient no matter the cold; whether it is of the cold of the skies or the cold of the hearts… And yet, there is a yearning you face, am I correct?”

Childe stayed silent, and turned his head back to the Harbor. By now, the people below had chatted amongst themselves and soon turned into a bustling crowd.

Zhongli sighed and looked at the skies. “No matter how many contacts I have glazed through and how many signatures I've signed, it is fascinating to me how we mortals feel so…sentimental.”

Childe looked at Zhongli and scrunched his eyebrows. “... Is it so wrong of someone to be?“

Zhongli shook his head. “We are so drawn by what we have found to be a symbol of warmth, that even in sheer cold, we find ourselves clinging onto it, even if that warmth has become lukewarm.”

The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it did let Childe think.

…Did you think of him the way he did of you? Was he just a distant memory to you?

Childe disrupted the solemn moment with a chuckle, particularly to rid his mind of you. “Now you're starting to seem sentimental, comrade.”

Zhongli followed with gentle laughter. “It seems even in the midst of logic, we still leave our fate to our emotions. That is both our victorious strength and our darkest weakness.”

Childe, having the sudden urge to leave this sour topic, excused himself. “...I have to head to the Northland Bank. It was good seeing you.”

Zhongli smiled at Childe one last time before turning to look at the harbor. “Farewell, Childe. May we meet again soon.”

Childe had turned his back towards him and walked away.

The crowd had grown but the only sound that echoed in Childe's ears was the click of his shoes. He steadily walked up the stairs, away from lingering eyes and the lightly veiled fear of the surrounding people.

“We are so drawn by what we have found to be a symbol of warmth, that even in sheer cold, we find ourselves clinging onto it, even if that warmth has become lukewarm.”

…Yet every moment in solitude, he swore upon the Tsaritsa that he felt your presence sitting right next to him. He hears your voice replay in his head like a broken record, always playing, never ending.

It was almost a spit in his face. As much as he tried to play it off and laugh at his words, Zhongli had seen through him.

Was he always this see-through? He can’t be. He must be out of it.

Upon walking the red bridge that connected the Northland Bank, the sun had fully risen from the ground and had shone on the tall wooden doors. The two Fatui that guarded the doors nodded at him and took a step to the side. Childe had walked to the doors and stepped in.

“Welcome back, Mr. Tartaglia.”

The steps of his shoes echoed through the bank’s walls and all eyes turned to face his figure.

“Good morning, Ms. Ekaterina. Is there any upcoming debts I need to collect?”

“We do. And actually, they’ve been very keen on trying to avoid any other Northland Bank employees or Fatui. They gave us a name, but I highly doubt it would be a real one.”

Childe hummed in acknowledgement and Ekaterina gave him the directions to the location.

“Thank you again, Mr. Tartaglia. May you come back with good news.”

Childe grinned, before walking to the bank doors. “Don’t I always?”

The walk to this very secluded location was quite troublesome, had it not been Childe. The path was very far from the Harbor, and the routes to this location seemed to always have some type of monsters nearby.

“Good Tsaritsa, who lives in a house so far away? I mean, how do you even get groceries?!”

But when he finally looked up to where the approximate location was, his eyebrows raised up.

The house that he looked at looked very rundown, yet it was still as if someone had lived here. Plants had overgrown, and yet there was a small candle lit on the windowsill.

Treading through the tall grass and abiding by the rocky paths, he had made his way to the door and knocked.

He heard a small commotion inside the house before footsteps creeped up to the other side of the door. As the door creaked open he began to speak.

“This is the Northland…”

Both pairs of eyes had diluted at each other, and the hand that rested on the doorknob shook.

“…Ajax?”

…

“[ Name ]?”

☆ mccnstruck. do not repost, plagerize, or feed my works into AI.

giggles

I WANT A HEART TATTOO!

I'LL NEVER GET IT REMOVED!

synopsis// suguru gives you your first tattoo.

➚ pairing// tattoo artist!suguru geto x gn!reader

➚ word count// 2k

contents// friends to lovers, tattooed and pierced geto, reader is a chicken, mentions of drinking, maybe like the ittiest bittiest type of suggestive toward the end...? slightly teasing/cocky geto?

notes// this is kinda cringe but i am cringe and free. also this was inspired by heart tattoo by joyce manor (dont play with me rn.) hoping this will help hold yall off till i can finish the smau...

Geto meticulously cleans up his tattoo station, occasionally stopping to take a swig of the beer you so kindly brought him. 

“You’re quiet.” 

You hum as you take a sip of your own beer. 

He stops and turns around to face you, his eyebrow raised. “Why?” 

“I like watching you clean.” 

Geto laughs. Not just a small one either, but the kind that makes his nose crinkle and his cheeks bunch to the point his eyes are forced closed. You ignore the butterflies in your stomach, blaming it on the alcohol (even if this is only your first beer and definitely not enough to have any sort of effect on you, but you digress). 

“What’s so interesting about watching me clean anyway?” 

You huff, ignoring the increasing heat on your face. “I don’t know... Just shut up and finish cleaning, Suguru. I wanna leave.” 

He smiles and turns back around, continuing to clean. “I told you you could go home.” 

“And leave you to fend for yourself?”

“I’m a grown man.” 

“Whatever… Besides, I can’t drink all these beers by myself.” 

Geto doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders shake slightly with a small, silent laugh, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. You love his little quirks. You always have.

maybe a little too much.

Meanwhile, he picks up his tattoo machine and stares at it. There’s nothing particularly interesting about it; it’s just plain black, freshly wrapped in some black medical tape. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Something wrong?” 

He shakes his head and turns to face you again, tattoo machine still in hand. “You still don’t have any tattoos, huh?” 

“Um, no,” you respond sheepishly. “I’m not like scared or anything-“ 

“I wasn’t gonna say that.” 

“Oh. then what were you gonna say?” 

“Can I give you a tattoo?” 

You blink at him. It’s not like you don’t trust him. You trust Geto with your life. You trust him more than anyone or anything in the world. Shit, you might trust him even more than you trust yourself. It’s just…

Geto impatiently groans at your lack of answer. “Oh, cmon, you literally promised me when we were younger that you would let me tattoo you!” 

“That was when we were like twelve!” you scoff, in disbelief he’d throw something as old as that in your face… Maybe he’s been hanging around Gojo too much. 

“Give me one good reason why you won’t let me tattoo you.” 

You frown as you look away, and right away you can hear his footsteps as he places himself in your line of vision again. raising his eyebrows as if to ask, “well?” 

You mumble something under your breath that he doesn’t quite catch. “Y/N, you know I can’t hear you when you do that.” 

“I actually am scared!” you finally say loud enough for him to hear, and it comes out more like a single word than a full sentence.

Geto can't help but giggle, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth, but not even that helps.

“Suguru, this isn't funny; I'm being vulnerable here!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says through stifled laughter before finally calming down enough to clear his throat. “You're right, it isn’t funny,“ he pauses for a moment. ”Wanna know something?”

“What?”

“Getting tattooed scares me too.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “You're covered in them.”

Geto shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s not unnerving each time.”

“I just don’t want it to hurt,” you explain with a slight pout.

“It’s a needle going in and out of your skin, Y/N.”

“Exactly!”

“Fine,” Suguru says with a sigh, and you think that's it; he's done, but not even a few seconds later does he speak up again: “What if I said I'll be gentle?”

“Haha.” Your brain immediately short circuits, and the butterflies in your stomach are something you can't blame on the alcohol this time. “Huh.”

Geto laughs softly. “With your tattoo?”

You nod blankly, your brain still not working properly and not yet actually computing what he’s still asking you.

“Yes?” he confirms excitedly.

“Yeah…” Finally, it hits you. “Wait, no! I mean, no. and not to mention you’ve been drinking?”

“Like two sips, Y/N,” he says with a slight pout and roll of his eyes. “You know better than anyone; it takes a lot more than that to get me drunk.”

“Okay, well, what about me? Isn't it bad to get tattoed when you’ve been drinking?”

“Oh my god, just say yes or no. You know I won’t be mad if you decide not to.”

You stare deep into Geto’s eyes, and he’s not lying; he won't be mad. disappointed, sure, but not mad. never mad, never when it comes to you. And right then and there, your conviction crumbles into a million tiny pieces, just dust in the wind.

“…fine”

“fine?”

“You can tattoo me. But!" you exclaim, pointing a finger at him as if lecturing him, “it has to be small! and somewhere where it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, I can't guarantee that last part, and you know that,” he says blankly.

You sigh in defeat. “Yeah, I know.”

Geto smiles at you softly and coos, “But I will try,” as he gently caresses your cheek before breaking away and turning around to pull back out the stuff he needs.

You stand there wide-eyed, and your jaw dropped. Geto is affectionate, sure, but he’s never been that affectionate. He couldn’t feel the same way, could he? You shake your head, denying that thought, even despite how hot you feel.

He just did that to comfort you.

That’s all.

He was just trying to be reassuring.

That's it.

At least that's what your brain is trying to say, but your heart is saying another with the way it violently beats against your rib cage.

The minute he turns around, you compose yourself, shutting your mouth and hoping to god he doesn’t notice your chest heaving almost uncontrollably.

Geto pats his tattoo chair. “Sit.”

You hesitate, standing there like a deer in headlights.

Geto clicks his tongue dramatically before grabbing your hand and leading you to his chair, mumbling a reassuring, “Trust me.”

You frown, placidly letting him drag you around like a rag doll. “I do trust you.”

“Then sit.”

And when he says it like that, how can you say no? When he’s staring at you so intently that it’s almost as if he can see right through you, how do you say no? You cant. So you don't. The only thing you can do is—petulantly—plop down into his tattoo chair.

“Sit right and lay your arm on the armrest.”

“No, do it like this.” By ‘this’ you mean with you hunched over and your arm resting on your leg rather than the armrest like Geto is telling you to.

He sighs deeply. "Y/N, your arm resting on your leg is not stable enough. like at all.”

“Do it like this or not at all.”

“Fine.” He raises an eyebrow at you in mild disapproval and says, "But if it comes out bad, it’s not my fault.”

You roll your eyes, unamused. Geto would never let anything he puts on your body come out even remotely bad. “Whatever.”

“Why like this anyway?”

“Because it’s comfortable..?”

Not really.

Like at all.

Actually, this is extremely uncomfortable, and you're sure your back will hate you later, but this gives you the best view of Geto, and that's all you care about.

“Okay, fine,” he says, not bothering to put up much more of a fight before getting in position. “Ready?”

“Yeah…” Not even a second later, you blurt out, “Wait!”

Geto’s head shoots up, his concerned eyes scanning your face intently. “What? What is it?”

You don't say a word; instead, you grab onto his shoulder with your free hand, prepared to claw into it if and when need be.

“Is that why you’re sitting like this?” He asks, a smug smile creeping onto his face as it finally hits him. “You just wanted to hold onto me?”

You nod sheepishly.

Geto smiles. “Are you ready now, then?”

You nod again.

but that's not good enough for him. He wants a real reply. “For real this time?”

“For real this time.”

Geto doesn't miss a beat, and you close your eyes as your face scrunches up in anticipation, your nails already sinking into his shoulder. But the minute the tattoo machine actually meets your skin, you peek one eye open because all you really feel is some vibration and the tiniest of scratches. It doesn’t hurt that bad at all, actually; it’s more than tolerable, and with that, your hand relaxes against his shoulder, still resting on it but no longer gripping him like he’s the only thing tying you to this earth.

It’s not long after that the feeling fades into the background of your mind, like a blur. Being tattooed isn’t even a thought in your brain at all right now. Geto could be tattooing a dick on your arm right now, and you wouldn’t even know because the only thing you can focus on is him.

The only thing you can ever focus on is him, if you’re being honest.

But right now, something is different. Seeing him in his element makes your knees go weak, and you’re grateful for the fact that you’re sitting. and suddenly you don’t know why you’ve never let him tattoo you sooner. You’d let him tattoo you a thousand more times if it meant you got to see him like this. He somehow makes the way he focuses look like art—from the way his brows are knitted together in concentration to the way he absentmindedly bites and fiddles with his lip piercings—it’s all art; he makes it look too beautiful. like he’s more modeling and pretending to focus than actually doing it. You involuntarily let out a deep, longing sigh, your eyes fluttering close in the process.

Geto’s gaze flits up to your face. “You're not about to pass out on me, right?”

You open your eyes and meet his gaze with a small, content smile on your face. “No, I'm fine, Suguru.”

“I mean, if you were, that would be fine too, because I'm done,” he replies, turning off his tattoo machine and moving away from you.

“Already?!” you ask, slightly shocked. It didn't feel like it had been that long.

“Yeah,” he says plainly as he stands up and starts quickly cleaning up his workstation once more. "Don't know what you were so scared of, dork.”

You open your mouth, ready to say something sarcastic or explain yourself, but before the words can even leave your mouth, before you can even think of them, Geto is turning back around to face you and cupping your chin in between his index finger and thumb.

Geto leans down at the same time he tilts your head up and places a chaste kiss on the corner of your (still open) mouth, cooing, “You took it so well.”

All you can do is laugh nervously. “What?” You're still giggling; you don't think you could do much else at this point. “What was that- Why did you just-“

Geto starts laughing along with you, except it’s not a defense mechanism for him; he’s just finding this all too amusing. “You didn't think I gave you a heart for no reason, did you?”

You quickly look down at your arm, the action ripping your chin out of Geto’s hold. “You gave me a heart,” you say absentmindedly, and it sounds more like a question than an actual statement.

“Are you just now noticing?” he asks, returning his hand to your chin and gently guiding you to look up at him again. “I thought you were watching the whole time.”

You swallow sharply, becoming acutely aware of how close his face is to yours again. “I was watching something the whole time, but it was not the actual tattoo.”

“Oh? and what was so much more interesting?”

“Mind your business-“

Geto barely even lets you finish your snarky remark before leaning in and kissing you again. except this time for real. except this time you kiss back.

and suddenly tattoos don’t seem so bad anymore, so long as they all end like this.

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

holu shit

౨ৎ SERENDIPITY

creep! reader x psycho! choso

᭝ synopsis : you develop a rather strong crush on your quiet classmate, little did you know the man is about ten times worse than you'd imagined... but is that really a problem ?

᭝ tags : dark content, settled in the 90´s, both of them are in their 20's, knife use (no contact w/skin), oral (m), face slapping (once), slight face fucking, masturbation, cum eating, dub-con, implied murder, dirty talk (actually dirty), praise, unprotected sex, reader is sensitive (kinda stupid too), both reader n choso are sick + made him taller for fear implementation purposes :3

᭝ wc: 9.7k

᭝ notes : pls trust the process the start is long as fuck but that's like the implementation of reader's behavior n all. real things come along much later :]

you wished it hadn't happened.

every night you reminisced the first time it occurred and wished things could have been different. if you would've chosen a different seat in class, maybe you wouldn't have noticed. if you weren't so observant, maybe you wouldn't have seen.

and much more, if your life wasn't so plain and boring, your attention wouldn't have been caught so easily.

the second your eyes laid on him you realized, too late to your dismay, that you wouldn't be able to back down. not now. not ever.

the thing with you is ... well, you know the feeling too well. way too well simply because you felt it wrenching your guts numerous times already. and one time it felt particularly... sickening – you let things get to you easily.

and with your eyes wide open, glued on him for God knows how long, you came to the conclusion that this new time wasn't so different from the last.

the same sickness.

the kind that protrude from deep within and crawls on your skin so effectively. the one that makes your hairs on your skin stand up and creates a noticeable lump in your throat.

oh and like every time you were so sure of yourself, thinking it wouldn't last long, "it's just a passing fancy, isn't it?"

but was it?

you thought so at first, during the first week, then the first month, but when the second month appeared followed by the third one, you weren't so sure anymore.

.·:*¨ ༺ ༻ ¨*:·.

your head was spinning.

it was so full of him.

the worst part is that it only took you sideways glances to send your stomach upside down and butterflies spreading all inside.

you were a really simple girl in fact. it didn't take anything much to satisfy you ; it was the way his hair looked so soft, way too soft. his long black hair that he usually ties into two buns, with some strands falling messily over his face.

the way he rolled his neck to stretch it nice and slow, but also the way he let his hands go up and down his nape, massaging it whenever class was getting too long and God only knows you would've done anything to sit right behind him, if it wasn't for your classmate.

it was the way he always wore black shirts even in minus degrees, somehow – you couldn't grasp the inability to feel any cold. but also the way he walked past you with long and big strides, legs enveloped in large black trousers and those big brown boots and oh-

don't even dare to remind her the first time she realized he was the tallest in the room. she almost fell to her knees seeing how his head was about 5 centimeters away from touching the door frame on the way out.

also that one time he was talking to the teacher and the size difference made you so dizzy you had to turn around and focus on the ground to not let your limbs weaken, potentially causing you to fall uncontrollably. so broad.

but above all of this it was his eyes.

you loved his eyes, his dark brown and exhausted eyes – you couldn't emphasize enough on how tired they looked, as shades of purple were always circling around them – small and delicate in the way he watched everything happen around him. the way they occasionally met yours when you were staring a bit too.. intensively.

but you hated them with the same passion. you hated the way they weren't constantly on you, the way you never were close enough to see the colors melting altogether.

what first caught your attention wasn't his look though, as much as it was an enticing one.

you first noticed him a few months ago, sitting still, like he always does. his fingers maneuvering with the pen he holds, spinning it randomly. and his stare traveling somewhere around the class. you noticed the way he would also, just the same as you, watch.

you could say observant people like you were unusual ; people tended to leave during the break, talk with friends about Nirvana's new album they'd listen on their Walkman, or their latest reading, eventually getting up to get something to eat and for the richest among them, use their Nokia to call whomever.

but just few (if not just the two of you) just sat there to actually watch. looking around at people talking, taking part in conversations while remaining silent just because the person in front of you has seen fit to lay out their life and deconstruct its minutest details without even thinking about who might hear them.

In other words, when you spent most of your breaks eavesdropping on other people's conversations and learning more about university gossip in 10 minutes than learning about your major in 2 hours, knowing that only one other person in the class was potentially doing the same dubious but particularly enjoyable activity made you feel... better.

you were glancing on your left constantly.

but he was so dainty in his every moves, so subtle. and you could see him checking you on the corner of his eyes, as he felt your gaze penetrating his soul ; as it's the only way you could describe the way you were looking at him.

always with passion.

.·:*¨ ༺ ༻ ¨*:·.

waking up an hour earlier every single day to get ready was kind of a hardship when you knew you could commute to university twenty minutes before classes would start. but you also knew at what time he arrived at school – always twenty minutes before.

and even if you had to take the first bus and wait during this whole time, it didn't really matter if at the end you got to see him.

a daily routine you wouldn't miss. you couldn't.

oh but what a shame when you arrived twenty minutes early to wait patiently on a wooden chair that was so so uncomfortable, just to end up not seeing his pretty face. not during those twenty minutes, and even less during the whole morning.

you hated those mornings.

but the ones where he was here weren't so pleasant either. in fact you were constantly fighting something ; trying to glance at him at appropriate intervals, making sure no one was seeing how often, and how focused you were on the man ; because what if someone notices something is catching your interest ? it's only when something is coveted that people's attention multiplies.

you didn't want that to happen, ever.

and you wanted, with an iron will, to listen in class in the best possible way but to your great misfortune you struggled to do so. and it was so frustrating especially when all it got you was three paragraphs and two neck lesions at the end of the hour with the onset of torticollis on borrowed time because of the numerous times you had to orient your head at thirty degrees to your left.

sometimes people were looking at you too.

and not because you particularly picked their interest, but because they thought you were staring at them.

sometimes he was looking at you too.

and not because you particularly caught his attention, but because he felt the stares.

you felt bad about it.

it wasn't too obvious, you tried not to let it be.

thirty degrees, eyes resting on the big chalk board most of the times, and ten or twenty times on him in the span of a minute.

these mornings weren't so easy either.

.·:*¨ ༺ ༻ ¨*:·.

who is she ?

the most formal and polite thought you could form even though behind that censorship barrier hid a thousand screams.

why is she talking to him all of a sudden ?

you were like a rabbit digging its own hole, arriving at a dead end only to find that the exit was only a few centimeters away. you had been absolutely devoid of any precautions.

you had been so invested, so focused on him only, that you didn't think of surveying your surroundings. his surroundings.

and God why does he look so invested ?

she is sitting right behind him. right where yourself wished to sit, if it wasn't for your classmate. had this girl been watching him too ? was she here since the beginning ?

it was bad. so fucking bad.

she's getting up. picking up her stuff.

is she leaving ?

oh you had wished the other girl got up just to leave for good but to your biggest fear she in fact got up from her seat, just to sit down right next to him. right next to him.

they talked. for the whole first class.

you couldn't see his face anymore, as it was most of the time on her.

they talked. for the whole second class.

you were burning hot. you stopped watching. eyes focused on the teacher you thought it would be better for you. but was it when you couldn't even see the teacher through your tears ?

you didn't even notice your eyes were also burning. you didn't notice your jaw clenching and your arms securing your own neck to keep it steady centered forward.

you were an emotional girl.

you wished all of this never had happened.

you neck didn't hurt anymore. your heart was.

class finished. you were the first one to get up.

your day was ruined.

this morning wasn't so easy either.

.·:*¨ ༺ ༻ ¨*:·.

the girl didn't show up the day after. nor the one after, nor for the rest of the week. the place next to him was empty. you had never thought the void could fill your heart with warmth so efficiently.

you needed to talk to him.

oh but the other woman knew how to do it so so much better than you could even dream of. in fact you were never one to make the first step, even less than that, you never made any steps at all.

the last time you tried even a socially accepted approach was in high school, you were fifteen. the only immediate result was mockery from your classmates coupled with vile words that considerably lowered your self-esteem and caused you to sob in the bathroom for the rest of the period.

you swore to never speak a word again.

you were content to wait in the background, enjoying it from afar now, and sometimes even... a little too closely. you really tried to not step over any moral limit, you had principles.

as much as you were entitled to them, what was of the order of thought remained on that side. your personal values were no match for your needs. and when you needed something you had to get it, no matter how.

as ugly and embarrassed and overall shameful you might feel about it, you still had to live with the fact that you took twelve photos of your past crush on the high school grounds with your Howell camera your mom bought you to "make memories with your friends".

you had told your former friend from high school, being the only one you could latch onto about him. oh but she didn't really share your excitement, you could even say she got disgusted by it. by you.

you then tried your hardest to put an end to it. you wanted to be better. you tried to stop taking pictures, stop staring, stop lurking, even stop following him – your former friend talked about "stalking" but you weren't having any of that.

though on a school day at 10 am when class ended, things changed. efforts were soon to be crashed. and sins were perpetrated again.

he was just in front of you. walking down the street with his hands in his pockets, backpack on his shoulders and taking those long strides a tall man would take. so attainable and yet so out of reach – like the kind of statue you see in a museum that seems so unreal, so fastidious and so perfect that you almost want to touch it to verify its authenticity, even though the act is totally forbidden.

he was about to disappear from your sight.

you could just take that same street though, it was parallel from the one you usually take ; maybe even more rapid in fact. at least you liked to think it was.

but you soon realized that no one was waiting for you at home, that you had no friends with whom to spend the rest of the morning drinking some coffee, and talking about anything and everything, and that you could delay your return to your apartment as long as you wanted.

ugh, it was as if Asmodeus was corrupting you. your fingers clutched the strap of your shoulder bag and before you could make a rational choice, your legs had already made up their minds.

you didn't mean to follow him for twenty minutes, approximately a kilometer if you were exact. it was a bit of an ordeal if you were honest given the speed he was going, one stride for him took two for you.

you were careful to put enough distance between him and you, even though he was a little too far away you could still recognize him by his hairstyle and noticeable stature. he walked nonchalantly, his hands in his pockets, following an itinerary you didn't know by heading a little further west.

you almost got spotted twice.

on one occasion, he had stopped abruptly and waited about five seconds before resuming his walk, without actually doing anything - he just stood still. the second time he bumped into an old woman and had to turn around to apologize in such a courteous manner that your cheeks burst into flames. but your eyes didn't meet, and ironically it was the first time you were relieved by that.

oh and by the time you reached the distance away from your shared university that's when you thought that maybe, it was enough. you took the first turn you saw and he disappeared from your vision.

what a mess you are. who goes around lurking and monitoring their crush's activities this way? it was always a double-edged decision, you always felt a little more complete because it was as if you'd been able to spend a little time with him, as if you could share something in common, but at the same time the pit at the bottom of your stomach widened horribly as if all your organs were going back down your throat, that feeling of remorse and shame you know so well. too well.

the wind rose around you, the leaves stirred and the trees whispered, as if to announce that you would soon pay the price for your actions, feel the reprisals you so richly deserve.

all you could hear were your footsteps on the empty streets you were walking through, but that was only for the few minutes you spent ruminating on your previous actions. soon came a deafening jolt, one that diverted your negative thoughts and pushed them farther away.

your body shook before it got caught in an embrace.

"shit– i'm sorry. are you okay?"

you stabilized yourself back on your feet after the stranger came to collide with you. your eyes shot up and– oh.

you had no idea if your heart stopped on the moment or if on the contrary it had left your rib cage, because in all honesty, you didn't feel it at all. the way you no longer felt the weight of your body supported by your legs, you no longer felt the wind whispering atrocities to you.

he was just in front of you. holding your forearm as if it could break like porcelain with the little push he accidentally gave you.

his eyes were riveted on you, alternating from one eye to the other as he watched your face to take note of your condition - which seemed alarming, to say the least, given your silence and stunned expression.

his eyebrows rose in question, as he was still waiting, "seems like you're shaken up eh?" he stood there, his arms sliding down yours so ever gently, renouncing to hold you as you didn't seem to need support anymore.

you quickly rearranged the strap of your bag on your shoulder and shook your head, blinking a bit too much as if you were testing if your own sight wasn't failing you.

the way you react is almost concerning. you're similar to Pavlovian dogs in a way. you can't help it, "no, no i'm fine, i'm good thanks" you nod.

you had a particular hard time keeping the eye contact, because of numerous reasons and one being that as recently as five minutes ago you were following him and the other being, well, just him. the way he was looking at you was almost.. too much.

too much to bear on your skin, feeling like you were being burned alive, feeling like your soul was laid bare to atone for your worst sins before him, a bit like your final judgment at the feet of the man who drove you to commit a multitude of sins that would directly send you to Hell if you didn't soon repent yourself.

"i'll take your words." he takes a step back with those big boots of his, the ones that were so damn hard to follow around the block.

he sniffles and scrunches his nose as he looks around him, and that makes you realize how much you never really noticed the semblance of a scar he has atop of his nose, the extremities of it extending from a cheek to the other. you wonder how he's had it.

"i'm choso by the way, sorry for bumping into you again," he puts his hands in his pockets as he waits there.

"oh, it's not your fault, i wasn't really looking ahead myself." you scoff poorly, more to yourself than to add any relief to the somewhat tensed conversation.

"i bet."

he's still looking at you, and much more to your dismay the way he pronounces every word with such a silky voice has you holding up your breath. you struggle to start your sentences as unnecessary puffs of air keep interrupting you.

"oh i didn't introduce myself, i'm–"

"i know who you are," he interrupts you nonchalantly, a sudden change in his mood compared to the way he'd been considerate a few minutes ago.

still, you heart jumps, you hope he can't see it in your eyes the way his words have the effect of a stimulant given to you with every word he utters, "you do?"

"mhm. same class right?"

you only nod. you're not sure how much time you've got left before you completely melt on the spot in front of him. you're doing everything you can, your fingers firmly entwined around the strap of your bag, your feet somehow fixed to the ground and your head raised in his direction despite the fact that it feels as light as a helium balloon ready to escape at a second's notice.

he openly admitted to know you.

"i've never seen you 'round here, you live close?"

fuck. of course the interview would come. you try your best, you really do.

"i mean, yeah i just, i live around."

"oh.. surprising i haven't seen you at all then."

"it is," you laugh it off, growing deeply anxious about each of his next words that could potentially unravel the ugly truth you try to hide.

he hums to himself before taking a step ahead, regaining his initial position when he first bumped into you. he bends over just lightly to adjust to your level.

"i'll see you around then. right?"

you're so fucking engrossed with this man it's not even funny the way your body reacts to his every moves, it's like you're conditioned. you only nod once again. it's not a question of willingness, you're just unable to speak.

you can see his lips curve upwards at your confirmation, "good."

even when his footsteps fade on the tarmac, you don't move, you don't move until you can no longer see him on the horizon. in the same way, you have the impression of seeing a stable breathing rhythm reappear, one that allows you to take deep breaths without feeling as if you're suffocating.

what a curse to be around him you think.

what a curse to be around choso.

.·:*¨ ༺ ༻ ¨*:·.

choso didn't come the day after. nor the day after this one. you almost took it personally to be fair. and as if to accompany you in your distress, the weather was certainly not on your side; the sky had darkened considerably over the last two days, forming heavy dark clusters in the sky.

it was like a theater scene that would never end. one you'd seen as a child, the scenes stretching out over several minutes, yet feeling much more like hours. a constant atmosphere of exaggerated screaming and crying.

The comparison may have been abstract, but the longevity was the same: the two days without being able to observe him had caused you to awaken a multitude of emotions; very similar to the exaggerated screaming and crying, but less dramatic.

not to mention the hours of lessons you had to listen to in their entirety without any distractions in between, apart of course from the time you allowed yourself to make countless scenarios.

university wasn't the only place where daydreams made their occurrence.

you would really like to wash the dishes in peace but you can't stop yourself from thinking of unimaginable scenarios. It's as if you're sixteen again.

you would like to eat in peace but you can't help picturing him on the empty chair beside you, talking to you even.

you really want to go to sleep at night but it's always delayed by a few minutes, a few minutes where you usually just get off by the thought of him. your hands traveling around your body the same way you would like him to do. your fingers playing with your nipples as discreet huffs slip past your lips, the same way you'd like him to do. continuing past your lower stomach, until your reach the hem of your panties and slip your fingers under, just like you would like him to do. panting his name in your room like a serenade until your brain explodes.

it wasn't so easy not having choso around, you must admit.

class finished at 6pm this time, a long fucking day you had to endure. it really didn't help to notice the first droplets darkening the ground when you stepped outside. you rushed as much as you could to the bus stop, avoiding the water to dampen you.

the first ten minutes of wait were normal. but when ten minutes turned into twenty, you weren't so sure anymore that the bus would come, whether it was a coincidence or because of the forecast you were screwed either way. as you saw students around you ask for rides when others just chose to take a walk through the rain, your choices were limited.

the kind of moments that reminded you how useful would it be to have a license.

options were limited, but still available. you had to walk through the rain. you'd have been content if the day had offered you either a forty minutes walk or a rainy day, but surely not fucking both.

you walked anyways.

you were fifteen minutes in when your clothes were beginning to be seriously soaked, and that the cracks in the roads were filling up with water like mini-pools that the cars would have fun splashing in your face. you almost thought of hitchhiking but remembered how much creeps liked to do just that!

and as if God had heard your silent complaints it also seemed like he decided to grant your silent wishes.

a car slowed down by your side, at first you thought they were compassionate enough to not splash water in your face – due to the lack of sidewalk you had been really prone to that for the past fifteen minutes – but they kept up right on this pace for a few seconds, making you turn on your side to get a hold of the situation.

getting a better glimpse of the car, it was a black bmw e36 by your side, the windshield wipers were in action like crazy. not seeing much though you decided to quicken your own pace to let them know you're not interested.

the passenger window slowly lowered, and you heard a muffled voice coming out of the interior. you turned on your side once again and decided to address properly the driver to dismiss their proposal. you bent over and got welcomed with.. a familiar face, to say the least.

"you're coming or you'd rather take the rest of your bath out here?"

"choso," you say more to yourself than to engage any sort of salutation. you look around you, then yourself and your obviously desperate state, "i'm completely drenched!" you say through the pouring rain.

"i can see that, c'mon hop in," he nods to the empty passenger seat.

without any double hesitation you open the door and throw your body inside, visibly coating the seat with water as it seems to be mopping up all the liquid.

"sorry about that." you say awkwardly, trying to fix your hair the best you can and rearrange your clothes. clothes that are tightly sticking to your skin in the worst manner and it only seems to cue something to choso as he's also watching what's left of your outfit, you poor skirt that is slowly shrinking up by the minutes.

he shakes his head to dismiss your excuses and puts some pressure down on the pedal to get the engine to start.

you can't help but look at him, his two buns sitting perfectly on his hair, looking dry enough to know he's not been through the rain outside, with his purple-ish eyes on the road. maybe he notices you're staring at him because his fingers wraps a little tighter around the steering wheel.

"seat belt."

you're interrupted in your thoughts. you put your seat belt on.

"thank you choso. i really needed a ride."

"you've got somewhere else to be?" he ignores your thanks.

you tilt your head slightly on the side, not catching up on the assumptions, "what do you mean?"

"last time, you said you lived around the block if i recall. the place where you have to go must be really important for you to walk through this." he shows through the car window the tulmute unleashed outside.

oh.

"y–yes i couldn't miss that." you hurry to say as you divert your eyes in front of you. you're such a bad liar.

"but you're gonna go there like that? all soaked?"

"its no problem i'll change there."

"you're gonna be sick."

"i don't really get sick i–"

"it would be better for you if you could warm up first, don't you think?" he locks eyes with you as to make a firm statement, an incontestable one, the ones that don't really require any feedback actually.

the car jolts over a bump in the middle of the road, supposedly – unless an animal has gone under it – making you jump on the spot, you hear all kinds of hardware colliding in the trunk in a similar movement. your fingers curl up into tight fists on your thighs, you can feel the humidity filling the car from both outside and inside as the windows get foggier and foggier.

"i suppose i can." you answer faintly.

"we're dropping off to my place then,"

don't get it twisted, you're more than happy to get invited over at choso's. even more when you look at him and he offers you a small smile, but what a shame to be coming to his place in this state ! you're worse than a dog that would've been thrown off the car – maybe that's just what happened actually, but for a first encounter you're incredibly humiliated.

you nod to him, even though his eyes are back on the road as the car speeds up just a little. it's like a fever dream. you almost thought he was ignoring you for the past two days, that the sole idea of having you in his neighborhood repulsed him and that he never wanted to see you again and here you are in his car on the way to his place because he wants you to warm up ?

if the rain didn't hammer against the windows like an aggressive din, you'd think you were in heaven. you smile to yourself. he's so considerate you almost feel like thanking him again and again, and again. but instead you try to engage anew on a conversation.

"how come have i never seen you taking your car?"

he raises his eyebrows and let out a scoff, "you've never seen me huh? you watch my every moves is that it?" he smirks with a playful tone, one you don't really like as it puts you in a painful position. you're such an idiot.

"no of course not! i mean, last time. you didn't have it."

"it was being repaired."

"oh you damaged it?"

he takes a few seconds to answer, tilting his head on the side, "you could say that."

he engages on a new road, a little muddier and less stable as the car rocks sideways. you want to ask him millions of questions, hear his voice on repeat, talk to him about anything, literally.

"you're usually this alone?" he asks.

you don't know how to answer his questions anymore, honesty adds another weight to your shoulders, or lies will only make you feel worse, either way it's not nice to hear.

"i hang out with this girl at uni but, we're not really friends," you're talking about your classmate – business only type of relationship – "but most of the times yes, i'm pretty much alone."

he nods and the headlights come on as the sky darkens outside, leaving the road in front of you illuminated. you realize how unfamiliar the scenery around you seems, you've lost track of time since you got into the car and with this rain you haven't even been able to recognize the surroundings.

"and you?"

"you know the answer."

oh missy, of course you know the answer and it would be a damn shame if you didn't in fact, as all the times you've spent watching him would go to waste. you know he's alone. well, practically.

"um, and that one girl? she's not you friend?" the status you use almost makes you choke on your words. you're so intrusive, but you need to know.

choso frowns at the mention, he sends a quick glance your way, "who's that?"

you really don't know if you should give all the details you've mustered to gather for him to picture the girl. you decide to use description sparingly, "the one who sat behind you, and got up to talk to you." you softly say as you look at your bare thighs in apprehension.

"ohh.." he says with a gruff voice, one you never really heard before, "i don't know who she was, she just talked to me out of nowhere one day." he continues tonelessly, shifting up a gear.

she was?

"you don't talk to her anymore?"

maybe the question was abrupt because of the way he inhales sharply, you can even notice how his jaw clenches slightly. he then shakes his head.

"no."

you don't want to push it, you got what you wanted, no need to dive into more details. she's no longer here. you're with him now.

"you know her?"

the question surprises you, you answer nonetheless, "i don't."

"good, we're almost there."

and he wasn't lying, the cacophony outside had subsided and thanks to the light from the car you could see a distant structure taking shape, a sort of house, with no gate, just a driveway leading directly to the front door.

he turned off the car's engine, everything stopped. the noise ceased, the lights went out and you found yourself in silence with him. he cleared his throat and stared at you for at least two short but solid seconds, eyes barely open hidden by his heavy eyelids, and he got out of the car without a word.

soon enough, your own door was opened wide, he shifted to the side to allow you to get out of your seat, and it was then that you realized just how much taller he was than you, the width of his shoulders blocking your view behind.

you stepped out and surprisingly the rain was now just a fine mist that was certainly less fresh and less persistent in its desire to soak you to the bone, as before.

choso set off towards his front door, followed by you closely behind. it was also ironic how you were almost hesitant to approach him, as if the barrier you'd put between you two when you followed him had persisted.

he opened the door, letting you go first before following in his turn, closing the door and carefully locking it before putting his keys away in his pocket.

"you stay here, i'll go grab a towel." he points to the hall you're currently occupying, as if to emphasize on the fact you should not move."

you kinda hoped he'd let you use his shower but maybe it's too much to ask. you nod and oblige. you take the "free" time you have to good use as you look around yourself. you note it's a simple house, modest with not much decoration actually. he's probably still living at his parent's because you can't imagine having to pay the bills here. there are just a few lights on, you can't see them they're more recluse in the back of the house but you can see their honey color spread over the walls.

you also notice a few garbage bags in the kitchen, on your left, which have been perfectly tied, waiting to be taken out, and some kitchen utensils still on the worktop.

fuck, you're in his house.

you hear his loud but lazy footsteps making their comeback from the stairs as you watch him descend to meet you. he hands you the small towel which you immediately start using to try and blot your hair and skin - although they had a little time to dry overall, the major problem was your clothes.

choso heads for the kitchen without giving you a second glance and moves the garbage bags with his feet, apparently heavily since they just drag across the floor with a weary rubbing.

"you can come y'know," he announces from where he is. you make some careful steps towards him, your limbs almost trembling not because of your upcoming cold catching up to you but because you're incredibly nervous somehow.

"um, you'll be able to drop me off after?"

he doesn't answer right away, he keeps cleaning around and his eyes are still occupied somewhere else.

"sure,"

you watch his every moves and you find his attitude different from two days ago, maybe because he was more surprised than anything to find you but he looks a lot more.. dispassionate now.

"thanks," you say quietly.

you stand in front of the sink to avoid taking too much place, but he walks towards you, places his body just in front of you and leans ever so lightly to grab something behind you. he retrieves his arm and you see the sharp knife between his fingers, holding it down as he steps back to walk over the kitchen worktop.

you didn't notice you'd stopped drying your hair, your arms hanging low but still gripping the towel a little tighter now. you gulp as you look around you.

"so tell me, now that you're here you can afford to be honest right?" he says as he begins to cut some tomatoes, apparently having decided that now was a good time to prepare his dinner. you don't really answer, or maybe he doesn't let you respond in time as he speaks again.

"since when have you been following me exactly?"

you let the towel fall on the ground.

you feel like throwing up all of a sudden, your throat tightens so much you don't even know if you're able to let air pass through anymore. your body just freezes on place.

you're so fucked.

"i asked you a question sweetheart."

the name – strangely enough – makes your body heat up, you have to grip the counter behind you to not fall, at least you think you would.

"what.. do you mean,"

you try to keep your eyes on his movements, the way he slices the tomatoes with distinct precision. you watch the poor ingredient being cut open, sliced and emptied of its juice as it runs down the blade of the knife.

you think choso laughs, actually you can't really hear through the buzzing of your ears right now.

"you think i didn't see you following me last time?" he scoffs. he puts more pressure on the second tomato as he shakes his head, "you think you're slick with it right?"

you shake your head immediately, not because you're denying his words but you desperately try to shake off the idea of reality right now. you want this to end.

you step aside with wobbly legs but you're soon cut short in your movements when the knife he used to hold suddenly finds itself being thrown on the ground right where you planned your next move.

"make another move, and see what happens next." he warns, his hands flat on the worktop now. he finally looks at you, for what seems like an eternity and you can't seem to grasp the paradox of such beauty.

to say you're frightened is an understatement, but you're also.. intrigued. for all this time he knew your wrongdoings, he still welcomed you in his car, proposed to bring you to his place, offered you a towel to dry yourself – even if it eventually ended up discarded on the ground – but he took care of you.

you try to open your mouth but no sound would come out.

"what is it? you've got a crush on me or something?" he approaches your way slowly, oh so painfully slow, as if the only sight of your defeated being gets him going, "i bet you do, you were practically fucking me with you eyes last time you saw me."

you bite the inside of your cheek in embarrassment and desperately try to look anywhere but in his eyes because at this moment you're not really sure your clothes are sticking to you because of the previous rain.

he's just in front of you, so fucking close actually you wonder if he's doing it on purpose, the way he leans once again directly in your face and not to grab a knife this time but just to look at you. his body is towering over yours and you feel obliged to look away just like a lost lamb who would wait to bide it's time.

he tilts his head to the side as he looks at you with slightly raised eyebrows, "hey, hey, no no. don't hide that face away from me." he grabs your chin to make you face him, brushing his thumb against your jaw and up to your ears until he locks his fingers on your nape, cupping your jaw.

the feeling of his skin on yours has you escaping short breaths. just small puffs of air released in content because of how good his hands feel on you. your eyes almost close at the sensation and if it wasn't for his entire figure in your face you'd have succumbed to it.

"you wanted to have all my attention right?" he whispers in your ear. you feel a small kiss placed right below your ear and your hands almost jump to grab onto him at the new contact, "there you go, you have it all."

there goes another one, he kisses you tenderly from your ear to your jaw without missing a single inch, leaving wet patches along the trail that have you whimpering his name so quietly. you finally let your hands off the counter as they do their best to travel respectfully on him, on his torso and all the way up to his neck. you feel a breathy laugh against your neck and you have to shoot your eyes open to see him through your heavy lids.

"God, you're really fucked up y'know that?" he laughs, his lips gets closer and closer to yours and at the last second he stops, "get on your knees."

as embarrassing as it is, he didn't have to threaten you for that one. you were lucky in your misfortune to have your bare legs able to crash right onto the ground rather than having some soaked pants blocking the way down.

you look up at him patiently. you've always been patient, though in these circumstances you suppose your patience can definitely run out. you alternate between the looks on his face and the looks on his pants that are looking a bit too bulgy and you don't really know where to stare as both are a sight for soar eyes.

"how many times have you been thinking of having this cock all to yourself huh?"

you're so used to having your mouth closed now you don't even try to answer anymore, though you're quickly reminded to do so when you receive a sharp slap on your face that has you escaping a small breath, "you're gonna have to learn to use your mouth when i ask you something baby, okay?" he rubs his palm on your cheek to ease the burning sensation and you thank him in your head for that.

"a lot," you admit weakly, throat sore before it even began to do any work.

"if it's the same frequency as when you stalk me then we've hit one hell of a jackpot there eh?" he mocks and you feel like hiding again at the sound of the truth. you shake the thought away and lay your fingers on the fabric in front of you.

"there you go, you know what to do." he praises you and it goes directly to your core as you feverishly begin to slide his pants down, soon accompanied by his boxers. it feels like Christmas somehow, you can't fucking help your mouth to salivate at the thought of the present awaiting right in front of you.

and your mouth was right. you're surprised to see his cock springing out of the tight fabric that was his boxers as it just flies away in deliverance against his lower abdomen. you bite your lip as you wet your own lips in anticipation – and preparation – and grabs a hold of it.

choso tenses as soon as your fingers lay against his own skin and keeps up with the quiet demeanor when you orient his cock horizontally, ready to take it in, though you'd wanna play with it a little before. you run all of your fingers along the length, making his dick twitch in the process and you continue as you wrap your fingers totally around it, at least the best you can – your fingers being far too incomplete to wrap completely all around.

your dominant hand begins to pump slowly from the base to the top, almost reaching the tip. you swipe your thumb across his slit to gather the liquid coming out of it and spread it all over. you look up at him to decipher his emotions but you find him with already looking at you with his hands grabbing the counter you were previously occupying. he frowns lightly at the way your hands feel at the same time not enough and way too much.

"c'mon stop playing around i don't have all day," he tightly advise.

you smile to yourself, and finally for him, you guide his length to your mouth. you don't really grant his wishes right away though, you want to savor everything. you stick your tongue out and begin lapping on his tip, circling it, moving down his base just to go all the way up and repeating the same motion two or three times until you hear him grunt above you. that's your cue to take it all in.

you wrap your lips undeclared around his cock and slide your whole mouth down – the best you can again; you definitely underestimated the girth – and you feel him shift in place as he inhales sharply and adds another arm on the counter for more support, "fuck– you've been waiting for this yeah?"

your fingers additionally wrap around the base of his cock to stimulate it better as your pace quickens on his dick. the same way you feel your throat stretching a lot more when you feel his hips bucking to meet your movements and you have to pull your mouth away to inhale rapidly. he doesn't really let you take a break though, he grabs a hold of your hair and push you down on his cock once again, you plant your nails on his semi covered thighs to have some support yourself, and tightly shut your your teary eyes.

"shit.. you're way too fuckin' good at this–" you hear him say above but you can't even see his pretty face anymore, you're way too busy concentrating on your task; sucking him off until you're both sure there's not enough space left on his skin that is not being stimulated by one way or another, whether it'd be your hands, or your mouth.

his words are like heaven to you, telling you how good you are to him, and it's true, you want to be good to him. you've always wanted this more than anything. you can't help but rub your thighs together as much as you can, feeling the growing sensation longing between your legs.

you mouth is suddenly empty when you feel a light pull on your scalp, motioning you to let go as he pulls out. you open your eyes and pant heavily, gathering as much air as you can while wiping the drool off of your lips.

"you're gonna make me come if you keep this up," he also pants, not for the same reason though, "c'mon get up." he lets go of the counter and pushes a few strands out of his forehead as he catches his breath.

"take these off and go wait for me on the couch." he nods to your outfit. and you do.

choso doesn't even have to tell you to follow his orders sharply, to not try to go anywhere else in the house, to not try and go through the unlocked backdoor he forgot to seal. he doesn't have to worry about all the things you could do on your own because he realized as you were taking his dick that it wasn't in your plans to go anywhere. oh if he knew how easy it would've been to get you home, how compliant you'd have been, he would've done this much sooner.

you take everything off as he demanded, and what a relief to finally be off of these nasty clothes, you think. you still keep your panties on, good figures. you're sat on the couch when you see him come back shirtless, without his pants with only his boxers on him. you have to fight back a cuss word when you take full sight of his body; fully toned with some scars splattered all around and a particular big one on his right rib. you grip the fabric of the couch under your fingers and your body unconsciously leans back against it.

"what's up with your panties, didn't i tell you to take everything off?" he asks as he gets closer to you, standing tall the same way when you were kneeling in front of him the last minute, but this time he only brushes a few messy hair out of your face.

"or maybe you want me to take them off for you," he kneels on one leg next to you to support his body and you watch him. he gives you a little tap on your thigh, you don't exactly know what that conveys – you still wiggle your body so that you have more of your legs in the air to give him better access. "there you go." he says as he slides your panties down your butt and up your legs, traveling through your body like a roller-coaster until he lets them fall poorly on the ground.

he lets out a low grunt at the sight of your exposed cunt, he puts one of his hands against your right knee to spread your legs further apart, watching the way your pussy move in sync.

"touch yourself."

you don't really pick up on the demand right away. in fact you only look at him without doing anything because you're just processing how nasty his order is. he soon realizes you're not planning on moving and raises an eyebrow, "what? don't tell me you've never done this?"

"no– i.. did. i just.." you shake your head, unable to pursue your explanation. he waits for more, in vain.

"you're embarrassed?" he asks but there's such a strong mocking tone in his words that you look away, closing your legs slightly.

"you know if you wanna be a fuckin' creep might as well do it right," he laughs as he parts your legs once more, forcing you to keep them open. "c'mon, i'm watching."

you sigh poorly and start to guide your fingers slowly down your stomach, traveling on your skin causing it to react instantly. you get further down and glance at choso to ponder your actions through his reactions and you see the way his lips are parted, escaping small breaths as he's staring at your fingers.

soon, your middle finger reaches your pussy, you let it caress past your clit, running through your folds. you slowly relax at the sensation, the silence being yet so deafening you start forgetting your position and you close your eyes. you circle your clit a few times, let your finger drop down until it reaches your entrance and you put enough pressure to collect the pool of slick, making you jolt. you spread your own wetness all over your pussy lips and focus back on your clit.

"faster," choso says and the blood that has been pumping up your head smooths down as you recall where you are, registering his words. your fingers go faster as you alternate between your middle finger and your ring one.

"f–fuck, choso.." you moan and you bite your lips to restrain the few more that might try to slip out. you bring your legs closer to your torso and feel the way choso's fingers are gripping tightly on your skin.

"feels good huh?" he says and you nod like a poor broken toy, "you're gonna cum for me?" and once again you nod vigorously at his words, eyes tightly shut.

"yes–yes mh god– wanna cum," you almost cry as your middle finger keeps up the rapid pace as it slips easily against your sensitive bud.

"c'mon, that's it.. good girl" you hear him say as you throw your head back against the couch, your pussy clenching around nothing as you moan in the room, "fuck–fuck–f..!" you gasp for breath as you chase down your orgasm, finger coated in your juice when you slow down the pace until you eventually stop moving.

"what a pretty little thing you are," choso utters, "calling my name like that, you don't know what it does to me, do you?" he asks rhetorically, not even bothering waiting for answers anymore. he grabs your wrist to guide your middle finger in his mouth, sucking on your digit as he makes sure his tongue cleaned your finger perfectly when he let go with a pop!

"and you taste good too." he moans. choso gets up from his prior kneeling position on the couch to position himself in front of you, he grabs both of your knees this time, pushing them against your torso as if to test the flexibility. he reaches for his boxers and take them off, kicking them to the side joining your panties somewhere.

he grabs his own dick, pumps it a few times and puts his own knees against the couch, stabilizing himself right in front of you, "can't believe i'm finally gonna fuck you." he breathes as he puts his dick on your belly, you watch the way it lays perfectly right above your vagina and you whimper.

he chuckles as he taps his dick on your skin a few times, "if it weren't for you i might have been the one stalking you at the end y'know?" and your pussy clenches once again at his nasty confession.

"might give you some piece of advice next time you decide to follow somebody." he glides his dick down until it touches your pussy and your legs jolt once again with sensitivity, "though i doubt you'd need that in the future,"

"please choso.." you beg, you fucking can't take it anymore, you need him atrociously.

"i know, i know," his cocks rubs against your clit, down and up your puffy folds as it makes those gushy sounds only heard to fill the room.

"fuckin' glad i got rid of the other bitch, she was such a fuckin' pain in the ass. didn't make it easy at all." he scoffs and your brimming eyes look up at him in awe. he got rid of her.

you're his only one.

"but you're gonna make it easy f'me right?" he taps his dick directly on your entrance, testing the waters as he gives a few fake push, grazing the tip just enough for it to disappear slightly into you, "you're gonna be good?

"yes, yes i'm gonna be good for you–" you wrap your fingers on his forearms in anticipation as you pant like a dog.

choso is sick of waiting. sick of pretending like he didn't see you for all these months, watching him, stalking him. fuck he even tried to make it easy for you last time, walking when he could've taken his car because he just wanted to see what was your breaking point. how far you could have gone.

and when he "accidentally" bumped into you and he saw the glint in your eyes, one that he only sees in the eyes of actually terminated ill people. oh that's when he knew it wasn't a matter of playing anymore, he had to have you.

he pushes his cock in you. his pink tip pushing past your entrance, and god you're so fucking tight he has to exhale himself to relieve the tension. you grab under your legs to spread them even wider due to the stretch, feeling every. single. inch of his cock melting in your walls. he holds your legs up on his shoulders now as his length continue to reach deeper, he grunts loudly at how well you're molding his dick.

"holy shit– you're so fucking tight." he hisses through his teeth and you're wondering if your lips aren't bleeding by now due to how hard you're biting them, not wanting to literally scream in pleasure. once he's balls deep into your cunt that's when you breathe sharply, almost crying from the pleasure.

choso starts rocking his hips against you, carefully as he takes all the fucking time in the world to feed himself from the way you're sucking him in. his fingers grip tighter around your legs and he steady his pace, grinding forth and back into you, "knew your pussy would feel this good, t'was made for me." he says lowly, head dropping low as his forehead almost touches yours. there's no better place on earth than here, you're sure.

you moan when he quickens his pace, lewd sounds coming out of your squelching pussy with every hit of his pelvis. he puts one of his arm behind you on top of the couch for support as he fucks you senseless, "feels too– fu..fucking good," you try to mutter, you're looking so fucked out right now, he sees it.

"you've been waiting f–for me to fuck you dumb, eh?" he pains to say, looking at your state; eyes unfocused, legs up and hands gripping around everything they can get a hold on, trying to desperately find any contact. you feel the curve of his cock sliding in and out, your walls so wet you're afraid he'll slip out at any moment if he doesn't soon control the pressure he's adding.

"choso.. need to c..cum–" you say above a whisper, though he hears you and it's like his brain activates on spot when he hears your desperate complaints. he lets go of your right leg, letting it drop miserably as he grabs the base of your neck, fucking you deeper into the couch, "want you to make a mess on my dick baby c'mon" he urges.

you clench tightly around him and with every kiss of his cock against your sweet spot you can only milk him, both of your juices running down your thighs. you feel like you're losing it. your head is spinning as if you're about to collapse when you feel your second orgasm coming to you. you grab his hand around your neck, babbling nonsense when you feel your legs tensing, violently shaking until they close around choso.

he can't help it anymore either to be fair, both of you are total mess. he feels your pussy pulsate around him and that's his cue to let himself come in you. emptying his load completely as you still shake around him, moaning uncontrollably and he would find this funny if he wasn't himself in the same state.

he breathes heavily against you, head nuzzled beside your ear as you both come down from your highs. he releases his grip around your neck slowly and in the same motion, pulls out, earning a whine from you at the sudden loss of contact.

silly him. good pussy almost made him forget why he brought you home first.

he has to get to work.

©nabitsun !

i lovr this sm

DENJI who knows from the moment that he laid eyes on you that he wanted to be yours. He didn’t want you to be his, oh no, that wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to be at your every beck and call — any time that you needed something, he wanted to be the one that you turned to.  

He doesn’t care how simple the task or how stupid the question, he just wants you to look for him. He wants your eyes to fall on him and for your hand to extend in his direction. He wants to be the one you look for in a crowd, he wants to be the one who carries your shopping bags, he wants to be the one who lays his jacket down on every single puddle. He wants you to call him ‘yours’. 

“Shit,” you murmur, placing your hands on your hips and glaring up at the offending pack of chips — which sits on a shelf just barely out of your reach.  

Huffing, you push yourself onto your tiptoe, hand extended towards your desired snack. As if to taunt you, the tips of your fingers brush against the outside of the chip bag.  

Just as you give up, a familiar orange-haired boy slides into the kitchen, lips pulled back in that adorable fanged smile. “Oh, hey (Y/N)!” 

You turn, nearly losing your balance as you glance at Denji, who only smiles in response. His eyes flicker between you and the too-high shelf that prevents you from enjoying a mid-afternoon snack.  

“Hey Denji,” you reply, smiling at him as you turn away from the open cabinet.  

Denji notices your flickering gaze, following it and humming at the bag of chips in the cabinet. He smiles, then returning his focus to you.  

Without saying a word, Denji steps past you, his shoulder brushing affectionately against your own as he easily plucks the bag of chips from the shelf. He offers it to you, heart warming at your immediate smile.  

“Thanks Denji!” you bubble happily, hugging around his arm and placing a thankful kiss against his cheek.  

He smiles, practically purring at the affection.  

DENJI who greets you as if you had been separated for years. The moment that patrol ends and he’s able to return to Aki’s apartment — where he knows you’ll be — he’s sprinting with a speed that not even he knew that he possessed. He doesn’t care to see if Power is behind him, his sole focus being the fact that he was returning home to you.  

The moment that he steps through the door, Denji’s eyes are darting around the apartment for you. He accidentally slams the door in Power’s face, beelining for you in the living room and promptly hugging you like he was your husband returning home from war.  

“Denji—!” Power’s voice is cut off by the slamming of the apartment door, her angered groan falling on deaf ears as Denji excitedly enters the apartment.  

He looks around quickly, heart pounding in his ears as his eyes search for you — finding you in the kitchen snacking on the leftovers from the dinner that Aki had made the previous night. He beelines for you, arms locking around your waist and the entirety of his body weight pushing against your own.  

“Denji!” you exclaim, wobbling on your feet and nearly choking on the forkful of food that you had been ingesting. He ignores you, burying his head into the junction that connects your collarbone and shoulder, lightly biting down and smiling as you yelp again. You can feel the curl of his smile against your skin, and suddenly you weren’t as angry with him. 

“Missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled from where his face is pressed impossibly closer against you, his nose practically inhaling your scent and committing it to the deepest depths of his memory. 

You smile to yourself, lifting a hand and threading your fingers into Denji’s hair, nails raking lightly over his scalp. He curls further into you — if that was even possible — placing a chaste kiss against your neck (as if he hadn’t just bitten you there).  

“Yeah,” you agree, leaning back into his arms and allowing your eyes to momentarily close, “I missed you too.” 

DENJI who treats you as his own personal pillow and may (WILL) suffocate you when it’s time to go to sleep. He can’t help it! He hugs you to his chest just as you’re both dozing off, your head tucked comfortably underneath his chin with your own arms wound loosely around his midsection. His nose is buried in your hair, inhaling that oh-so-familiar scent of your shampoo — it was so distinctly you.   

But somehow, in the ungodly hours of the morning, you’re suddenly confused as to why it’s so hard to breathe. Denji, somehow, had rolled completely on top of you. His nose is buried into the crook of your neck, mouth hanging open as loud — and borderline obnoxious — snores fill the otherwise quiet bedroom. His arms are still locked around you like iron, but this time, you genuinely don’t know if they’re going to be the weapons that kill you. 

Your eyes shoot open at the terrifying feeling of not being able to breathe, widened irises flickering around the room until you’re suddenly aware of why you can’t breathe— 

“Denji,” you whisper urgently, desperately shaking the figure that lays on top of you. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning out over the skin of your neck. He mumbles something incoherent, only snuggling further into you and pressing more of his weight down onto you.  

In any other situation, you would have ‘awed’ at him and lovingly pinched his cheek. 

But right now you were a little more focused on remaining conscious.  

“Denji,” you say again, louder this time. You try your hardest to shove him off of you, but even in sleep, he fights against you, wanting to practically be melded to you. He grumbles sleepily, and you could only pray that he chokes on his own spit so that he would wake up. 

Your hands brace against his side, trying one last time to push him off of you. Denji’s nose scrunches adorably, a snore getting caught in his throat as his grip tightens impossibly further over you. You groan lightly, sighing through your nose.  

“Denji, come on,” you murmur, screwing your eyes shut and giving Denji’s limp body one more shove. Denji grunts, finally opening his eyes and turning to you with a tired glint to his eyes, sleepily blinking at you.  

“Wha—?” Denji hums, smacking his lips together and blinking away the last bits of exhaustion from his eyes. He rolls off of you, resulting in you greedily inhaling. Denji only stares curiously at you, now wide awake and wondering why you were breathing so heavily.  

“You were squishing me,” you say simply, sitting up and glancing at Denji, who is quick to sit up beside you. He pouts, jutting out his bottom lip as he stares at you, guilt swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, you do it every night.” 

“I do?!” 

DENJI who always has to have a hand on you when you’re out and about — even if it’s while the two of you are paired together for patrol. Most of the time, Denji’s fingers are locked together with your own, his thumb sometimes brushing over the backs of your knuckles (mainly because Aki mentioned ONCE that it was a romantic gesture). It’s sweet…when you’re not working obviously.  

Standing in line results in the both of you receiving glances from those that surround you, some of them looks of jealousy, but the majority of them are those disgusted glances usually thrown at the PDA obsessed couples in amusement park lines. Does Denji care about those glances? Oh, absolutely not, he could care so much less. He loves you! So why would he sit back and not show you that he absolutely loves and adores you? 

“Hey Denji? I can’t really fight this Devil with one hand,” you comment offhandedly, glancing down at Denji’s fingers that were so tightly interlocked with your own — you honestly don’t know if he has any plans of genuinely letting go. He glances down at the Devil in question, acknowledging its existence before turning with a lovesick smile back to you.  

“I’m sure you can,” he responds, figurative tail wagging as you roll your eyes. You squeeze his fingers three times, a silent way of you saying ‘I love you” — a little something that you had both established somewhere near the beginning of your relationship. Denji’s smile impossibly widens, his fingers returning your affectionate squeeze.  

“Two seconds, count it,” you say with a smile, leaning forward on the tips of your toes and pressing a fleeting kiss to Denji’s cheek. He all but purrs at you, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before he (reluctantly) lets you deal with the Devil that you had been sent out to exterminate.  

DENJI who texts you so many times throughout the day that you have to silence your phone at the beginning of your shifts at work. Otherwise your phone would be buzzing every three seconds with a new message from Denji, be it a random selfie of him and Power or a pinecone that he claims “looks like you!” Sometimes his messages don’t even make sense, but that can be blamed on Denji’s inability to type properly — considering that he had never had a cell phone before. 

Snuck between those fun messages are genuine heartfelt texts that make your heart melt when you scroll back to reread them. Every morning the first message that pings on your phone is from Denji, telling you to make sure that you eat something and that he would see you later on patrol. And the last message that you see every night is Denji telling you sweet dreams and that he would see you in the morning.  

“Is that your phone again?” Aki asks with a raise of his eyebrow, taking a drag of the cigarette between his lips before blowing the smoke out in a small gray cloud in front of him. You pause, tilting your head before becoming aware of the constant vibration against your thigh.  

You dip your fingers into your pocket, taking out your cellphone and looking down at the 34 messages sent to you by Denji. You bite back the smile that threatens to curl the corner of your lips upward, scrolling through the various texts of ‘Miss you!’ and ‘Tell Aki that we’re out of cereal’.  

“Sorry, it’s Denji,” you murmur, remembering that you and Aki were currently on patrol, “I’ll silence it.” 

Aki nods, flicking away his cigarette and turning away from you. You heart a few of Denji’s messages, smiling down at the illuminated screen before silencing your phone and jogging to keep up with Aki. 

DENJI who enjoys having late night conversations with you — talking about whatever it is that you want. Sometimes you both have deep conversations with one another, revealing parts of your past and in turn learning a little bit more about Denji. Or sometimes you have silly ‘what if’ conversations, where you’ve learned that, yes, Denji would love you if you were a worm, Denji would be able to identify your pussy in a room full of others, and Denji would happily lay over a puddle so that your shoes wouldn’t get wet.  

He likes to ramble, he likes to get stuck on one topic and just pour his heart out about whatever it may be. Denji also just loves the sound of your voice, listening to you ramble about topics that you’re passionate about or listening to stories from your childhood. He’ll keep his eyes on you the entire time that you’re speaking, his chin leaned into the palm of his hand as you continue speaking. If you quiet down for even a second, he prompts you to continue with a chipper “And then what happened?” 

“You tired?” Denji asks, eyes fixed on the ceiling and watching as the small fan spins in seemingly endless circles, giving the room a small breeze that momentarily cancels out the warmth that radiates from the outside.  

You shake your head, hair tickling Denji’s shoulder. Your leg is hiked up over his own with your arms wound loosely over his midsection. “No, not really,” you murmur, suddenly aware of just how awake you truly are.  

It was odd, considering that patrol lasted much longer today and Makima had quite a few words to say to you and Denji before you left the offices for the day. You thought that by the time you had finished up dinner with Aki that you would be completely exhausted — and yet you weren’t. 

“What was your life before being a Devil Hunter like?” Denji asks, rubbing a thumb up and down your side. You hum, closing your eyes for a moment and simply remembering; remembering blurry figures of people that you may or may not have loved and muddled memories of a time that you may or may not have enjoyed.  

“I dunno actually, I don’t really remember it,” you reply with a small shrug, shuffling your body closer to Denji’s and letting out a sigh, your breath fanning over his neck. He ignores the shiver that crawls up his spine at the sensation, momentarily tightening his arms around you, his cheek resting against the top of your head.  

“Well…what do you remember?” Denji inquires. You smile to yourself, knowing what it was that Denji wanted — he just wanted to hear you talk. Humming to yourself, you tilt your head up, pressing a kiss to the underside of Denji’s jaw. 

“There is one thing, I had a best friend growing up,” you begin, squeezing Denji’s waist and smiling as he returns it, excitedly listening and waiting for you to tell him the tale from your childhood.  

DENJI who just loves and adores you more than anything. The moment that he becomes yours, the moment that you become his, he’s completely devoted to you and to you only. To him, you’re the one person that’s worth sticking around for, the one person worth protecting from Devils. In a way, Denji is just glad to have someone that doesn’t look at him like he’s a freak — as he’s used to eyes widening in disgust and lips curling back to spit out venomous insults.  

But then Denji met you; you with the warmth in your eyes and the glitter to your smile. You with the kind words and tight hugs that were warmer than any summer’s day. You with the kisses that managed to steal his breath every single time and you with the ability to make the gloomiest days bright.  

Denji is so happy to have you in his life, and every day he manages to convey that love and adoration to you. And the moment that you reciprocate it, Denji falls harder and harder.  

My first time writing for Chainsaw Man and Denji, go easy on me.

YOOOO awesome denji obsessed girl is back. ok so i was rewatching csm and during the scene of them trapped in the hotel and was like, "ohoho how about denji x (fem) reader with them sleeping in the bed and maybee like how denji acts like loopy after the bloodloss back at the apartment after a blood transfusion or wtvr"

anyway just a thought u dont have to 👍👍 something nice and fluffy

super quick super quick drabble less than 300 words

written w/ fem reader in mind + not proofread

~~~~

Denji’s laid back in bed, still due for a blood transfusion following a drawn out battle in chainsaw form. And you’re on duty to watch him until Aki gets home.

“You’re really pretty…”

“Thank you.”

“And smart. And nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Like… so nice you’re an angel…” he scrunches his brows up at you, eyes narrow, “Are you an angel? You gotta tell me if you are…”

“Nope, not an angel. Just a boring human.”

“I think you’re…” he giggles, poking your cheek, “awesome.”

“Thanks,” you brush his tangled bangs from his face, resting your palm against his warm forehead to keep the frays away, “I think you’re awesome, too.”

“No way,” he grins, folding his hands politely over his chest and stretching his legs out with a throaty groan.

“Are you comfy, Denji?”

“So comfy.”

“Good,” you lay out beside him and pull the soft blanket up to your chins, nestling your cheek on Denji’s shoulder, “Because I’m tired, too.”

Denji stills completely, even his breathing ceased in his paranoia to not rouse you. At least until,

“Denji, you can breathe.”

“Thank God,” he wheezes, “Feel free to pinch me if my breathing gets annoying.”

You shake your head against his shoulder, curling both arms around his and slinging a leg over his, “I like you when you’re breathing.”

“You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Turning his head to lay it against yours, soft peachy skin smooth against yours. Hair entwining and lashes fluttering over you. Denji knows just by the thundering in his chest, he’s in love with you.

“I love you,” he slurs, exhausted.

You reach up with a quiet yawn, petting through Denji’s silky hair, “You’re adorable, Denji.”

Denji gets so overwhelmed with excitement that his heart gives out completely -- he finally passes out.

this is so cute

Denji is stupid.

It’s not debatable but rather just known. He knows it too.

Despite that, he tries so so hard in your relationship that it leaves you into a soft mushy mess.

He’s always doing everything he can to make you happy even if it’s a stupid way. God he’d even try cooking your favorite dish, which we all know how that turned out.

And he was so so upset, telling you he knew he didn’t have enough money to buy you your favorite takeout.

On many occasions he lays in your arms. Even though this was his dream, all he wanted. He feels so undeserving of it.

“Y’know you deserve better right? Dunno why yer with me.” He’d mumble into your shirt, drawing circles over your stomach.

“Even though you deserve the whole fuckin world, I don’t want you to leave me.”

Maybe it’s a little stupid to him, since he never cries but he does. He tears up at the thought of you leaving him.

He honestly doesn’t think he could let another good thing, good person, like you leave his life. So many people come and go and he’ll never understand why they just can’t stay.

However you reassure him that you will, no matter what. He tells himself he shouldn’t believe you, that he shouldn’t get so attached, but your words feel different, you’re different.

You’re the stability he needs in his life. Maybe Denji doesn’t get the whole gist of what a relationship is or little alone love. Yet he knows he felt something special for you when he knew he didn’t wanna be with you just for your body.

Maybe it’s a little fucked up but he sure as hell wasn’t thinking with his dick anymore. He wanted , craved and needed your love.

What you made him feel, he couldn’t even put in to words he just knew that he never wanted to go away.

Denji loves in a weird way, because he was never shown properly. He’s terrible at compliments. He’s usually just very blunt and maybe a little awkward. But he makes it all up with his creative date ideas.

Even though it’s more on the budget you never cared. You bet your ass he’s breaking his back to earn every single penny to at least pay for your food or satisfy you.

He wants to kiss you so bad when you offer to pay for his food since he paid for yours. He’s not used to being pampered or coddled.

Cuddling with you anytime or anywhere is his Roman Empire. He loves your kisses too, he gets so needy and loves your lips so much they always turn into makeout sessions. However it usually ends with him a flushing mess with his face shoved in your neck. Mumbling to you that he isn’t ready to go any further.

You loved that even if he wasn’t so good with his words, he’d always find a way to speak his mind. He’s so used to being taken advantage of and well, used, that you’ve had to encourage him many times to put in his thoughts or give his thoughts on anything.

You make him feel so heard and so validated it makes him cry. Unbeknownst to you, when you’re soundly asleep, one of the rare times that he’s holding you.

He sobs with you in his arms because he truly can’t believe you’ve chosen him. This broken dumb boy to love and cherish.

All of it is always to overwhelming for him but he loves it all.

He loves you.

Denji is stupid.

But his big and good heart makes up for it all.

Imagine trying to help Zuko convince everyone that he’s good…

“Let me go down to them.” You suggested. “They’ll listen to me.”  

Zuko looked at you, eyes filled with hope as if you had struck gold. “I’ll come with you. They’ll have to listen to me then.” 

Chuckling, you tilted your head which made Zuko frown. What was so amusing?

“Zuko, if you bring me into their camp, Appa will eat you.”

Zuko flinched at the thought and shook his head. “We need a different plan.” He decided and then groaned loudly. “Why is this so difficult?!”

He placed his hand on his chin as he thought harder. You sat up with a small wince. “I could just go on my own, you know.”

“You’re still hurt.” 

“I’m getting better. You said so yourself yesterday.” You argued.

Keep reading

A TRAGEDY THAT'S BUILT ON DESTINY!

I WOULD CHANGE MOST EVERY SINGLE THING. I WOULD LET YOU KISS ME, KILL ME!

synopsis// multiple different universes, but one thing remains the same: geto loves you in each and every one of them.

pairing// suguru geto x gn!reader

word count// 5.8k

contents// different universes, angst, satisfying angst?, hurt/no comfort but also hurt/comfort at the same time, ooc geto?, character death tehe

notes// inspired by everything everywhere all at once and the song kiss me kill me by mest :3 i wrote this SOOOO long ago but u have no idea how much i adore this oneshot. like i think it might be my fav oneshot ive ever written. it is everything to me!! and i did not do the idea justice but u get the point!!

December 24th 

You assume the fight is over because neither you nor Shoko have gotten any more wounded victims. The two of you glance at each other briefly but don’t bother saying anything. What could be said about a full-blown borderline war schemed by your high school best friend and lover? Nothing could possibly be said, so nothing is. The two of you stand there waiting for anything to happen, whether that’s getting called back to Jujutsu High or being brought another victim, and eventually something does happen, and Shoko gets a call. You can’t read her expression for the whole 20 seconds she’s on the phone before she passes it to you. You furrow your eyebrows in question.

“It’s Gojo,” she says blankly before attempting to hand you the phone again.

You hesitate to answer. “Hello?”

“You should get down here,” he says blankly over the phone.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, just—you know those back alleys by the school?”

“Uh huh?”

“Meet me there.”

“Gojo, you’re kinda scaring me-“

“Y/N, just come; you’ll thank me—I hope.”

You frown and begrudgingly agree, “Okay, fine, yeah, whatever, I'm on my way.”

“Make it quick, alright? I'm serious,” he adds quickly before hanging up.

As you give Shoko her phone back, you roll your eyes at the fact that he didn't even give you a chance to say okay before hanging up.

“What was that about?” she wonders, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

You sigh. “No idea, but he wants me to go meet up with him for some reason.”

Shoko hums curiously. “You should get going then; must be urgent.”

You nod, “Yeah.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

It doesn't take you long to get to the school given how fast you were walking since Gojo told you to hurry it up, the tense anticipation aiding in your speed. It does, however, take you a few moments to find Gojo, but once you do, you find that he's not looking at you, but he’s speaking, and it's not to you either; it's to something—or rather someone—he's blocking with his body.

“Gojo?” you ask once you finally reach him.

Gojo turns to face you, a sorrowful smile on his face, before stepping out of the way to reveal who he was speaking to and the whole reason why he called you here in the first place.

When you see Getou on the ground, your heart sinks into your stomach, and your blood runs cold. You look back at Gojo, who merely shrugs.

“You should say your goodbyes; I already did,” Gojo whispers before leaving you and Getou alone.

Getou lets out a hushed laugh. “That’s a little melodramatic of him, don’t you think?”

The hammering of your heart roaring in your ears makes it difficult to hear what he says. You stand there frozen in what you can only describe as horror as you stare down at Getou, who's missing an arm and is only growing more pale by the second from blood loss.

“Do you plan on ignoring me?” he asks softly, as though he’d understand if that really was your plan.

You blink a few times and shake your head, your tears blurring your vision. “I dont-“ 

Getou hums appreciatively and smiles up at you, which makes you completely break down, a sob racking through your body so violently that the only thing you can do is collapse to your knees. Getou winces as he tries to sit up straighter, as if he’s going to catch you or crawl over to you. You sniffle, your sobbing uncontrollable, as you crawl to him, and once there, you let your head fall upon his blood-stained chest. Getou immediately places his only remaining hand on the back of your head, as if holding it to his chest, and gently pats your head.

“Are you an idiot?” you snap.

“Might be.” 

You sob even harder into his chest. “Why would you do this?”

Your question makes his heart race. “I wanted something better for Jujutsu society.”

You shake your head at him disapprovingly. “Why’d you have to go about it this way?”

“I don’t know Y/N," he sighs. "Does it make a difference?”

You scoff, raising your head to glare at him. “Of course it does, you idiot! You left! and had a hit placed on you! Why couldn’t you have just stayed?” You sob, letting your head fall back onto his chest. “Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as you wanted this? Why couldn’t... Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as I wanted you?”

“Y/N,” he coos regretfully, as if he doesn’t know what to say, which he doesn’t. He did want you, and he’d even go as far as saying he wanted a better jujutsu society for you so you wouldn’t have to live your days slaving away for the non-sorcerers. “Y/N, look at me.”

You shake your head and screw your eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. You don’t want to see your first and only love withering away right in front of you.

“Y/N, please look at me.”

“I-I can't."

“Y/N, open your eyes.”

The demandingness dripping from his voice has your head shooting up to look at him and your eyes opening wide, but as you open them, you’re not met with an actively dying Getou; you're met with a sunny and flower-filled meadow? You move to wipe your tears, but your face is dry. You blink a few times, trying to take in your new surroundings, given that a moment ago you were just in a dark alley and now you're sitting on a blanket in a field under a glowing sun.

“Y/N?” Someone speaks from beside you.

Your attention is drawn to the person. “Getou?” 

He smiles at you.

“Getou, where are we?” you ask, now starting to slightly panic.

He looks at you in confusion. “We’re on our date?”

Your chest heaves up and down, and you're more confused than ever. “Huh? But- We-“ 

“We what?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“We were just behind Jujutsu High; you were missing your arm, and-"

Getou scoots in closer to you and cradles your face in his hands. The feeling of a warm, full-of-life Getou touching you brings tears to your eyes all over again.

“Woah, woah, love, calm down. What are you talking about? Jujutsu High? Me missing an arm?”

“You don’t remember?” You croak out, distraught, and slightly convinced that you’re going crazy.

“Remember what, love?” he asks softly.

You stare at him in disbelief. “The fight—you wanted a better jujutsu society, and you tried? You lost your arm! You were dying; I saw you! I was there with you! You were covered in blood and-“ 

Getou gently wipes your tears away. “Love, that didn’t happen. I’m here, yeah? and I have both my arms, and there was no fight for Jujutsu society? Whatever that means..."

You blink at him, dumbfounded. “What?” 

“It was probably just a bad dream, Y/N.” He smiles at you reassuringly.

“You don’t know about jujutsu society?”

“Am I supposed to?”

You stare at him in awe. What’s happening? How could he not know about jujutsu society when it was the very thing he was fighting for? But then again, how could he not be missing an arm? And how could the two of you not be in a dark alleyway right now? How could any of this be happening? Maybe he’s right; maybe it really was a bad dream. A very vivid, detailed, lucid, and lifelike bad dream.

“I guess not,” you respond with a frown.

Getou wipes away your last few tears and smiles at you. “You’re okay; I’m okay. We’re okay. It was just a bad dream, love.”

“Yeah,” you say haltingly, "yeah, I guess it was..."

“Are you okay now?”

You nod as you take one of his hands off your face and into your own. “Yeah, I think so... Um, where are we, Getou?”

“On our weekly date?” He answers curiously as he removes his other hand from your face.

You look around at your surroundings curiously. “In the middle of a forest?”

“This is your favorite place, Y/N,” he says, quizically.

As you take another glance around, you hum, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I can see why; it’s beautiful here.”

He raises his free hand and grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N, are you okay? How come you don't remember?”

You look into his eyes, and something doesn't feel right—as if you're not meant to be here—but you digress and shrug anyway. “I don't know...”

He frowns briefly before leaning in and giving you a quick peck on the lips, and you practically melt, having not felt his lips on yours for far too long.

“That's alright. We can still make the most of the rest of our day, right?”

You nod, and he smiles at your response, letting go of your face and hand to open his arms to you, inviting you into his embrace. You return the smile before laying yourself in his arms, trying to ignore the rising feeling that something is wrong, but you can't because the minute your head touches his chest, you're thrown into a moment, a memory, a dream? where you're back in the alley with your head on a bleeding-out Getou, and it's just for a split second, a flash in time, but it's enough to make you go stiff and your breath hitch.

Getou rubs his hand down your back soothingly. “Hey, what's wrong?”

You swallow harshly and try to concentrate on the green scenery in front of you rather than whatever you keep seeing. “Nothing, I'm fine. It's fine.”

Getou places his head on top of yours. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I am.”

He hums disapprovingly but doesn't press the issue any further; instead, he just runs his hand up and down your spine in an attempt to calm you down, which works as you begin to relax into his embrace and regain control of your breathing.

“What do we usually do here?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Usually just talk about our days, our future plans, and stuff like that.”

You hum. “Is it nice?”

“Very nice; I like spending our days together.”

“I do too,” you correct yourself, “or I'm sure I did too.”

Getou doesn't say anything; instead, he lays himself down and, since he's holding you, takes you with him. You sigh contentedly and let your eyes flutter close, the sun and his hold keeping you warm. Suddenly, even with your eyes closed, you can tell it's getting brighter outside, and you groan. You’re about to ask what's up with the sun when a shooting pain in your head causes you to wince. Your heartbeat rings in your ears, and you can feel your hands grow clammy.

You feel unstable, as if you're no longer on the ground being held, as if you're floating through time and space, and the uncertainty forces your eyes open, but you're not met with anything—no, that's not right, you're met with everything, glimpses of time that you can barely make out. One moment you see Getou at an alter, and then you see you and Getou nodding to each other in determination, and the next glimpse is of you, Getou, Gojo, and Shoko laughing about something before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you hiss in pain, and all too suddenly, you're back on stable ground, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone.

You still hesitate to open your eyes, unsure of what you'll see, but when you can just barely make out that you're not where you were before, your eyes shoot open. You're now standing in the doorway of what appears to be the room of two teen girls, and Getou is sitting at a vanity staring at you; his hair and make-up are done, and he's frowning. Despite your confusion about where you are, you can't help but burst out into a fit of laughter.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh haha, yeah, keep laughing.”

You slap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, mumbling, “Our daughters thought I would make a very good model, apparently.”

You go to laugh again, but it hits you, and you look at him like he's crazy. “Sorry, daughters?”

He returns the look. “Yes? Our kids?”

You look away, muttering to yourself, “We have kids...”

You didn't mean for him to hear it, but he does anyway and instantly stands up and makes his way toward you. He grabs your shoulders, drawing your attention to him, and when you look at him, he's staring back at you in concern.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You want to take him seriously, but truthfully, you can't when he’s wearing bright pink lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow. He does look cute, though. You try to bite back a smile.

“I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously when you look like that.”

Getou sighs. “I know I look amazing. Can you try to ignore my beauty for like five seconds and tell me why you’re acting like you don't remember our kids?”

You frown. What are you supposed to tell him? That you're apparently having nightmares upon nightmares about different lives with him? And now you're not sure what's real and what's not? You can't say that, so instead you shrug and merely mutter, “You do look amazing like that, though.”

His head drops to the side at the same moment that his smile fades. “Y/N.”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“Some really weird shit is going on, Getou,” you breathe out heavily.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing your hand and leading you to one of your apparent kids' beds, where he sits you down.

“What’s going on?”

“I don't know, and you wouldn't know either so,” you explain vaguely in frustration.

He gives your hand a squeeze. “Maybe I would?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wanna waste time on that; I don't know how long I have here.”

“What?” he asks blankly. “What do you mean you ‘don't know how long you have here’?”

“Getou,” you whine, not wanting to think or talk about it because you wouldn't even know where to start; all you want is to learn about this new nightmare and what it holds.

He relents. “Okay, I won't ask.”

You smile at him and let a moment of silence pass before asking, “What are they like?”

“Huh?”

“Our kids—daughters.”

Getou hums. “They’re great; we raised them well.”

“They are especially great at making you a model, huh?” you snicker. 

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Oh whatever, you're just jealous they never make you model.”

You shrug. “What are their names?”

“Well, we were gonna keep the names they had when we adopted them, but they ended up not having any names at all, so we settled on Nanako and Mimiko.”

You stare at him in awe. “Did you pick the names out?”

“We both did,” he recalls fondly and vividly, as if it were just yesterday that the two of you were picking out names.

“And we are...?”

He kisses your cheek before answering, “Married—we’re married.”

You hum and raise your left hand, your gaze fixed on your ring finger. “I don't see a ring?”

He hums curiously. “You were wearing it this morning? Maybe you dropped it somewhere?”

You nod. “Yeah.. Maybe..”

Getou doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what to say. What could he? His partner of multiple years suddenly has some form of amnesia and can't remember that they have kids, let alone that they’re married to him. You turn to face Getou. He looks like Getou—like the Getou you know, who apparently was merely a nightmare. Besides all the makeup and stuff, he looks like Getou. He says he’s Getou, but something just feels off.

“Are you real?”

He nods. “Very real.”

You look around the room, taking in the messy vanities, the messy beds, and the drawers stuffed with clothes. “Are our kids real?”

“Extremely real.”

You study his face for any hint of uncertainty, and when you find none, you ask, “Am I real?”

He narrows his eyes at you and hums curiously. letting go of your hand only to bring both hands up to your face and start smooshing your face together, pushing and pulling at the flesh on your cheeks.

“Getou,” you mumble.

He hums approvingly and nods, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Yep, you’re real.”

You smile at his idiotic antics but appreciate them nonetheless. And although you can touch him and feel him, and he is real, as are you and your kids, it still doesn't seem real. And then, all too suddenly, your head starts throbbing again.

“Fuck no, not again,“ you panic.

“Y/N? whats wrong-“

You can't hear what he’s saying anymore; it's like you've gone underwater and he's speaking to you from the surface. Another shooting pain in your head has your eyes screwing shut, and you know you're fucked when all you can hear is your heartbeat ringing in your ears and feel your hands grow clammy all over again. You’re back to feeling unstable, drifting between time and space once more, and just like last time, the uncertainty of the feeling forces your eyes open, and you're faced with everything again—more glimpses in time that you can barely make out.

One moment you think you see yourself back at the beginning on Getou’s cold chest, and then you see yourself and Getou covered in blood, and you're not sure if it's yours or someone else's, and the next glimpse you see is of Getou on your cold chest, like your roles had been reversed, before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you wince in pain, and finally you're back on solid ground again, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone. This time you don't hesitate to open your eyes, and you find yourself in a cemetery.

You look around curiously, trying to assess your surroundings while simultaneously trying to recover from whatever just happened. But you're starting to realize something now. All of this is real. You laying on Getou’s chest was real; having a picnic with a perfectly fine Getou in a world where curses apparently don't exist was real; having kids and marrying Getou was real; and all of those little bits of time in between each new life were real. All of it was real—is real; all of it happened—is happening; it just didn't happen to you specifically. Not this version of you, at least. You’ve realized that you’re experiencing different universes and living alternate lives of your own. You didn’t think alternate universes existed, but it's not too hard to accept when the world you live in—the world you belong to—is riddled with curses and sorcerers. You are not above believing in alternate dimensions.

Finally over your sudden epiphany, you're able to realize that you weren't immediately met with Getou like you had been the past two times you got transported into another dimension. As you put the pieces together, a grave feeling washes over you—no Getou, and you’re in a cemetery. You swallow harshly.

No, no, no.

You start running around the cemetery, inspecting each and every headstone, and praying to the universe(s) that you aren't about to find one that reads his name.

No, no, no.

You keep running, the cemetery seemingly interminable, until you run up behind someone who looks suspiciously a lot like Getou, and when you hear him murmur under his breath, you sigh heavily in relief that it is him, but why is he here? You tilt your head and try to look around him to read the gravestone.

“What the fuck?” you exclaim, stunned.

Getou spins around faster than you can even blink, and he almost chokes on his spit. “Y/N?” His chest heaves up and down as he shifts his gaze between you and the gravestone. “But-but-how-you’re-“

“Dead apparently,” you say, finishing his sentence as you stare at the gravestone that reads, "HERE LIES L/N Y/N."

He stares at you, completely bewildered, and you can see him trembling. “How—how are you here?”

Will something bad happen if you tell him this isn't your universe and there are actually multiple universes out there? Who knows, but you’re about to find out.

“I'm not, well, I'm not supposed to be.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I'm just hallucinating; you’re not real.”

His reply breaks your heart. “I am real.”

“You’re not.”

You step forward, taking his hand in yours. “I am.”

He finally opens his eyes back up, and he stares at you through tears, completely amazed that you're here, that you're actually touching him, and that you're actually alive and real.

“I don't—I dont understand—you're dead!” He stammers, yanking his hand from yours, and as he breaks out into full-on sobs at this point, he’s reminding you an awful lot of yourself in your own world.

You nod slowly. “In this universe, it seems so... how?”

“What?” he stutters. “This universe?”

You ignore his question. “How did I die, Getou?”

He shakes his head sternly. “No, I'm not saying anything until you explain what you meant. What if you’re a curse? What if I cursed you, holy fuck? Fuck!”

“Okay, curses still exist in this universe; good to know,” you acknowledge with a nod.

Getou snaps, “What are you talking about!?”

You flinch, which only makes him sob harder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap—I'm just so fucking confused; you're supposed to be dead,” he bawls as he falls to his knees.

You take another step closer and kneel down, drawing him into your embrace and letting him sob into your chest for as long as he needs, ignoring the horrible feeling of deja vu crawling all over you like worms.

“Shh, you're okay,” you whisper, soothingly brushing your fingers through his hair.

He finally starts to calm down after a few more minutes of whispering sweet nothings to him, and once he’s no longer sobbing, he pulls away.

“Answer my question, and I'll answer yours,” he says through sniffles.

You nod. 

“What were you talking about, universes? How are you here, Y/N? You’re dead—or you’re supposed to be...”

“Do you believe in alternate or multiple universes?”

He shrugs and wipes away any remaining tears. “I don't know; I never really thought about it.”

You hum and nod. “Right, so, uh, they exist! There are a lot of universes out there, actually." You let out an uneasy laugh.

He stares at you curiously.

“Obviously, I'm not from this universe.”

He continues staring at you.

“Oh, cmon, curses exist, but you draw the line at alternate dimensions?”

Getou frowns and says, “I guess you’re right... So you’re from a ‘different dimension’?”

You point a finger at him, narrowing your eyes. “Don't air-quote me like you don't believe me; how else would I be here right now if I were supposedly dead?”

“I don't know; that's what I'm trying to figure out!” he exclaims, gesticulating wildly.

“Can you just humor me and hear me out?”

He takes a deep breath before ultimately agreeing, “Okay, fine.”

You clasp your hands together. “Okay, um, in my universe, you’re dead.”

“What?!”

You shake your hands and your head. “Ok, no wait! You’re not dead yet, but, uh, you were like on the verge of death when I got put into another universe.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “And you just left me?!”

“It wasn't on purpose! Why would I want to leave you when you’re dying? I don't know how I ended up here! or in the last two other universes!”

He stops you and asks, "Okay, okay, wait—how am I dying?”

You look away awkwardly. “You wanted to change jujutsu society in… a not-so-friendly way... And, um, you were willing to die for your cause.”

“I'm dying the same way you did?”

You return your attention to him. “What?”

Getou nods. “Yeah.”

You shake your head. “What do you mean you're dying the same way I did?”

“In this universe, you’re the one who wanted to change jujutsu society in a... not-so-friendly way,” he explains sheepishly.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself.

He nods again. “So, in yours, our roles are reversed.”

“And I'm dead already? I didn't even last as long as you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess," he shrugs, "but it worked; there hasn't been a curse, at least not a special-grade one, since you died." His eyes gleam as he looks up at you. “Did I succeed?”

You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and shake your head.

“I'm dying for nothing, then?”

You look away and mumble, “My Getou is okay with it; he knew he might fail—he knew Gojo was the only one who could probably change anything—but he still wanted to try.”

“Okay, well, this—” he gestures to himself, “Getou isn't okay with it.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, well, you’re also still alive, so it doesn't really affect you that much, now does it?”

“Still! You just told me one version of myself is dead—or dying—and I'm supposed to be chill with that?”

You stare at him blankly. “Your version of me is dead.”

Getou grows quiet, and you can almost physically see how his demeanor wilts away.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You said you were in two other universes before this one, right?”

You nod. 

“What were they like?”

You smile as you think back on the previous universes: “We were both alive and happy, and we were together in them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... and curses didn't exist either.”

“Huh,” he says ambivalently, like he's not sure whether to be happy for his other selves or be bitter that that isn't him. “Tell me more?”

“In the first one, we were actually on a date in some forest that I apparently loved.”

He stares at you wide-eyed, completely engrossed in your retellings.

“In the second one, we were married.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Really?”

You nod. “We even adopted two daughters.”

“What were they like?” he wonders, enamored by some alternate universe of you two.

“I'm not sure; I didn't get to meet them,” you confess meekly. “But I know their names were Nanako and Mimiko, and they loved doing your hair and makeup. You adored them, and I'm sure I adored them too.”

He nods wistfully. “In your universe, were... were we together?”

“For a bit.” You look away sadly. “We broke up when you, uh, went off and wanted to-“

“Change jujutsu society,” he chimes in.

“Yeah... How'd you-“

“Same thing here, just roles reversed, remember?” He laughs sadly.

You nod. “Did you still love me? even after I'd gone off and did what I did?”

“I did. I do,” he quickly corrects himself. “Did you?”

“I still do.”

The two of you sit looking away from each other in glum silence. It's hard to stay upbeat about your happy alternate selves when your actual selves are currently dying or dead.

“Kinda feels like we got the short end of the stick, don't you think?” Getou mumbles softly.

“Huh?”

“Well, I mean, there are no curses in those universes, and we’re both alive and happy, but in ours we’re dead?” he elaborates.  

You nod reluctantly. “Well yeah, but I don't know; I guess it's kinda nice to know that it worked out in at least one universe.”

“Don't you wish it worked out in ours?”

“Of course I do, Getou; what kind of question is that?" you scoff. "You think I want to go back to my universe just to watch you die?”

“Well,” Getou pauses, turning to face you, “what if you don't go back?”

Your gaze zeroes in on his. “What?”

“What if you stay?…”

You abruptly stand up and chuckle uncomfortably. “Getou-“ your sentence is cut short by an echo of your name that only you seem to hear because you're the only one gazing in the general direction it seemed like it came from.

Getou joins you on your feet and follows your stare, but when he realizes you aren't staring at anything, he returns his sight to you.

“Think about it.”

His voice snaps you out of your trance, and you look back at him with a small frown.

“I'm practically dead in your universe, and you're dead in mine, but we’re together right now!" he says, taking your hand in his. "Maybe the universe put you into mine for a reason— so we don't have to go back to one where we’re not together…”

You struggle to swallow; your mouth suddenly goes dry as Getou stares at you in full, unadulterated hope, and you can't bring yourself to say anything to crush that.

“Y/N, wouldn't that be nice?”

You nod and murmur, “It would.”

“Then?” he asks expectantly.

Someone calling out your name echoes in your head again, and you quickly look down the street to now see a small, bright light in the distance, and you know your time here is soon coming to an end.

“I... I can't stay, Getou.”

His voice cracks as he panickedly asks, “Why?”

"Because,” you explain with a shake of your head, “I'm not your Y/N, and you're not my Getou.”

“I could be,” he says confidently, or he would have if it weren't for the way his voice trembled.

Your vision goes blurry from the tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head.

“We could try!”

You sniffle and reiterate, “I can't stay.”

“Please,” he begs through his sobs. “Please, we can make it work.”

You look away from him, trying to fight back your tears, but it's futile; you’re a complete mess, just like he is now. “No.”

His hands shake as he grips your face and forces you to look at him. “Y/N, please, I'm begging you.”

“I cant.”

“Don't leave me again.”

The same voice calling out your name echoes in your head again, this time louder, and the bright light is getting bigger and closer.

“I don't want to go back to a universe where you’re just gonna leave me either, but,” you sob, weakly clinging onto the wrists of his hands that are still on your face.

“So stay.”

You shake your head and take his hands off your face. “I won't.”

Getou’s head goes limp and drops as sobs shake his entire body, and you can't help but think that's exactly how you'll look when you return to your universe and have to deal with the death of your Getou.

“Please,” he pleads.

You're both in tears as you lift his head up by his chin to look at you. The voice calling your name echoes even louder, and the bright light is getting closer by the second.

“You’re not my Getou, and I'm not your Y/N.”

He nods reluctantly. “I know, but...“

The bright light is only a few feet away at this point, and the voice echoing in your head is so loud that it's giving you a migraine—you know this is your last few minutes, if that, in this universe, so you lean in and take Getou’s lips into yours—a goodbye kiss for a Getou who you'll never see again, a goodbye kiss for a Getou who desperately needs one when he never got one from his y/n. You pull away and cradle his cheek gently.

“I have to go say goodbye to my Getou now; I think he’s waiting for me.”

He nods. “If he’s anything like me, he’ll want a goodbye kiss too.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips. “I know.”

Getou doesn't get the chance to respond when you're suddenly gone—completely vanished right before his eyes.

You, on the other hand, are back again, feeling unstable as you float through time and space, and again, the uncertainity of the feeling forces your eyes open, but this time you're met with only one thing—the image of you on your Getou’s chest. With every passing second, it grows closer, as does his voice calling out for you, and before you know it, you're back in your body, looking up at him with a gasp.

“Y/N?” he asks weakly.

You're still in tears from the previous universe as you now pull him into your embrace.

He winces, and you quickly let go of him. “Sorry.”

He smiles at you with blood in his mouth and teeth. “It's okay.”

You have to force yourself to look away to try and choke back a sob, but Getou notices immediately and slowly lifts up his remaining hand to cradle your cheek.

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You nod. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” you croak out.

“Kiss me?” He asks out of breath, knowing he doesn't have much longer.

You don't hesitate to lean in and kiss him, ignoring how it tastes like blood and tears as well as how cold his lips feel. You ignore it because he's kissing you back. He’s kissing you with all the power his frail body can muster, and it makes up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, and seconds that your lips haven’t touched. But just as quickly as he kisses you, he stops, but it's gradual; he gradually stops kissing, moving, and breathing. It doesn't take long for it to get to that point, and even when he's not kissing back, you still kiss him with some fairy-tale hope that it will bring him back, that your kiss will somehow save him, like he's Snow White and you're Prince Charming. But it doesn't.

It doesnt.

You pull away to look at Getou, whose eyes are glazed over but not closed. You sob as you reach up to close his eyes, only to let your head fall against his chest. He’s so cold. Too cold. That's why you have to stay there on top of him to keep him warm. You'll stay there all night if you have to. But you don't even get the chance to stay there for longer than a few minutes when someone suddenly pulls you off of him, and you look over your shoulder to see Gojo, who's crying as well.

“He’s gone, Y/N.”

"I know," you sniffle, “I know.”

Gojo helps you up to your feet, his hand on your waist to keep you steady as he leads you away from Getou’s body. The further you get from it, the harder you cry.

But it's okay. It’ll be okay because, even though you lost Getou in this universe, you’ll eventually be able to come to peace with it knowing that in a hundred, a thousand, and even a million other universes, you and Getou are living happily ever after.

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

wtf💔💔

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

sobbing

spellbound: a kiss and a fight

last ch95

masterlist

-idk something about love interests saying "why are you here?" after a fight or smth makes me feel some kinda way.

-BUT WE DID ITTTT WE FUCKING DID IT!!! AFTER 95 CHAPTERS THE SMAU IS OVER!!!!

-this is actually kinda heart breaking like i love this smau so much and ive loved interacting with u guys and seeing ur reactions n what not like this has been a long ride and im SOOOO appreciative and grateful for all of you who stuck around this whole time. and even for those who just found this!!! im grateful for everyones support and i love u all smsm i hope u stick around for the next smau!

^no timeline on when the next smau will be out though, but i will be posting or at least trying to post oneshots in the mean time! ANYWAY BYE I LOVE U ALL THANK U SO MUCH MWAH MWAH DADDY LOVES U KITTENS!!!

LINK TO A MASTERLIST OF HELP LINKS FOR PALESTINE, CONGO, AND SUDAN

taglist!🦂 (under the cut)

@bloombb @kasumitenbaz @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @deegausserr @theholypeanut @iluv-ace @sad-darksoul @secretanimesimp @satforsatoru @bbysatoruuu @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @1l-ynn @lu-spizzeria @nymphsdomain @babydoll-143 @zellwa @k4romis @ynverse @r0ckst4rjk @chilichopsticks @ryoiii @nnnyxie @st1rvoid @pastatata @morgyyyyyyy @venusinx @lees-chaotic-brain @nishii28 @meguemii @honeyfewr @nobody289x @afatalheat @hopeladybug @becsmarvel @bakugouswh0r3 @enigmaticnephilim @nanamiswifes @you-always-made-me-blush @everythingseasoning @jayathelostdragon @tranzumaki @saesofficialwife @delulusuga @tar0sw0rld @hexrts-anatomy @camilo-uwu @revrse @tanchosanke @ashfrommyfire @liveincans @gyuville @fushigurosdevinedogs @zamorazz @amenial

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride

credits to: @kimiimaus