#ANGST AND TRAGEDIES... BUT ALSO ANGST N COMFORT...

[tinyfantasminha]

BEAUTY ADN THE BEASTDTTT

[chuluoyi]

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

the path of love is never easy for you, be it now or back then. love, pain, betrayal and tragedy — you have been through them all. after all is said and done, you just want one chance at happiness. so will your second marriage be what you always want it to be, or will it be one last heartbreak you have to go through?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, hurt/comfort, a lot of fluff, marriage of convenience, explicit smut (semi-public sex), pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of curses

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the final part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.4k ! i'm so happy with how well-received this little series is :') thank you so, so much for reading!

credit header goes to @/poro06625649 in twitter!

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“Satoru...”

Once, to you, love meant complete acceptance. To be able to accept someone so wholly, unquestionably, as they are.

Until you excelled in everything, a stone throw away from perfection even, and Naoya still spurned you.

When you married Satoru out of sheer impulse just to preserve your standing, you thought you had found that kind of love at last. Until it became clear a part of him wanted something else, and you couldn't accept that.

At the same time, you also felt like a hypocrite, because you wanted that love for you, and yet you couldn't give the same to him and even doubted him altogether. Using each other, you had even said.

But right at this moment... none of that mattered anymore.

Not when Satoru forcefully hurled Suguru aside, fought his way through the searing heat, tearing away debris after debris, punching through the remnants of the collapsing pagoda, all while dreadfully screaming your name.

“Where are you!? Gods, answer me!” He looked like a desperate madman. He was hyperventilating, bloodied, and yet he kept violently flinging the debris, determined to find you.

That sight of him struck you straight in the heart. He could've obliterated the whole tower with his ability if he wanted to, but he didn't. Doing so would seal your fate entirely.

He yelled your name once again, pouring his anguish and frustration into the air that his voice grew hoarse. “Where are you!”

If this isn't love, you thought almost tearfully. Then what is?

“Satoru!” and so you forced yourself to walk, despite being on the verge of collapse. Seeing him like this tore your heart to shreds. “Satoru!”

He stopped abruptly, his chest still heaving violently before turning to you. At first, he thought it was the voice inside his head. Everything around him was a chaotic blur, so when he turned to find you standing there, miraculously unharmed, he was stunned.

A shuddering breath escaped him as he gazed at you, the blue in his eyes filled with so much fright you had never seen before. "Y/N...?"

You staggered on your feet, your dress appearing singed at the edges—but you were there, alive.

"What are you doing!?" you admonished, almost in tears. "Why do you hurt yourself like that!?"

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, but he didn't hesitate. He flung the splinter in his hand away and sprinted towards you, roughly pulling you into his arms.

"—!" he rasped, almost gasping for air, while squeezing the back of your head closer. "Heavens, I thought... I thought you were—!"

Satoru was trembling so badly in your embrace, unable to utter another word as he buried his face in your shoulder. He was beyond shaken—grunting, taking sharp breaths, and holding you so tightly that it left you at a loss of words.

He only pulled back once, albeit shakily, to have a good look of your face. There was one bruise on your cheek and you were covered in soot.

But you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I'm fine..." you tried reassuring him, lips wobbling, placing a hand on his palm that touched your face. "I'm fine now..."

Then Satoru pulled you close again, and you came willingly. Simply holding you, he inhaled the scent of the roses mixed with ash in your hair, feeling your breath on his neck.

To see this man, usually so self-assured, reduced to such a mess out of fear for you touched you deeply. You nestled closer to him, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

In that moment, as you two clung to each other, nothing else matters.

"You've always coveted what I have..."

The ice in your eyes and the chill in your words felt like a curse. Hanabi was beside herself every day ever since she had left Western Empire. No way, she even saw you in her dreams!

Granted, her impulsiveness had almost cost her everything. She shouldn't have placed that curse on the necklace— she shouldn't have dared to attempt it in the first place.

But seeing that piece that had tied you two together—the testament to Naoya's remaining affection for you, however small it was—made Hanabi burn with jealousy. Why did he remember you still? Hadn't he dethroned you and chosen her?

Also, why did you put it as if she had been trying to take all that you had? She was now a royal consort, she was just demanding what she was due!

"...and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

Hanabi shivered as an intense chill seemed to enter her body, spreading rapidly to her limbs and brain, immobilizing her. What is it? Why are your words struck her to the core?

"My lady, are you alright?" her attendant walked up to her as she clutched her chest.

"I-I..." Hanabi faltered, trying to even her breath. "I'm not feeling that well..."

"Shall I get the physician? You do look pale..."

"Please do."

Damn you. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. You must've cursed her, that must be it! Why else did she keep hearing your voice?

"Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."

No, she had come this far. Even if she couldn't have Naoya's favor, even if she couldn't become the empress... she would fight tooth and nail to remain a consort.

After all, all her life, she was meant for this.

. . .

And true to her conviction... once again, fortune favors the bold.

"My lady, congratulations! You're with child!"

Hanabi blinked at the cheerful royal physician as he delivered the news. "R-really? Are you... sure?"

"Certainly! Oh, this is great news! The emperor will surely be delighted by this news!"

For a full minute, Hanabi sat there, stunned in amazement. She had really done it, and if it was a boy this time, then...

"Aha..." she burst into a small titter then, before breaking into a full-blown laugh. "Ahahaha!"

You're wrong, Empress Y/N. This time, I will show you.

"Congratulations, my lady!" the ladies around her gathered, showering her with praises. And Hanabi knew that finally, her time had come.

True paradise begins in hell. And now, I've risen from that hell.

Contrary to what you told Satoru, you were, in fact, not fine.

Shoko was the one who led you out of the burning pagoda, sustaining burns herself in the process. Immediately after you found Satoru, who was frantically on the verge of losing his sanity searching for you, you collapsed in his arms.

You had inhaled a significant amount of smoke, there was a gash in your arm, and you were even bleeding due to the stress.

And therefore, you were put on bedrest for the next upcoming weeks by the royal physician's orders and by extension, Satoru's.

However, during those three weeks, Satoru never visited you even once.

. . .

"Are you sure you're well enough to be walking around already?"

After being confined to your bedchamber for what felt like forever, you decided to take a stroll in the royal gardens. Shoko was the one in charge of watching you like a hawk these days. She didn't usually follow you around—you noticed she often went out on her own—but lately, she insisted on being by your side.

"Mm-hmm, I'm perfectly well now, Shoko," you gave her a smile as you admired the blue roses in the bushes. "You don't have to keep an eye on me all the time. I'm feeling better already."

You would be lying if you said you didn't miss your husband. A part of you of course wanted Satoru to check on you, or at least, your baby. Three weeks had passed, and your belly was now rounder and heavier.

"Oh, well... That's good then..."

Shoko seemed a bit unsure, frowning even, and you had your guesses, so you decided to bite the bullet. "How is Satoru these days?"

"Eh?"

"You must've seen him. He isn't avoiding you like he does me."

"Your Majesty..." Shoko let out a long sigh, seemingly exasperated and sorry at the same time, and you knew you hit the mark with it. "He's well, don't worry too much about him."

"Is he taking enough breaks?"

"He— err, I'm not really sure about that."

"Then, next time you see him, along with my general condition, tell him that I want him to do so."

You didn't mean to make Shoko uncomfortable, and if you did, then it was most definitely not what you intended. You just wanted a way to communicate with your brooding husband, that was all.

"You absolute imbecile! This is beyond ridiculous, why are you refusing to meet your own wife and talk to her?!"

If it had been anyone other than Countess Shoko, they would have certainly been hanged for their outrageous words against the emperor.

Satoru actually felt bitter for not visiting you ever since that day of the fire. Truth to be told, he was worried sick, the terror of thinking you might have perished in the blaze still lingered with him to this day.

He wanted nothing more than to hug you and bury his face in yours. He genuinely wanted you to be well and safe, always. Preferably, if he could keep you close too.

So, why did he avoid you on purpose?

First, the utter awkwardness. Second, the very fact that you had allowed those scums from Eastern Empire to be released. He still couldn't accept it, no matter how. In his eyes, you did it out of love for Naoya.

And that, in and of itself, was like a betrayal of his heart.

"She is becoming unhappy," Shoko noted earlier, frustration evident in her tone. "And on some nights, she also experiences hip pains due to carrying your baby. You're heartless if you don't even come to look at her even once!"

But then, Satoru felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His unborn child.

...he had left you more or less alone now, hadn't he?

In reality, you preferred the secluded comfort of your study over the royal gardens.

And yet, that beloved study Satoru gifted you on the day he married you and you became the empress of Western Empire felt constricting lately. You almost felt claustrophobic.

Maybe it was the burgundy walls, or perhaps it was the sting of bitterness in your chest that you tried to suppress so others wouldn't see. You didn't really care which though.

So, you often wandered through the gardens to enjoy the fresh air, and at times, stopping by the spot where the pagoda once stood.

Nothing. Now that was all that left. The image of a once-beautiful tower reduced to dust and the scorched earth evoked a sense of loss within you, and what made it more painful was knowing that you were the one responsible for its destruction.

But still, what hurt the most was... what had happened to the man who had trembled with fear, believing you might not have escaped the burning pagoda? Why had he spared you with nothing at all?

"Meow..."

You looked at the squirming cat in your arms, his fluffy tail tickling you. "Oh, Sugu-chan, do you want to take a walk too?"

The clear blue eyes of Satoru's pet cat looked back at you demurely before he leapt out of your arms and trotted ahead, as if leading the way.

With nothing better to occupy your time, you often played with Sugu-chan to amuse yourself these days. The cat, with its gentle disposition, frequently curled up next to you for comfort and he somehow made those days better.

"Sugu-chan, don't stray too far!" you called out, trailing closely behind him. Knowing well that you weren't well enough to chase after him should he run off, you watched to ensure he didn't disappear from sight. "Oh!"

And sigh, he did just that. Sugu-chan leapt into the bushes, prompting you to release a resigned breath before navigating through the maze-like foliage.

"Sugu-chan, where are youuu?" you drew a breath, glancing around in confusion. "If only you were calmer like your namesake..."

After navigating several corners, you turned another and spotted a fluffy white fur, and you swore to the skies that you would yank Sugu-chan by his tail if he were to wander off again, when—

"Meooow!"

"Bad, bad cat! Why did you bite me—!?"

—and there you saw your husband, crouching down as he clutched his hand, before he whipped his head to look at you—

"Satoru," you straightened your back by instinct, your heartbeat quickening.

His eyes turned blank for a second, before those blue pools regarded you with a look you couldn't really discern. "Y/N."

. . .

It was awkward silence throughout the way. You didn't even realize when you had arrived at Satoru's study.

You had wanted this unsettling atmosphere between you to end. Why couldn't both of you just be honest already? You were about to voice your thoughts when suddenly Satoru, who had his back on you, suddenly said:

"I will not have a scandal. Therefore, you will behave in a way that nothing is known against you. In return, you will retain your privileges as the empress of the Western Empire, and continue to fulfill your duties."

That? That's the first thing he said to you after those weeks sonorous silence? This stiff, faux nonsense of him pardoning you of your supposed treason?

"Is that all you have to say to me?" you blurted almost immediately, feeling your anger rising. "After everything—"

"After everything— yes." Satoru's back was still facing you, his light blue robes shifted slightly as he tucked his hands inside his pocket pants. "Despite everything, I have nothing but concern for you, Empress. And your act of treason— even if you take no offense, I still consider it a stain on my name to let a pair of criminals go free. Consider it my generosity that I decided to overlook it."

Your body felt like shaking, his strained and formal words irked you, and at the same time, pierced through your heart and tore it to pieces.

"I've told you— I can't let Megumi be condemned for a deed he hasn't committed," you stated firmly, staring hard at his back as if you could bore a hole through him. "He is a kind boy, he used to be my ward. And you know as well as I do, he isn't capable of such a thing!"

"What about that consort—the woman who overtook your place?" he suddenly turned to face you, and the expression on his face almost made you shrink. There was no emotions in his eyes, just a dark hue of blue. "She was the one staging it, wasn't she?"

"I'm not vindictive enough to sentence her to her death here, Satoru." The more you argued about this, the more you felt like you were losing him. "Naoya will deal with her as he sees fit."

The mention of your ex-husband seemed to trigger something in him that his lips curled into a sneer.

"So much trust you place in him. As I thought, I should've never expected the same for me. Granted, we're just using each other, aren't we?"

Your own words thrown back at you, it felt like your shattered heart was being stomped on and reduced to dust, because how could he?

Still, you blinked away your tears, steeling yourself with the one fact even Satoru wouldn't be able to refute. "You said it yourself—you intend to use me for your war against the Eastern Empire. How am I not supposed to see that as you using me?"

You let out a scoff when Satoru wasn't able to answer you, but then suddenly it occurred to you that there might be another reason, one you had suspected, and yet still not able to make sense of.

"I'd think jealousy is insulting to you, so why?" you questioned, suddenly feeling a sense of betrayal. "Why is it that you can't believe that I can love you the same way I did Naoya? Or possibly even more?"

To Satoru, that very thought still felt like a thorn inside his chest. How you managed to see through him almost made his facade falter—

"And if you feel that it's unfair to you how you're the one who keeps proving yourself—then tell me," you suddenly demanded with a gritted teeth. "How am I supposed to believe you've loved me when I know marrying me came at just the right time for your goals?"

"That's not true!" he suddenly raised his voice, all pretentiousness forgotten. Right in this moment, to your surprise, he no longer resembled the cold, distant emperor he seemed to be.

“From the very moment you led me by the hand twenty years ago, I’ve longed for you! And now that I finally have you— it goes beyond mere infatuation or obsession! Heavens help me, but fuck it— I love you so damn much!”

It was everything. Satoru had poured his entire heart out in one go, believing it would be enough, until he saw you trembling, visibly holding back tears.

Your pretty eyes widened as you took in his confession. Your precious lips parted slightly, wobbling in effort to hold yourself together—

—until you felt light all of a sudden, as if the boulder in your heart had came crashing down, as if you had let go of all fears, and a small chuckle escaped you.

"You said, the woman you thought to have a semblance of affection for you doesn't exist," your voice was uneven but you tried so hard to sound clear, a relieved smile forming on your lips. "But she does. I do."

“I love you, Satoru.” The first of your tears fell then, and your voice came out in a sob. “I believe I love you. I'm the happiest while being with you. And so, to hear you say that I'm just a part of your plans makes me so incredibly sad, I—”

“I just want… the honest truth from you.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, your eyes glistening like diamonds as you fought back the tears.

He swore something inside him twisted and bled at your voice, and suddenly, nothing else mattered—

Not when you have bared everything.

Before he could think, he took two decisive strides towards you and pulled you into his arms.

"Don't cry..." he pulled you tighter into him. "I'm sorry— don't cry, sweetheart, please—"

You kept sniffling into him, and Satoru felt his heart break then, as never had he seen you so utterly dejected that you surrendered in his arms.

How was it possible that the mere realization and sight of your genuine affection and tears reduced him to a man who would give up everything for you?

“It’s true, I have been planning to wage war against Eastern Empire for years. I took measures to keep them in check, and I do think having you by my side would definitely give me an advantage. But that’s not it... when I saw how you were being wronged there, I was even more convinced it was the rightest thing to do.”

He loves you. Even if he had committed various things, be it heinous or deceptive, one truth that transcends all is that his love for you is genuine.

“You mean so much to me,” he whispered into your ear, his hand tracing along your spine. “Everything else might be true, but you— no, I have loved you first before everything.”

Oh. You looked up to him, finding his clear, steadfast gaze on you. So this is how he is like when he isn’t hiding behind that crafty smile. When he is being most truthful.

The overflowing emotions obliterated whatever doubts you had left. You felt full. A profound, pervasive sense of love radiated through your myriad thoughts.

And to him, nothing was more liberating than knowing that you returned his love with equal fervor.

You felt bliss... utter bliss.

You didn't really know when you fell asleep, but it felt like the best rest you had in ages. For weeks, you had been waking up in the middle of the night, either in cold sweat or feeling tingling, barely-there stabs in your growing belly. On those nights, you would clutch the pillow beside you for comfort.

But tonight, you felt warm, and the first thing you noticed was Satoru's hair right in your face. He had laid his head above your chest, and his fingers were gently stroking your visible bump.

"Satoru...?" you asked sleepily, and he immediately turned to you in slight surprise.

"Did I wake you?" he looked almost alarmed. "Or do you feel any kind of pain or—?"

"No, just—" and you bit your lip when that familiar stab of pain shot through your hips. Your hand pressed against the spot as you let out a small grunt.

"Hey, what do you feel now?" Satoru immediately moved beside you, capturing you in the warmth of his embrace. "Does it hurt much? Do I need to call for—"

"No need to, it's fine—"

"It's not fine," he firmly retorted, his jaw set in a tight line. "The royal physician will come here first thing in the morning and that's final."

A faint smile formed in your lips as you curled closer and sighed contentedly into him. "Whatever you wish then, Your Majesty."

Satoru took that as a hint of sarcasm, but he simply pressed you closer and placed his warm hand over the spot where your hand rested. "Shoko told me. How long have you been enduring this?"

"Fairly recently, actually. A few weeks or so..."

I never knew. He berated himself because how would he be aware of this when he had completely shut you down? The stress must've gotten to you, and you were so delicate right now...

"Sorry," he sighed into your hair, his voice so quiet it was almost unheard. "From now on, everything that makes you uncomfortable, please tell me."

You looked up at him, searching his face, and when your innocent eyes met his, he relented.

"I'll do everything in my power to ensure you have a smooth journey in delivering our child." His words, sharp yet genuine, made your heart nearly leap out of your chest. "I hate seeing you in any sort of discomfort."

He fretted over you this much and yet he used to think you wouldn't show him the same affection in return. That was so ridiculous when you thought about it now.

"Ah," you giggled freely, wrapping your arms tight around him, and Satoru was taken aback at how that simple affirmation from you made something inside him feel lighter.

His endearing queen, who loved him back, now right in his arms. As he massaged your waist, he thought back to many years of careful planning and schemes, just for one particular goal...

“Not anymore,” he told you quietly, and you sleepily blinked your eye open. “I love you too much to break your heart.”

“Hmm?”

You were puzzled, and could feel his hot breath at such a close distance. And then those blue crystal of eyes met yours, full of warmth, and the corners of his lips curved into a soft smile, one that caught you by the heart.

“I’m made of many things. The emperor of this land, a soldier of many ambitions... but in the end, just a man.” His voice was languid and yet so gentle that it almost lulled you to sleep again. “If it were up to me, I’d have no qualms with warring the Eastern Empire. But now... I no longer wish to do that.”

Anticipation surged within you at his words, but still...

Noticing your reluctance, Satoru pinched your cheek and smiled. "It's not what you want. I thought I could proceed with it even if it'd leave you heartbroken... but apparently I can't."

And with his next proclamation, you knew without a doubt that this time, they were truer than anything else.

“And do you know? Because I love you, I’m willing to do anything for you. Mark my words, my queen— From now on... Heaven and earth, I would give it all to you.”

"Mm..." Whether it was your hormones or the sheer sincerity that shone through his words, tears were brimming in your eyes as Satoru gave you his oath. "Thank you... for thinking of me."

"Anything for you, sweetheart." He dipped his head to press a kiss on your lips and you were about to snuggle closer to him when you felt that familiar flutter and suddenly let out a gasp—

"Satoru!" you exclaimed, almost startling him, but you immediately reached out and placed his hand on your belly. "Feel it!"

And then, his eyes widened slightly. It was the most wondrous moment he had ever experienced in his life as he felt the baby inside you kick and ripple beneath his palm.

"Ah..." he exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Baby... she moves..."

The very idea of a precious baby girl that was an exact replica of you suddenly made his heart lurch. Satoru swore in that moment to protect her with his life... he didn't know it was possible, but he was already in love with her even when she wasn't born yet.

"Why are you so sure it's a girl?" you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and smooched his jaw when he was rendered speechless. "I want a boy, you know."

Satoru snapped out of his trance and sullenly huffed. "I still hope it's a girl. I want a princess I can spoil rotten."

"I want a baby boy who looks like you." Your sincere wish surprised him, and he turned to you in bewilderment. "That way, even when you're away, I won't miss you as much since I still have the little prince near me."

"Ha." Satoru feigned a snort to cover the faint blush steadily gathering in his cheeks. Good heavens, how cute was it that he wanted a girl who resembled you and you wanted a boy just so he'd look like him? He was so giddy that he failed to come up with a witty comeback for you.

Pure bliss. After everything, this is your life from now on.

Shoko stood in front of your chambers the next morning, her heels clacking like a ticking watch of doom.

Unlike the everlasting frown etched on her face, she was actually in a dilemma, debating her choices outside your chambers. It was late morning already, but she'd hate to go in if you were not alone.

If she went ahead and caught you with Gojo on your bed—and worse, naked—with her own eyes... no, it was unthinkable what the sight would do to her. She would never recover. She would spew unforgivable profanities and Gojo might have her banished for real.

"What are you doing?"

Shoko whirled around so fast to suppress her shriek, and shot a look of distaste as soon as she saw who was behind her—Duke Geto. "Don't sneak up on me like that! You're not small like Sugu-chan!"

Suguru, prim and neat with his tied bun and black robes, raised one eyebrow, clearly swallowing any comments regarding the cat. "What are you doing, loitering in the hallway?"

"The empress hasn't woken up yet, and it's nearly midday. She has engagements with the master of tea parties later."

"Don't bother. Satoru's there. He'll most likely tell you that her schedule can be rearranged, and his word is law."

Shoko barked a laugh and Suguru too broke into a smile.

"So, they're good now?"

"Yeah... seems so."

"Thank fuck. Gojo owes me one for this."

The two friends chuckled again, relieved to know that the cold war between both of you had ceased.

Suguru leaned against the wall, his eyes crinkled at a memory. "Don't you remember those days, when Satoru used to watch the empress at each and every ball we attended, back when she was still the crown princess?"

Shoko crossed her arms, letting out a loud snort. "Oh yes. Everyone talked about him. The prince smitten by a rival country's betrothed... his reputation took a hit, but he never cared."

"I never took him seriously until recently. He was so adamant in his plans for the East that I thought... maybe it was all just to realize his war plans."

"Geto... don't tell me," the countess eyed her longtime friend incredulously. "Have not seen enough of the empress' paintings hanging in the halls? Is that not convincing enough for you?"

Throughout almost one year of your marriage, Satoru had commissioned at least five paintings of you to hang in the palace halls. Servants, members of parliament, and peerage must have seen at least one of your pictures whenever they turned a corner.

"If that's not stupidly in love, I didn't know what that is." Shoko shook her head with a smile. "Gojo has been spellbound for like years. I just never thought he'd really have her in the end though."

Suguru and Shoko had been by Satoru’s side for many years. Suguru was the closest to him still, and he had seen his friend for everything he was.

And knowing that Satoru was genuine in choosing this path, all Suguru could do was be happy for him.

“Life always has its ways… heh, I suppose all’s well that ends well.”

SOME MONTHS LATER . . .

"There, there, Sugu-chan!"

Suguru flinched. Satoru snickered.

"Meow!"

And you continued to tickle the white cat happily, seated a few feet away from both of them with a broad grin on your face.

"Should... Her Majesty be so close to the cat?" Suguru eventually asked, casting a skeptical gaze on you. The presence of the feline was certainly not what he expected when he entered Satoru's study per his summons. "It's dirty often and may affect her health."

"No, no... I never let him walk outside anymore and he has to be cleaned all times before the empress plays with him." Satoru's sly smile was a clear sign of taunt. "Suguru~ Won't you play with him too?"

Suguru shot him a withering look, his eyes twitching again the moment you addressed the cat by his childhood nickname.

"Oh, Sugu-chan, you're so gentle..." you exclaimed with a giggle. Your fingers gently scratched the cat's chin and behind his ears, causing him to purr happily and roll onto his back.

"Meooow~"

"Anyway, why did you call me here?" Suguru let out a sigh, disregarding the background noises and leveled a questioning look at his friend and ruler of the country.

"Hmm, nothing of importance actually, my cat just misses you is all," Satoru shrugged nonchalantly and Suguru really was about to pop a vein at his blatant response.

He then threw a sharp glance towards the pet and Sugu-chan immediately let out a dissatisfied hiss. This was always the way since the first day Satoru adopted him.

"Your cat, evidently, dislikes me at first sight."

"That's because he senses your animosity!"

Seeing how uncomfortable the duke looked, you suppressed a laugh and scooped up the feline into your arms. "Forgive me, Duke Geto. It's my idea to bring you here since I'm curious how you'd react if you and Sugu-chan are in the same room..."

...well, if it was your wish, who was he to deny it? Satoru would come for his head first should he do so.

You winked. "I'll bring him out for a walk, feel free to talk to your heart's content."

"Don't overexert yourself," Satoru warned, his playful expression towards him shifting to a concerned look for you, surprising Suguru in the process. "If walking is too much, take a rest."

"Yes, yes... I'll be fine~"

Satoru never took his eyes off you until you left his study, and Suguru couldn't help but smile.

"The way you always soften around her will never fail to surprise me," he noted with a hint of amusement.

"Then get surprised all your life because that's all I will do," he retorted with a proud smirk. "Oh right... how is the progress for the new courtyard?"

To replace the pagoda lost in your incident, Satoru came up with another gift for you—a private courtyard for your own personal pleasure. It still remained a secret from you, with Suguru tasked to oversee its construction.

"It's expected to be done before the empress' birthday, don't worry."

"Good..." His lips curved with satisfaction, before a blush tinted his cheeks. "And by then, the baby must've already..."

You were far along now, evident from how your dresses were no longer able to hide the curve of your swollen belly. He was to become a father soon, and anyone could see how elated Satoru was.

And suddenly he fixed his sharp gaze on his friend. "And Suguru, what about the other thing I asked? Have you looked into it?"

"Yeah...?"

"Zen'in Naoya's wench—" Satoru's eyes glinted with something akin to malice, as he still had that smile. "What did you find about her?"

Royal Consort Hanabi. A while ago, he also asked him to investigate her background, and Suguru almost forgot about it if he hadn't asked.

"Prior working as a palace servant, she was a former maid for Duke Kamo. As with all servants there, she was not treated kindly."

"Kamo? Interesting..."

The Kamo clan used to sit at Eastern Empire's throne up until Naoya's ancestors usurped it. Now, the heir remained a wealthy duke, and it was well-known that the fates of anyone who crossed him didn't end well.

Satoru hummed, barking a snort. "Well, I suppose that's it then. Suguru, proceed as is."

"I really thought you were done with any of your revenge plans." Suguru really didn't want to bring it up but he wasn't sure if this would bode well.

"I've given up on spilling blood, because that's not what my queen wants..." Satoru's smile froze on his face, yet his eyes sparkled. "But that doesn't mean I'll let that lowly bitch go unscathed. Our empress might be a saint and have chosen to spare her, but I most certainly am not as forgiving."

The chilly white light of the chandelier above him cast an eerie glow on Emperor Gojo Satoru at that moment, and Suguru almost shuddered.

"Didn't I tell you before? Anyone who dares to lay their hands on my empress... they have to pay the price."

Meanwhile in the Eastern Empire's palace, the royal consort still was the object of everyone's praises as of late.

It was almost astonishing how well she was treated recently, all because she was carrying the emperor's child, Hanabi thought with irony. So this was her life now.

Valued when she is able please the emperor, discarded when she fails to do so.

Sometimes it made her wonder, if it were still you in her place, would you be treated the same way? Or would you always be revered just like you were, unconditionally?

No matter. Her thoughts always leaned towards comparing herself with you, despite how much she hated it. Yet it was no use thinking of it now.

After all, now Naoya was in her arms.

She couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his sharp eyebrows and jaw. Hanabi had always thought, he was most handsome when he was vast asleep, when he wasn't hurling profanities at her or anyone else.

At first, she just wanted his love, and then a happy ending. She was never audacious enough to covet the empress' seat. But now she had to, after what you said to her.

"...that will be your downfall."

How could you? How dare you? Hanabi had gone through so much, who are you to dictate how her fates will turn out?

She now carried a son. She had even gone to an oracle to make sure of it. Soon, she would be the empress of this empire, and you would be forced to regard her as an equal.

And she was very much looking forward to that day…

Safe to say... you have long since thrown away any thoughts regarding the one woman who isn't worth a second of your time in your blissful days...

“Satoru, hng— ahh!” a lustful, provocative moan escaped your lips as you bucked your hips against his lips—face—and all the while, you weren’t even properly dressed.

But your emperor of a husband insisted on dipping his head inside your thin bathrobe and devouring you right on the staircase leading to the bathing chamber.

“Ah—aah—hah!” you threw your head back, spreading your legs impossibly wider around his shoulder, as you felt his lips licking your drenched nub.

You wanted so badly to see him, but weren’t able to do so as not only your belly had become such a dome that hindered you from seeing your lower half, Satoru hiding under your robes meant you wouldn’t be able to see him at all.

And so, all you could do was feel, feel and feel.

Feel how sticky wet your womanhood was, feel how his hair was tickling your thighs, and feel how as he eagerly sucked and nipped at you, it almost made you see stars—

“Satoru, the servants… mmrngh! Can walk in!” you tried to reason and yet failing at the same time as a shuddering pleasure washed over you like a rising tide.

“So be it,” came Satoru’s daring reply from underneath. “Let them see… and I’ll tell them— this is how their empress comes to be s-so swollen… with the fruit of my labors!”

You moaned again unabashedly, not even bothering to hold it back as the noises you made echoed throughout the hall, your fingers curling and clawing at the marbled tiles.

And soon, you couldn’t hold it in anymore as you came around his tongue.

“Ah…” you writhed breathlessly, feeling how your cum helplessly gushing out, limp against the stairs. Your body jerked, and cramped as you felt him taking in everything that came out of you.

When he was done, Satoru gently removed your light robe and embraced you, taking in every detail. He admired the cascade of your hair over your shoulder, the softness of your skin—seemingly even softer in recent months—and how your body gracefully accommodated the baby.

So heavy with his child… and yet it only roused his desires.

“Look at you, do I tire you out?” he chuckled, licking the remnants of your juice off his lips. You shot him an unamused look and poked his chest in response.

“Here, let me clean you up...”

After cleaning you, he gathered you and brought you to the bath tub, submerging both of you in the warm water.

Satoru pulled you close from behind, wrapping his arms around your upper body, gently kissing your neck.

“You’re so affectionate,” you giggled as you caressed his cheek. “I had half a mind that you’d be repulsed with how big I’ve become, and yet you never stray far from my bed.”

“Nonsense. Your chamber is the temple and I worship any ground you walk on.”

“You’re not worshipping me?”

“I do more than just worship you, my goddess.” Satoru drawled out with a lazy smile, burning a wet kiss on your face. “You know that.”

At this moment, you felt warm and fulfilled, resigning yourself to your husband's arms with a contented sigh... until you let out a low hiss when you felt the familiar pounding from inside your belly.

"Shh," Satoru warm hand pressed on the protruding spot in your bump, soothing you. "There, there... don't hurt your mama, hmm?"

Soon, you'd have your baby in your arms, and your heart melted at the very thought. That little baby would soon be running the palace halls, bringing joy to this empire.

"You know I'd protect you from anything and everything," your husband said to you in a whisper, lovingly breathing in your scent. "So my only wish for you is to deliver the baby safely. Afterwards, leave the rest to me, hmm?"

I don't want to lose you. That was clearly the fear behind his words. Satoru's grip on you tightened and you kissed his arm, reassuring him.

After everything you went through, this would be your happy ending, and you would do whatever it takes to win it.

And then the day comes —

Your labor pains started at the crack of dawn, and you were immediately brought to the birthing chambers afterwards.

Even within the confines of your chambers, your cries echoed through the halls. Shoko and several of your maids stayed with you inside, while the Archbishop guarded the entrance.

"It's almost a day and a half," Satoru muttered restlessly, unable to go on with his day as he paced outside. He had been with you when you woke up to your waters breaking, and he hadn't been able to think straight since.

A maid rushed outside with bloodied towels and he immediately stopped her. "How is the empress? Is she alright?"

The petrified maid bowed her head. "Her Majesty is losing blood, Your Majesty!"

He lost all reasons that very moment. "I have to come inside—!"

"You can't be in there, Your Majesty!" Archbishop Yaga sternly forbid, standing in his way. "It's women's business inside—you should be ready when they announced the birth of the child!"

Satoru's eyes twitched with fury and he was really about to drive past him when this time, it was Shoko who came out, looking alarmed. "Gojo! She's asking for you!"

"He cannot!"

"Suguru..." Satoru turned to his friend with a look and immediately, the duke went to the man’s side.

The emperor then regarded him with an unsettling smile. "Do you like being the Archbishop?"

"Huh?"

"Would you want to keep your position as the Archbishop?"

"Your Majesty!"

"Do you believe you can keep your position as the Archbishop... by defying me?"

Yaga fell silent, as if he had just swallowed a sour lemon, and Satoru seized the opportunity to push him aside. "Then move."

Even after Satoru had rushed inside, Suguru remained near the archbishop and Yaga looked at him incredulously. "He went inside already, why are you still here?"

"His Majesty's orders. Have to keep an eye for you for evaluation since he has another candidate in mind should he deem you unfit in your role..."

"Who is the other candidate!?"

"Ah, he told me his name was... Priest Akutami?"

. . .

Pain blinded your senses that you fell back to the sheets after strenuously pushing, and the next thing you knew, Satoru's face was in your sight.

"Sweetheart, hey..." he took hold of your hand and planted a firm kiss on it. His cerulean eyes gleamed brightly as he gazed at you. "I'm here now."

"Satoru—" your voice came out as a whisper, before another contraction seized you and you moaned. Your eyes rolled back involuntarily as the intense pain surged through you once more. You could feel how close you were, yet it was so painful you could barely breathe.

"Take deep breath, here—" he helped you to sit straighter and gave you his arm to hold.

"Your Majesty, I can see the head already!" the midwife exclaimed in joy, and Satoru turned to you with a smile.

“A little bit more,” he encouraged you, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Just a bit more, my sweet, you can do it, hmm? Here, hold onto me.”

And with his voice as your lifeline, you groaned and pushed once more, putting a part of your soul into it before you blacked out and collapsed in his arms.

At first, everything was silent, but then a sound reached your ears— a cry. Your baby's first cry.

"I-it's a princess!" the midwife announced, and the room erupted into gasps of wonder.

You looked at Satoru through bleary eyes, and for the first time, you saw him utterly speechless.

He was struck by the sight of that tiny being being gently cleaned by Shoko before his gaze returned to you.

You were sweaty, panting, limp, appearing haggard with tears in your eyes and streaking your face, and yet...

You are still the most beautiful thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

"A girl... just... like you wanted..." you managed to say with a hoarse voice and wobbly smile, and seeing you, without a moment's hesitation, Satoru went in and locked you in a deep kiss.

"Thank you—" even he himself was near tears when he pulled away and pressed his forehead against yours. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, countless celebrations he envisioned, all in praise of you and the heavens above for granting him such unparalleled happiness—

"...!" But suddenly, you curled into him, suppressing a scream and failing that it turned into a devastating wail, and you dug your nails into the flesh of his arm. "Ahhh!"

"What happened?" Satoru looked at you in alarm, then to the midwife who hurried to tend to you once more. "What happened to the Empress?!"

The midwife probed your belly, her expression lighting up with understanding. "O-oh my... there is another baby, Your Majesty!"

He didn't have time to dwell on the revelation when you cried out again. Setting aside all surprise, he aided you once more, and after more minutes of intense effort—

"A prince! The Empress has given birth to a prince!"

Twins. The whole Western Empire rejoiced at the news that their new empress had delivered a prince and princess for the nation.

Amidst the flurry of upcoming festivities and celebrations, you spent most of your days resting, as the birth had taken a lot out of you. Satoru took charge of the planning again, despite his busy schedule, and of course, he never failed to visit you and the babies regularly.

And whenever he did, his breath was always taken away.

Two precious babies lay still in the bassinet, peacefully asleep. Satoru gently poked each of them on the cheek.

The princess... as if the heavens had answered his prayers, she resembled you so closely that he fell in love all over again. She was so precious and small, and he imagined she would grow into a beauty just like you.

Satoru had sworn it before and did so again—he would protect her at all costs.

And the prince... he was so much like Satoru that it made his heart skip a beat. With his hair and eyes, his one concern was whether he had inherited his curse too. But regardless, he was determined to help and guide him should that day ever come.

When the boy cooed in his sleep, Satoru knew he too owned a part of his heart. He would definitely raise him well, teach him how to protect you and his sister, and one day, to succeed him as well.

As of you... you were asleep much like your children, and Satoru failed to hold back a smile. He gently combed your hair and just like that, you were roused from your sleep.

"Satoru, hello," you croaked and leaned into his touch.

His eyes fondly crinkled as he looked at you. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. It's been weeks. I've been feeling better for a while actually." You threw him a meaningful smile. "I might've cheated my way out of royal duties to rest..."

"Heh. Then keep cheating until the allotted time then. I'll permit it."

You raised an eyebrow. "When will my time be up?"

"The ceremony to present our babies..." Satoru played with your fingers. "We're expected to hold them and show them to the masses. You have to be there so they won't forget who the empress is."

"Right..." but you suddenly deflated and your husband tilted his head. "After that... we can't keep them out of the prying eyes anymore, everyone would delve into their affairs too."

Satoru's eyes fixed on you, sincere and true. "We can't avoid it, but if you wish for them to be out of the limelight for a little more time, I can arrange it. Your wishes come first."

The thought that your precious babies would be faced with many court intrigues made you want to keep them inside the protection of your womb a little longer. Yet, just as you and Satoru had experienced yourselves, sitting at the highest seat of monarchy required unbending will. Both of you would have to teach that strength to your children.

As if knowing what you were thinking, Satoru gathered both of your hands and squeezed it with a smile.

“Still, we are going to be there for them, are we not? Don’t worry. I’m here, and there’s no way I’m letting our son face any sort of curse alone.” He caressed your knuckles. “And you will be here for our daughter, teaching her how to become a magnificent lady just like you. As long as we’re here... they’ll be okay, hmm?”

Right at that moment, as you stared back at his deep, sparkling eyes, you could've sworn that you had fallen in love with Gojo Satoru once again.

You used to think that to love is to be accepted wholly, but after everything you had experienced, you realized that it also came with a load of worries, and you used to fear them, until...

A smile so pretty bloomed in your face as you squeezed his hand back.

“I love you,” you held his gaze unwaveringly, your eyes shining like glitters. “So long as we’re together, there’s nothing we can’t do, yeah?”

He seemed taken aback at first, before breaking into a smile so dashing it was almost blinding.

“Chasing after you and making you my empress is possibly the greatest deed I’ve achieved my entire life,” Satoru declared with a grin, and you knew your heart was truly his in every sense then.

“So, right. From now on and forevermore— You and me. Always.”

. . .

The presentation of the new crown prince and princess of Western Empire was an unforgettable affair. The grandeur of the celebration rivaled even the festivities of your wedding itself.

Given that it was both a ceremony for the babies and also nearing your birthday, Satoru decided to host a grand ball to mark the occasion. This lavish event ensured no one would dispute your position, regardless of how you came to hold it, and it was also befitting the bestowal of official titles upon your children.

Your son and daughter squirmed in their crib as they were brought forward, and once again, as you stood before the assembled court, you felt a twinge of reluctance to finally present them to everyone.

But Satoru's eyes held you with so much certainty that you found reassurance in his gaze.

And by the moment he cradled your son and you held your daughter, and he declared to the court—

"Here I present to you, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Western Empire!"

You feel wholly sure. With Satoru by your side, you let go of all your fears. Time and time again, he had proved the extend of his love for you, and as you ushered a new era with him, you believed all was going to be well.

Just like your coronation not long ago, the crowd cheered in joy.

Gazing upon the sea of people roaring and cheering below… a familiar warmth surged within you.

Once again, it was a sight beyond belief for you, as they chanted praises and acclamations—

“LONG LIVE THE CROWN PRINCE!”

“ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR!”

“LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”

SOME WEEKS LATER . . .

"We've received a very strange invitation..."

You looked up from your baby boy and curiously peeked at one of Satoru's aides who was on duty today, Todo Aoi. He had come bearing news.

You had always thought he was quite eccentric, but today, he looked uncharacteristically serious.

"Strange, how?" Suguru questioned.

"From?" Satoru added with a totally uninterested expression.

"Eastern Empire," the man coughed awkwardly, as if thinking hard. "Apparently, a prince has been born and the royal consort is to be crowned as the new empress..."

"Who!?" Shoko, who was holding your baby girl, whirled around in surprise.

"Royal Consort Hanabi, I believe her name is. She is to be the Empress of Eastern Empire."

It was such a deafening silence all of a sudden that you could hear a pin drop. Suguru and Shoko gaped. You were stunned.

Only Satoru who didn't seem to show any reaction to the news.

Suguru cleared his throat, feeling the need to double-take. "Empress of... where?"

"That conniving hag..." Shoko muttered under her breath, before her gaze accidentally landed on you.

You were surprised, but strangely, you didn't feel anything. Long ago, you would've been heartbroken by this turn of events, but now, it just eluded you how she could maintain her position as long as she could. Well, when one is favored by luck, anything is possible though...

Satoru suddenly clapped his hands, letting out a mocking laugh.

"Is it really that surprising?" he asked with so much sarcasm, catching all four of you off guard. "When the emperor can barely fulfill his duties, even a scullery maid could rise to become the mother of the nation. The real question is..."

It was as if a sudden chill descended upon the room when he next spoke:

"How long... will she last?"

The question is answered soon enough.

Empress Hanabi's reign in the Eastern Empire lasted for only seven days. It was known as the greatest scandal ever gracing the history.

She had given birth to a son, who was appointed as the crown prince on the same day as her coronation. Emperor Zen'in Naoya personally led the ceremony. At first glance, it really seemed well...

Until seven days later, he suddenly erupted in fury.

The palace walls have ears, and behind closed doors, servants whispered about the incident. It began with Naoya launching into a tirade, claiming that the princess born to Hanabi previously, as well as the newborn prince, were not his by blood.

It was of the highest form of treachery to deceive the crown, and so a death sentence was about to be imposed on Hanabi for this… until the emperor suddenly fell ill due to a stroke, rendering him unfit to rule. Prince Megumi ascended the throne as the new emperor.

Despite his stern demeanor, the young emperor showed abundant kindness. He considered the plight of Hanabi's children, realizing they would be in peril without their mother, so he chose to banish her instead.

. . .

How did it end up like this?

Hanabi didn't know how many days and nights she had cried, cursing fate and her life, as she was being sent away from the palace.

Everything was in her grasp. Her very grasp! Until... until—!

She sobbed her heart out once again, mourning her short-lived life, before it was cruelly robbed from her.

Her children... they were all of Naoya's blood. Despite doubts surrounding them, she was faithful to him and to the crown. All of this... was all a whole scheme to trap her!

...was it you? Could you have orchestrated this? Could you truly be so wicked as to ruin her life entirely?

"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

Was this the price of defying her social status, just like your omen, after all...?

"That can't be!" she screamed inside the wagon set to bring her to the unknown, her voice drowned by the sound of the rainstorm happening outside. "Empress Y/N... you're a horrible human being!"

With every fiber of her being, she hated you so much for ever crossing your path with hers.

Even until the end, she never realized that it was all her own doing.

After hours of journey on the road, she was brought inside a mansion she failed to recognize due to the storm at the first glance. She had given up on resisting because it was futile.

But upon realizing who awaited her in the room, she trembled in fear and backed against the wall.

Hanabi wished she could lose her sanity amidst the whirlwind madness happening to her, because really, it might be better than all of this.

His impressive height gazed down at her from above. It was impossible to hide from his piercing stare.

Duke Kamo Choso, with his crooked sneer, greeted her.

"Well, hello, Hanabi... it has been a while, huh? Did you miss me?"

- END -

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[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[akutasoda]

"you took my heart, my colour and drained my soul"

synopsis - they believe your soulmates and deny it. but in the event that they find out that you weren't theirs, they wish they acted upon their feelings sooner

includes - blade, ruan mei, argenti, sunday, acheron, feixiao

warnings - gn!reader, slight fluff, angst no comfort, soulmate color au, pining, slight jealousy, wc - 3.3k

a/n: this took so long and is kinda awful... had to ask a couple lovelies for characters so shouts to the amazing @mitsvriii who asked for blade, @ughscara for acheron, and @tragedy-of-commons for ruan mei and feixiao ^^ extra shouts to the number one blade kisser @https-sourlimes for proof reading his part and a very unhappy day (/j) to @.pneumosia for the banner. you made this happen 🫵

blade ★↷

he never cared that he couldn't see color.

even in those distant memories of someone he used to be, he couldn't see color. it wasn't a necessity to him however. wielding a sword and becoming one didn't require such trivial matters. the monochrome only served to keep him focused as he was never one to believe in such trivial matters like “love”.

so it confused him when his previously lifeless vision erupted into a display of color and life. it took him by surprise. never would he expect to meet somebody that would be deemed as his “soulmate” and now it was a possibility he had, blade needed to pinpoint exactly who it was - he didn't exactly even want a soulmate.

although it didn't take him long to realize just who the culprit was. he'd worked with the other hunters forever and none gave his vision color, except you. the brand new recruit. it was you. so surely that must mean you had color now as well, so would you also realize?

if you did, you would have to be the one to approach the subject. blade decided then and there that he would try and ignore the bond. he pretended he still couldn't see color, which wasn't too difficult, and he kept up his usual pretense with you which consisted of strictly work related talk.

just because he now knew he had a soulmate didn't mean he had to acknowledge it. the idea was scary for him. the fact that there was someone out there destined for him… made to heal his heart, to love a wanted criminal, someone he wasn't deserving of. and yet there was. but he didn't want to acknowledge that, he wasn't deserving of that.

so it was never brought up. by him, by you, it went unspoken and no-one else around you knew any wiser.

he didn't want a soulmate, you didn't deserve to be shackled down to a destined life with him. and that's what he constantly told himself. eventually blade could ignore it, go about his life the way he did before.

so why did he feel this way?

it was simply another day for him, he stood idly listening to kafka talk with the other hunters and he noticed something. the color is his vision started bleeding away, the brightness turning into that familiar monochrome that he was well acquainted with.

the next thing he knew, he had shot from his position and tried finding you - the other hunters had never seen him move so quickly. something had happened to you, there was no other explanation, the only way a soulmate could lose their color again was if something fatal had happened to their soulmate. he needed to find you.

and yet, he found you completely unharmed. in fact you were buzzing. when your eyes landed on his figure you smiled and ran over to him and began ranting about the person you just met and how you could finally see color again. but blade stopped listening. the color had finally disappeared fully and it dawned on him.

he wasn't your soulmate. you weren't his.

he was a blip, a mistake. blade shouldn't have been so foolish. shouldn't have given himself that hope that someone was ever right for him - even if he denied it. his heart had been stabbed, yet again. even the universe knew he didn't deserve you and so it gave him that false hope just for amusement when his hopes got crushed.

blade wanted you to not be his soulmate. and yet now that he knows you're not, he wants you more than ever. but you're happier. overjoyed at finally finding your soulmate unaware that blade desperately wished he was that person for you.

ruan mei ★↷

the idea of a soulmate was always somewhat fascinating to her. the concept of having a perfect significant other that was destined to find the other eventually and live out the rest of their lives together, it was truly intriguing. even more so when she factored in the color that could be seen when someone found their destined other.

if she wasn't already so dedicated to her research, ruan mei figured that she might have spent some time investigating the phenomenon. however, it wouldn't of been for the interest of finding her own or the natural chemistry of why people fell in love. no. it would be more about how people knew they found their soulmates, how the colors knew to fill one's vision.

after all, she couldn't see color herself. it quizzed her into trying to think of a way to fill her world with such tones, a way without finding her soulmate. it wasn't exactly a surprise to see her as the type to not want to seek out that special someone. her brain was focused on bigger things.

ideas she could test, aeonhood to ascend to, and a wide list of things to complete. anything that she achieved would only distance her from that someone. it was best for both ruan mei and her soulmate to never meet. even if it hurt that someone, it was best for the both of you.

but fate wouldn't see it that way. instead, fate brought you into her life. and from your very first meeting it was obvious. the way that color exploded into her vision nearly took her by surprise. and she clocked on immediately, you were her soulmate. you had been brought together after all this time.

but this wasn't what she wanted. so ruan mei ignored it. you would've had the same experience and probably knew, but maybe she could convince you that it wasn't her. that way ruan mei could push away the reality of knowing she had a soulmate.

although, she still kept up friendly appearances with you - you did work in similar fields after all. but she hadn't ever anticipated a certain possibility…

it was a regular day in her lab when it happened.

the color was leaving her sight. and as she watched hopelessly the color drain from her vision, she heard her phone go off. and so she looked over to her phone - you were one of the only one's she kept notifications on for during work, and ever really. it was a barrage of messages of you excitedly telling her about you and your new research partner. and how you could see color-

it was all monochrome. the color was gone.

a miscalculation. that's what had happened. something had gone wrong and she was the outlier. a failure, just like some of her experiments. ruan mei figured she would've been happy about this, you couldn't be a distraction anymore. so why , instead of responding like usual, did she turn her phone off. ghosting you.

argenti ★↷

living life without color could have ups and downs. it wasn't too bad and didn't hinder his everyday life. but when he devoted himself to serve under the aeon of beauty, part of beauty was seeing color. although he did argue with himself that even true beauty could be found in a world full of shades of black and white.

it became his world. the prospect of a soulmate always intrigued him but rather admittedly, his devotion to idrilla outweighed his desire to ever seek them out. if they ever so happened to find their way into his life then so be it, he would take up the opportunity presented to him. but otherwise he wouldn't seek them out.

that was until he ran into you. a fellow wanderer who ventured through the universe. you two hit it off almost immediately, it felt like a fated encounter.

and then he saw it. that newfound beauty of color, of you. it was as if idrilla themselves were blessing him. he finally found his soulmate. and he knew it was an outlandish request but after all this time, he met his soulmate. so would it be selfish for him to ask you to join him in his travels?

the company would be welcome and who better than you? his soulmate. so argenti was overjoyed when you accepted his idea and you began traveling alongside the knight. the time you two spent together was greatly cherished. argenti used the time to get to know you better, even if you were fated to be, he still barely knew you when that was realized.

however, while you two became dear friends, argenti started feeling uneasy. you never acted liked you knew. it was as if the concept that argenti was your soulmate was nothing more than that, sometimes he swore you couldn't actually see color. which would mean…

no. he was overthinking.

or at least he thought he was. the two of you had made a brief stop on a planet, argenti had some business to attend to and so you went looking around. and when he finished he looked for you, he wouldn't drag you away if you were busy, he just wanted to know you were okay.

but even then, concern flooded his mind when the color that you had granted him started bleeding away. panic set in and he rushed to find you, something must of happened. something bad - what he didn't know was that it was only bad for him.

he found you perfectly unharmed, talking with someone, someone that made you smile and laugh the way he wished he could. and by the time he saw you wave him over, his world had been plunged into the familiar monochrome that he knew before he met you.

you excitedly told him how you could now see color, unknowing that he just lost all of his, and how this person was your soulmate. argenti wasn't. it felt like a cruel stab to his heart. he listened to you talk about potentially staying there and argenti tried so hard to not object.

you wanted this. he didn't control your life, he wasn't even your soulmate anymore. but it still hurt. not only had he lost someone he loved dearly. but he'd lost you, his cherished travel companion.

sunday ★↷

he always despised the idea of soulmates. the idea that there was something that determined the very fate of a relationship was ridiculous. a perfect partner for someone was destined without their knowledge. yes, soulmates are meant to be the perfect match for someone but sunday still wanted to deny that it was true.

sunday was even confident enough to say that he would be able to ignore having a soulmate. living with monochrome vision wasn't exactly difficult, it was adaptable especially after going so long without it. there was also the fact he wasn't exactly all that keen on having one in general.

even when he met you, when his world finally had color, he wanted to deny it. no, it was a mistake. he didn't want to have a soulmate.

he struggled with the idea that you were truly the perfect match for him. it tormented him. mocked and messed with him. but in his struggle he felt it.

it was painful. it was as if someone had taken a hot iron and pierced it straight through his heart. metaphorically of course, realistically he couldn't feel a thing - some may say that was worse. sunday could only watch helplessly as his vision yet again plunged into a colorless void.

the vibrant colors bled from his vision and all he could do was watch helplessly.

then it occurred to him, the colors could only drain if something happened to your soulmate, something that normally they couldn't come back from. he had to find you. sunday needed to know you were safe. the draining colors only urged him to find you faster. what if something horrible happened? he swore to hunt-

he stopped.

there you were, with someone he couldn't care less about, but he couldn't miss the sight of you smiling at them. sunday didn't understand? if you were okay, why was the color bleeding in his vision?

you soon turned to see sunday staring at you, you smiled and walked over to him after bidding farewell to the other person. sunday soon listened to your ecstatic ramblings about how you could finally see color, how that person was your soulmate - but he couldn't hear anything anymore. static clogged his ears and the color in his vision vanished.

oh.

he wasn't your soulmate.

he was never meant to be. something had built up his heart, his hope, just for it to all be violently ripped away from him just like that. all he could muster was a painful smile and false words of celebration.

acheron ★↷

if acheron was to be one hundred percent truthful, she never imagined meeting her soulmate. and if by some miracle she did, she unfortunately would make it clear she had no intention to keep them by her side. it sounded cruel but she never really saw herself as one to develop such relationships with others. acheron did understand that soulmates were meant to be, and she did feel pity for the one fated to her but there were other factors that came before the destiny bestowed upon two people fated to be.

she constantly moved around. the chances of her bumping into her soulmate were slim, they decreased further when she decided that she wouldn't even make an effort to search for hers. living with the monochrome vision wasn't all that bad, it barely affected day to day life - especially when someone had lived with it for so long like her.

so it came as a massive surprise when her world erupted into color after bumping into a complete stranger. acheron’s mind was clouded with thoughts and she barely acknowledged those around her, so she accidentally walked straight into you. after letting out an apology she noticed.

the color that suddenly streaked through her vision. ot caused her to stop for a moment. acheron knew she was adamant or ignoring the possibility of soulmates. but now? when she was face to face with that very person, she felt compelled to feel differently.

maybe she could stay a few extra days, get to know you a bit better. admittedly it was rather a shock that this stranger showed interest into getting to know you, but something about her drew you to her. made her seem like less of a stranger.

acheron never thought she'd feel this way about anyone, let alone her soulmate. she thought she would be immune to the concept and yet, here she was. seeing you as someone she could share her life with. it scared her even, the idea was foreign to acheron. and yet, she so desperately wanted to deny it.

so why did she try and desperately cling to the color that bled from her vision? why did she immediately try and find you to make sure you weren't hurt? why did she feel so hurt seeing you completely unharmed smiling at someone else?

and as the color completely vanished from her vision yet again, she remembered why she was so adamant on avoiding the topic at first. somehow acheron was a mistake. she wasn't your soulmate - a part of her was glad, you deserved someone better than her.

feixiao ★↷

a part of her was always intrigued by the concept, a child like wonder for the idea that one day she would meet the person determined for her by the universe and her world would light up - metaphorically and literally. it would be a comfort to know that when she met that fated one, it was meant to be. no heartbreak, no concerns about whether or not the two could ever make it work. because it would be meant to be.

unfortunately, as she got older, she lost that child-like wonder. not all of it, but enough for her to stop trying to wish, hope, even try to predict the day that her world would burst into color. alas, it had not happened so far. and after becoming a general she hardly had the time to even spare it a second thought. feixiao had more important and pressing matters that needed attending too, rather than searching for her soulmate. if they were really meant to be with her, they would find her eventually.

and maybe that's what she should've done in the past. as she met you by accident. walking through the yaoqing, originally with the purpose of heading to a certain location but feixiao quickly became distracted by the sight and smell of your stand amongst the various others. feixiao had never seen you around this area before and so she reckoned she could spare a few minutes to check it out - rather admittedly, the smell reminded her of the gnawing hunger in her gut.

although, when she reached your stall and began talking with you, feixiao became less intrigued about what her initial intentions were and more about the person behind the stall. you. it didn't go unmissed how color now started peeking into the corners of her vision, eventually the entire world burst into vibrant arrays. it took all of feixaios restraint to try and not make it obvious to you, although if she had this revelation, surely you did as well? but you never mentioned anything, or even looked surprised, if anything you expressed a concern for how silent and dazed the general had quickly become. feixiao composed herself and politely dismissed your worries before quickly making a purchase and walking away.

you noticed very quickly just how frequent of a customer feixiao had become. most days she would make her way over to your stall, always purchasing something and subsequently bringing in more customers, and hanging around. you always asked the question of her not having anything better to do as the general of the yaoqing but she always assured you that if she had, she wouldn't be here. feixiao was convinced you were her soulmate. but she still wanted to know more about you before bringing anything up, to get to know you more. but something nagged at the back of her mind, you didn't seem at all phased by the fact that you two were indeed soulmates and if anything you seemed oblivious to it.

although her nag was answered. it was another day of her heading over to your stall and yet something was wrong. she was losing the ability to see color. something that should only happen if one's soulmate was in grave danger. she had to find you, to protect you. she wasted no time in rushing over and only wavered upon seeing you happily talk away with someone. it didn't feel like you were talking to a regular customer, no it seemed more personal. you saw her and waved her over before excitedly introducing her to your soulmate. and that's when all the color disappeared. her vision plunged back into that monochrome world, but this time with much more despair.

something had gone wrong. you two were not meant for each other, you were never meant to be.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

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

[hollowdeath]

Oh hello, I just wanted to tell you that what you wrote is amazing! I read it over and over and couldn't stop reading. You are soooo amazing! *((Ugly crying😭❤️))*

And umm.. I would like to share about the imagination in my head about Dark Harry Potter. He joins the Lord Voldemort and betrayed all his friends. When the war ended, the Lord's side Voldemort wins. Everything is in chaos but Harry ignores it all because he only cares about the reader, his old girlfriend. (Harry still loves the reader even though the reader hates Harry.) He might have requested that the Lord Voldemort gave the reader as a reward to him after the war. Something like that, and ummm, a drama that is both bitter and sad and angry at the same time full of longing for each other? A rough and sad lovemaking? 🥺

hi! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoy!

pairing: dark!harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: harry's all-consuming anger successfully tempts him to join voldemort in the war, sending you, his girlfriend, away in an attempt to keep you safe. years later he asks for your return, and is met with bitterness and rage as you struggle to navigate your feelings for each other in a post-war world.

c/w: smut!!! angst!! slow burn! mentions/threats of weapons, violence, abuse, and death/murder. smut is all the way at the end (grinding, oral, penetration, submissive!harry & dominant!reader) lightly edited, not book/movie/canon accurate

word count: 12.6k

a/n: this is giving me manacled x star wars and i love it lol, so so so much fun to write. i tried to make the reader more angst-y and dominant than normal, so if you like this please let me know! sorry if the plot doesn't make much sense. i also started school this week so please be patient with me! going to try and start posting shorter blurbs/headcanons between requests <3

harry was standing at a window in the lord's manor, watching the street below him as people sulked aimlessly by. it was a typical, gloomy day, the clouds gathering heavily above. it had been raining for weeks, maybe even months at this point, and it was beginning to cast a permanent gray shadow across the city. not even the weather could escape the tragedies of the war.

though harry chose to not dwell on the war, he felt its lingering effects. even from his lofty spot in the comfort of the lord's castle, which he barely left anymore. its walls had become harry's second skin. so long as he had everything delivered to him whenever he desired, it was disgusting to him to even think of stepping outside.

yet still, harry could see the abandoned and damaged shops just outside the lord's gates lining the courtyard along the cobblestone streets. the burnt remains of what once was. the sunken-in faces of the remaining people in the city. the lack of light, the lack of life, the lack of magic.

there's a part of harry, a weak cry from deep inside his repressed past, that feels bad. he was once a young wizard with bright eyes walking the streets of these same shops. he once enjoyed the sounds of shared happiness, and found solace in the fact that despite his lack of, there would always be joy in the world around him.

however, as harry grew older, and the circumstances around him shifted, he found himself getting angrier more often. not just on a weekly basis over small interactions or mistakes, but all the time, from the moment he was awoken by his nightmares to the moment he fell back into them. harry simply had no room inside of him left for anything else. it was just anger. pure, unbridled anger that only caused annoyance at first, then small outbursts of irritation after a while, and, eventually, he couldn't look at anyone or anything without wanting to physically destroy it for no reason other than he was just angry.

harry was angry at the world for having magic in it in the first place. he hated the divide it caused between muggles and non-muggles, pure bloods and half bloods. he was angry that divide is what took his parents from him before he could even properly know them. he was angry he had to grow up in abuse and neglect under the guise of 'safety'. he was angry he never received an apology, an admittance of guilt, not even a hint of closure for the past that was still controlling his present.

the boy who used to risk his life to save hogwarts and the students inside of it would eventually be the same one to let them fall.

when voldemort came back, and harry's anger was at its worst, he knew there was a connection. he didn't know about horcruxes yet and he certainly didn't know he was one. and yet he knew, somewhere deep inside him again, that it wasn't a coincidence. there was a reason his anger was consuming him, and the reason was voldemort.

after cedric's death, harry had begun to spiral. the nightmares were worse than before, he felt deathly paranoid constantly, and couldn't escape the intruding memories of the graveyard. though harry had managed well enough afterwards, still suppressing his rage, he couldn't hide the change in his personality from those closest to him. ron and hermione were the first to bring it up, but, of course, harry had snapped and told them to mind the business that pays them. despite his resistance, they tried until the very end to help their best friend see through his anger, to remember what was right and wrong.

however, once sirius was dead, it was all over.

harry had simply lost any hope that was left within him. watching sirius fall through the veil, his eyes lifeless and cold, was like watching harry himself die. he didn't think he could get any lower, and then he watched the only family he had left be cursed just within his reach.

harry was never the same after that. when he sat in bed late at night staring at the marauders map in his lap, he thought about how much he hated this life that's been made for him. the boy who lived, the scape goat, the hero, our only hope. it was crushing. harry was just a boy. he wanted to live a normal life.

but he knew he never could. not after tom riddle, not after cedric, not after sirius. even if everything went away tomorrow and harry could just attend his classes and be with his friends, nothing would change. he would still be alone, he would still be angry, and he would still suffer from his traumas. what was the point in fighting for good or living to see the end when you would always end up alone?

except, harry wasn't alone, really. he had you.

if there was one thing in this lifetime, one thing throughout this entire war that could have saved harry, it was you.

you and harry had been classmates for a year or so before really getting to know each other, and started dating not long after. when you were around, harry knew there was something worth fighting for. though he may feel angry and everything and everyone and everything everyone said, harry could never truly be mad with you. it's like when you looked at him the anger was muted, numb, deep inside him, and as soon as someone would interrupt it was bubbling at the surface again.

you were worried about harry, of course, and saw the effects his anger had on his relationships with everyone else around him. besides you.

he remembers you clearly, still to this day, and just how upset you were anytime he lashed out. if he'd felt anything other than anger at that time, it would've been guilt. guilt for hurting you, for scaring you. guilt, but not guilty enough to stop.

the anger was stronger.

even when you asked him, begged him, please, harry, please stop letting your anger win, and even when he promised, swore on his own grave, that he would try harder to stop for you, he never did.

harry was beyond angry. he was spiteful. all he had ever been was kind, a pushover who gave everyone the respect he was never graced with. he's saved strangers who wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. he's lost his family in their sacrifice for the greater good that now rested upon harry's 16 year old shoulders.

he was beginning to think the fight wasn't worth it.

not only did the fight for good no longer seem worthy to harry, the fight against it only seemed to become more enticing. why should harry continue to risk his life and sanity when there would always be fights of blood purity? why should he be the hero everyone else has always wanted him to be?

for a long time, the answer was you. you were reason enough for harry to keep fighting, to keep his anger under control. when he looked at you things made sense for just a moment, his suffering was worth it to see you alive and well. until it wasn't.

everyone has a breaking point, and harry felt like he had finally reached his. as the war had geared up to a point of no return, harry had to make a decision. he had always assumed his decision was already made for him since birth, but he soon realized he never actually had to follow this path set for him in the first place. he was free to do as he pleased. he wasn't dumbledore, he wasn't his parents, he wasn't even the hero everyone thought he was. he was angry. he was spiteful.

worse than that, harry was vengeful.

so, when he met voldemort in the woods during the battle of hogwarts to accept his death, harry instead offered him a proposal the dark lord simply couldn't refuse. harry potter, his living horcrux, would become his successor upon his death. harry would fight with and for voldemort, training to become the most powerful dark wizard in history, and to finally let tom riddle rest well knowing the world was in just as dark, evil hands as his own.

though voldemort was skeptical at first, naturally, as harry expected him to be, he could eventually see the darkness within harry nearly consuming him whole. he was as serious as death itself. he no longer had the desire within him to continue fighting for, what he saw as, a lost cause. voldemort was rather pleased with this news, though never expected harry to come around like he did. he hadn't even considered it, really. but who was he to deny his own successor?

upon harry's return to hogwarts with voldemort and his death eaters in tow, every single person who watched was stunned into silence. even mcgonagall, who had been instructing and encouraging the students all night in their fight, had become speechless and teary eyed at the sight. ron had to catch hermione, who nearly fell to the floor.

but nobody was as upset as you were.

you had already been sobbing watching harry walk off into the woods towards his own death thinking you would never see him alive again. only to watch him emerge from the same treeline with the enemy by his side. it's like you got kicked in the gut. you would've almost rather never seen harry again.

"harry!" you had screamed in a broken voice as he crossed the bridge, voldemort's snake slithering at his feet. you were running to him, breaking through the multiple arms that tried to hold you back.

voldemort tried to raise his wand to you, but harry had stopped him, telling him to let him handle it. he was suspicious at first, still not fully trusting harry's intentions just yet, but was reassured by the sinister look in his eyes.

harry looked at you. he remembers feeling a twinge of that same guilt from before, the tiniest spark of hope deep within his rage. he really did love you, at least at some point he did. you would've made all of this worth it, you would've been the reason to keep going. but not even you were reason enough anymore. for so long he had been ready to take his revenge on the world that failed him.

"harry, what are you doing?" you had asked him, voice shaking. you were almost whispering, your eyes nervously glancing towards voldemort every other second in fear for your safety. harry grabbed your hands but you pulled them back, a look of disgust coming across your face.

"come with me." harry had told you. your look of disgusted transformed into shock, anger, confusion, and guilt. there were mumblings coming from the crowd of students behind you. "what?" you had asked, nearly breathless at this point, your eyes searching him for answers.

"come with me, [y/n]. i want you by my side as i become the most powerful dark lord in the world." harry explained, taking steps towards you with an excited grin on his face, his eyes still dark with corruption. you were still in shock when he grabbed for your hands. he kissed your knuckles softly with a quiet, "i love you,"

he had meant it, but not like he used to.

it took a few moments of silence and some tense eye contact before you pulled your hands away, letting the tears fall again as you attempted to gather your words. "you can't do this, harry. i will never join the dark lord. you know this isn't right, why are you doing this? why? why?" you're practically begging for an answer as harry looked away, an irritated expression on his face, clenching his jaw together. your hands reached for his shirt and jacket, trying to shake some sense into him as you grasped them tightly and pulled him closer.

"don't you love me?" you had asked him in the most heartbreaking, soul crushing voice. your words were weak, but your sentiment was palpable. you were bloody, dirty, covered in scars from fighting, holding harry close to you as you begged him with wide eyes. not too much earlier in the year he would've folded immediately looking at you, so innocent and desperate, his last bit of hope in the world.

but it was already far too late.

"take her to azkaban," harry had announced, angling his head back to the deatheaters behind him, keeping his eyes locked with yours. your grip on his clothes loosened and shocked gasps came from the crowd. harry looked at voldemort, who was a bit puzzled by the situation, but backed up harry's real nonetheless. "you heard the boy," he snapped towards the men behind him.

the deatheaters walked towards you as you stepped away from harry. "no, no, no, stop!" you were screaming, trying to back away from them, but they had grabbed your arms aggressively and began dragging you towards the bridge. "[y/n]!" a few students had shouted, running towards you before their attempts were blocked by a wave of voldemort's wand. the students fell to the ground, watching helplessly as you continued to fight your way out of the deatheaters' grasps. harry stood still, emotionless, completely stoic as he heard your desperate wails and calls for his name disappear into the woods behind him.

the rest of that night or day or whatever it was has since been completely blocked out of harry's mind, forever. his rage had reached a level he didn't know was possible. all he could recall anymore is the blood, the screaming, the running, and the light of his wand in his hand. many students and professors died during that battle at his hand, along with voldemort's and the deatheaters'. the castle was then burned to the ground, signifying the end of the battle. hogwarts had never stood a chance.

and, now, harry stands in the dark lord's manor, staring at the abandoned buildings lining his street, and he's thinking of you.

he often wondered how life would have been if you had joined him that day. though his years since have been packed with death, fights, destruction, and chaos, there were moments alone or in peril where you crossed his mind like a gentle breeze. a simpler part of his past, a light in his darkness. your soft, kind eyes, wide with shock as you back away from him, fixated on the deatheaters coming to collect you. your sweet, melodic voice screaming and breaking as you were dragged away, fighting for your freedom. harry could remember the moment perfectly despite everything else in his life being a blur.

he wonders how you would have filled the role as his partner in crime after choosing him. two dark lords unstoppable against the forces of the wizarding world, fighting 'good' and spreading evil just as he had been this whole time. would you have succumbed easily to the temptation? would you be as dark as harry was? could you maybe even be darker?

but harry knew it was a fruitless endeavor from the beginning. he had wanted to ask you anyways, to at least give you a chance to make the decision to be with him, even if he already knew what your response would be. harry was a bit let down at first, hoping maybe there was enough love between you to push morals aside, but he knew he would never be that lucky. part of why he fell in love with you way before his anger began was your commitment and dedication to what you believed was right. that same trait would be the driving force behind his decision to lock you away.

harry knew you. and he knew you wouldn't stop fighting until your body gave out, and maybe even after that. he may have lost you by sending you to azkaban for the foreseeable future of the war, but he'd rather know you were safe somewhere solitary than spend his years wondering where your dead body had been rotting into the dirt all this time. though azkaban was desolate, dark, isolated, and torturous, it allowed harry to sleep at night thinking of your still-beating heart resting safely behind those impenetrable walls.

lately his nights had become more restless, though, as the thought of you still residing in azkaban began to sit with him. he didn't feel guilt, really, he knew it was what was ultimately best for you. but he did miss you.

after the war had died down and voldemort took his place as the rightful dark lord of the world, harry's anger began to subside for the first time in years. rather than rage fueling his insatiable desire to destroy, he felt incredibly numb and disengaged with everything around him. the desolate streets and grim sky and abandoned city outside the windows began to fit his mental state more and more. for the first time since he was a teenager, harry could see past the anger.

and all he wanted was you.

so, harry had reached out to the dark lord, who spent most of his time at his new ministry castle across the country from the old manor he let harry watch over. they communicated every so often, checking in on business and social matters, but otherwise never had to meet in person. 

harry sent him a letter asking for your release and direct delivery to his household, barring from reason. he felt after the war he had lead with and for voldemort, he owed harry a singular favor all these years later.

it only took 2 days for a confirmation letter to be sent back to harry, signed by voldemort himself, dating your arrival for the next day.

harry had his house elf, jinx, make up your room, asking her to be sure it was comfortable and clean before your delivery tomorrow afternoon, and to also provide plenty of options for dinner.

harry spent all night thinking about you, wondering what you'd look like after all this time. how similar or different you would be from what he remembers. how you'd react to seeing him. he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't react well, likely needing an extended period of alone time to adjust being here before he'd ever get a civil moment with you. but he was up for the challenge, otherwise he'd never ask for your return in the first place. he was releasing his anger, and instead building his patience, if not just to hold you one more time.

there was a delicious smell filling the mansion as the clock drew nearer to your arrival. harry was dressed better than he had been in years, and had jinx make the usually desolate looking building feel warm and inviting. fireplaces roaring, warm lamps flooding the hallways, and the grand dining table set to perfection for 2 particular guests.

harry didn't want to make it too obvious, but it was hard for him to hide how excited he was to see you again. even if you were different, even if you hated him, all he wanted was to see you in person, his eyes locking with yours for the first time since the day you were dragged away at his command.

once the hour was upon him, harry could hear footsteps and voices on the second floor. his heart leaped, setting down his glass of wine before heading for the stairs.

"let go of me, let go of me," a strained voice was crying down the hall, the sounds of a struggle coming from harry's left. he saw two house elves, rather squat and bulky, holding onto the arms of a frail body covered in a simple striped prison dress.

one elf turned to harry and gave him a devilish grin, "ah, there's the man himself!" he growled, his partner turning as well. "sorry we were late, mr. potter, someone here wasn't too keen on leaving azkaban, for some reason," he apologizes, pulling at the arm he's holding.

you slowly turn your head and stop struggling, your eyes wide with fear and mouth dropped open. "harry?" you whispered to yourself, your knees nearly giving out beneath you before the elves aggressively pulled you back up.

the first elf groans, rolling his eyes at you. "where can we put her, huh?" he asks, his tone impatient. harry pulls a few gold coins out of his pocket and hands them over to both of the elves. "right here is just fine. thank you, boys," he tells them.

the elves happily accept the tips and drop you to the ground, quickly disappearing in a flash.

you're left heavily breathing on the floor of the hall, sniffling and groaning in pain before diverting your attention to harry. your eyes were still wide, your eyebrows creased in confusion as you tried to move yourself further away from him on your hands and knees.

harry gave you your space, but watched intently as you nervously increased the distance between both of you. your hair was long, tangled, greasy, and falling around you like a curtain. you were smaller than he remembered, your eyes sunken in and cheeks more hollowed than before. you were pale, and visibly dirty. the soles of your feet were nearly black.

harry felt a pain in his stomach, his blood pressure rising imagining how you lived inside the walls of the prison. he couldn't identify the feeling. it was different from anger, but it wasn't far off.

as you continued to back up, your eyes shifted to a widow on your right. you slowly gained the energy to lift yourself and reach for the window, throwing it open before attempting to stick your hand out.

your hand hit the open window like you had never moved the glass barrier. you continued trying to stick your hand and head out, hitting at the invisible barrier with all your strength, making frustrated sounds.

"there's a spell on the house, love. you can't leave, just for now, until we can work things out," harry tried to explain gently as you continued trying to escape. he took a step towards you and you stepped away, leaning on the wall for support as you began to cry harder.

"get away from me, get away, what the fuck, what the fuck is happening," you tried to shout at him, your faced turned away and other arm putting distance between you and harry. you were gasping for air, your voice stressed and broken, shaking your head as you tried to continue backing up into the wall.

harry still attempted to give you your space. he hated to see you like this. you were so defensive and scared of everything going on around you. he wanted to give you time to calm down, but felt you needed to know what was going on.

"[y/n]," harry said, causing your head to snap towards him with curious eyes. your arm lowered slightly, your knees still weak beneath you. "listen to me, okay? just for a second," harry tried to ask kindly. he hadn't realized just how long it had been since he talked to someone this gently.

you continued to stand defensively, your eyes scanning harry up and down nervously as your breathing slowly started to still.

harry sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before turning his attention to you again. "i know this is a lot, and i know it's confusing," he starts, his voice unexpectedly shaky. "but i asked voldemort, and i had you released from azkaban. i figured you may like a warm place to stay, so i had you brought here,"

you still looked confused for a moment before you narrowed your eyes, your arm coming up once again to defend yourself. "what are you talking about? where are we?" you asked harry suspiciously, still scanning him from head to toe.

"my manor. well, the lord's manor, but, essentially mine," harry says a bit awkwardly. you gave him a look of disgust, leaning further into the wall for support. "why would i want to be here? with you?" you practically spat at him with hatred in your eyes. harry was unaffected.

"i know you don't. but there's nowhere else to go. i promise." harry tells you solemnly. your eyes widen a bit again, a flash of fear coming across your face, but the anger quickly returns.

"i'd rather live in rubble than prop my feet up in the dark lord's manor," you say sharply, taking a step towards him in attempt to intimidate him. though you weren't much shorter than harry, you were weak, and tired, and he wasn't necessarily afraid of your threats.

he took a step back anyways, giving you more space. "look," he says, his eyes turning to the floor before he can steady his breathing and reply. "it's just for now. if you really don't want to stay, i won't make you." he says softly before returning his eyes to yours. they're not as bright as he remembers them in his dreams about you.

"but," he says, causing your jaw to clench. "you will stay until you're well again. and it's not up for debate." harry tells you firmly, his tone not as gentle as before.

you swallow harshly, your stomach growling audibly as the smell of the food downstairs begins to settle into your senses.

harry notices this and smirks to himself before quickly returning to a neutral state. "now," he announces, straightening out his blazer. "until the food is ready, there's a room made up for you just down this hall and to your left. it has a bathroom, and clothes. take all the time you need." he says before promptly turning on his heels and heading downstairs, his heart still racing from his encounter with you.

sitting in the living room watching the fireplace in front of him, harry eventually hears the door of your new bedroom click open and swiftly close. not long after he can hear the plumbing rumble as you take your first shower. he smiles at the fact that you're finally in his life once more, even if the circumstances were completely unusual.

harry's nearly concerned and wanting to send jinx to check on you after 2 hours of running water before it stops, the sound of the bathroom fan taking its place. harry's relieved.

"jinx, could tell our guest the foods ready," harry tells the elf as she brings the last tray from the kitchen to the dining room. she nods to herself, shuffling up the stairs sluggishly.

harry's pouring another glass of wine in the kitchen and decides to pour you one as well. on his way into the dining room, he sees you standing in the entryway. you're dressed in a large jumper, oversized pajamas bottoms, and your hair is still rather wet plopped into a bun on top of your head. your skin is rubbed raw, your cheeks still flushed pink as you analyze the table full of food in front of you.

harry smiles at your shocked gaze, your stomach growling again as he tries to hand you your glass of wine. you turn your nose at him, taking a step back. he smiles curtly and heads to his seat, setting your glass with his.

"figured you might be hungry," harry says as he sits down, his plate made for him already. he looks at you, arms still crossed, nose turned away, but eyes peeking at the endless food at your disposal. he can tell you're trying to keep your guard up, but your stomach hasn't stopped rumbling since you came downstairs.

he gestures to your chair just across from him, a plate made for you as well. you look at him, your eyes curious but expression still tight. you carefully take a step closer to the table, but you're still weary.

harry gives you a sympathetic smile. "after tonight you can have any meal you want in your solitude. i just thought i'd be nice and host my guest for the first night," he tells you, catching your gaze.

your curious look quickly turns to one of anger. "i'm not your guest. i'm practically a prisoner again." you hiss, your eyes boring into his with contempt. harry can sense the rage building inside of you. he's familiar with the feeling.

though you were different in so many ways, your dull eyes and lifeless voice, you were also similar in your determined attitude. you had always been the type to stand up and take charge, which harry completely admired and was impressed by. he found your beauty to be most potent in your strong will and cunning mind.

he admired you for just a moment, looking down at him with enough hatred to send shivers over his body. you looked so young, your skin supple and smooth under the light of the candles and fireplace, your hair falling loosely to frame your furrowed brow. you were just as pretty as he remembered, even if your expression always contained a hint of sadness and fear around him.

harry simply smiles softly, sitting back in his chair. "i prefer guest," he says teasingly. you suddenly snap at him, grabbing for his steak knife and pushing your arm to his neck against the back of the chair, holding the point of the knife to the side of his neck.

if looks could kill, the knife would've been unnecessary. your eyes were nearly black as you shakily push against harry's throat. "let me out of here now or i swear, harry," your voice cracks saying his name. "i swear i'll fucking kill you," you spit, leaning further into your grasp him on, your jaw clenched tightly.

harry, to your surprise, just chuckles to himself, not even struggling to breathe as he looks up at you deviously. your eyes widen just before you feel your arms start to move for you, as well as your legs. your neck is strained as well, an invisible force pushing you away from harry as the knife drops from your hand.

you're suddenly released from the mysterious grasp, and you choke out a breath, looking back at harry. he's smirking, but trying not to let you see as his pointed hand lowers from you. he fixes his shirt and chair, gesturing again to your seat across from him. "as thrilling as that was, love, not yet. i'd like you to stay here for at least a month before i consider placing you elsewhere." harry states, picking his knife back up to place on the table.

you stare at harry incredulously. "a month?" you ask, your face turning red again. you take another step towards him but you falter in fear of him using the same force as before to stop you. you stumble as your mind races to gather your thoughts. "how…you…i'm not staying here for a month! this is insanity! how could you send me away like that and just bring me back like it was nothing? a shower and a plate of food and suddenly those 5 years in azkaban never happened?"

you're now shouting at harry with a broken voice, your emotions on high as the tears threaten to fall again. harry watches you, just watches, and simply gestures to your chair again. "just join me," he insists.

you go to yell again, but harry sternly interrupts. "we can discuss this another time. please. sit down." he commands from you.

your mask drops for a moment, a look of fear crossing your face before diverting your eyes away completely to your chair. your stomach growls again, your hand covering it to hide the sound.

it takes a few moments until you slowly make your way to sit down, glancing at harry before taking your seat. harry begins eating silently, and, not long after, you're digging into your first real plate of food in years.

harry can't help but smile to himself subtly watching you indulge yourself for a moment, the mask slipping again as you gratefully shovel spoonfuls of food into your mouth with a sigh of relief. he was glad you were eating, even if he had to put up a bit of a fight to convince you.

as harry finishes up, you're still making your way through your second plate. he stands, grabbing your attention and making you curl back into your seat. "jinx," he calls out before sipping the last of his wine. jinx comes to the table and grabs harry's glass and plate, turning to take them to the kitchen. 

"[y/n], this is jinx," harry motions to the elf, who gives you a warm smile. you return the smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "if you ever need anything, anything at all, don't be afraid to ask her. she lives to serve," harry tells you proudly, earning a slight look of disgust from you before returning a smile at jinx.

"this was a lovely dinner, ms. jinx, thank you so much, truly," you thank her honestly. she bows to you slightly before continuing her way through the doors to the kitchen.

you shoot harry a glare. "the harry i knew would've never kept a house elf," you say, your words dripping with disdain. harry ignores your statement, turning to the stairs before ascending them.

he leaves you alone at the dining table, closing himself off in the master bedroom for the night. just as he's finishing up brushing his teeth, he hears your door click shut. that night he fell asleep feeling more reassured than he had in years knowing the pretty girl he couldn't keep his mind off of was asleep just down the hall from him.

it had been a few weeks since harry moved you in, and he rarely ended up seeing you in the mansion. you were often locked away in your room, or taking showers, and harry only ever saw you when you were finishing up a meal with jinx.

you had become quite close with her, it seems, which harry found sweet. he was worried at first that you may be using jinx as a way to find an escape from the house, but after a while without incident, harry realized how silly the idea was. you truly could connect with anyone.

one of the only other times he saw you, though, was when he passed by the open library one night. harry had been restless, thinking about his past in depth, feeling emotions he couldn't place, and decided to watch the sunrise to clear his head. he took a quick glance through the doors before spotting you curled up on one of the couches, a book in hand, fast asleep beside a warm lamp.

harry stopped, taking a moment to admire you from afar. you had gained some weight back being here, which harry loved to see. your cheeks were full and rounded, your hands not as frail, and the color was coming back to your skin. your hair looked impossibly soft under the light, sprawled everywhere around your angelic, sleeping face. harry couldn't help the cheesy smile that overcame his face. he was just happy that you were okay.

outside of that, harry spent most of his time alone, thinking about you. you hadn't reached out to him yet, which he expected, but was surprised when a month came and went and you still didn't confront him. he hadn't made his decision just yet, so he didn't have an answer for you even if you had asked him. he saw you were doing better, but still wasn't confident in letting you go. not just for selfish reasons, of course, but he wanted to be sure you were equipped enough to live on your own.

but, harry had to admit, his heart raced when he heard your soft footsteps pass his door to the stairs. his mind went blank seeing your figure standing in the dining room with jinx, chatting over a plate of snacks together. his blood ran cold when he heard your soft giggle from somewhere in the mansion. like a beautiful ghost haunting his past.

harry knew even before he sent his letter to voldemort that his feelings for you had never truly gone away. deep under his rage, his unforgiving heart, his cold blooded nature, his love for you had always remained. but he was learning to accept your departure if you chose to do so. a final goodbye to the most beautiful part of his unsightly life. harry wasn't sure he could handle the idea.

he was struggling with his thoughts, the constant back and forth he was feeling about you. at first harry was sleeping better with you there knowing you were safe, but now he stayed up late worrying himself sick over the decisions he had to make now that you were actually there.

sitting in bed, staring at the rising sun through his window, harry's mind was exhausting him. he hadn't slept all night and could feel the effects setting in. slowly, he stood from the bed and slipped on his house shoes along with his robe. he quietly leaves his room to not disturb you so early just down the hall.

he walks to the opposite end of the hall towards the balcony, and takes his usual seat facing the sunrise.

harry contemplates here most mornings, but never comes to any radical conclusions. he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what's best for you anymore. he knows he selfishly wants you all to himself still, but also knows you deserve to live the life you want no matter what his opinion is. it's the same conversation with himself every time, and it leaves him confused and upset for keeping you here like he is. even if his heart is in the right place.

his thoughts are interrupted by jinx, who offers harry a cup of tea. he thanks her, but quickly calls her back to ask a question. "jinx, um…[y/n], how is she doing?" he asks.

jinx, a quiet house elf, gives harry a smile, and pats his shoulder. her smile is warm and reassuring, as well as her hand. as she walks off, harry smiles to himself a bit. he's not completely satisfied with the answer, but he takes what he can get.

finishing his cup of tea with the sun shining over the horizon, harry turns to head inside before being met with the sight of you standing at the open doorway of the balcony. 

you're dressed in a simple long sleeve pajama shirt along with comfortable pants, your arms crossed as the morning chill sets into the air. harry's a bit startled at first, but gives you a polite smile, diverting his eyes and walking around you to leave you be.

"harry," you said softly, turning to him.

harry's heart dropped, but turned to you promptly with eager eyes. the way you said his name, your soft voice, he was already so captivated by you.

"can we talk?"

now harry was worried. this is what he's been afraid of since you got here. he's not ready to answer you. he doesn't know what he's going to say when you desperately ask him to leave and never come back.

"of course," he says calmly, gesturing to the balcony so you could sit together.

once you've joined him in watching the sun, you two fall into a somewhat comfortable silence as the soft wind whistles past.

"i never thanked you," you said quietly after a while, almost a whisper in the wind. harry looked at you, looking at the sunrise. your face was radiant. you were brilliant in the light of the sun, your hair still impossibly soft and beautiful, falling around you, following the flow of the air. harry was overwhelmed with the beauty your presence held in this moment. "you never had to."

you glanced at harry, studying his expression, before turning back to the sun. "it's also been a month." you state coldly. harry's gaze drops, sighing. "57 days, technically," he mumbles.

a few moments of silence pass again, leaving harry an anxious mess in his seat. he tried to think of a gentle way to let you know he still needed time to decide what to do. a way to tell you without putting his life at risk to your anger.

"well, as much as i hate to say this, you were right," you say, still watching the sunrise in deep thought. harry was shocked by your words, immediately sitting up in his seat to get a better look at your face.

you were stoic, your eyes fixated on the scene out beyond your reach. "what?" harry asked, not believing his own ears. a small smile crept to your lips, the first one he's managed to see himself since you've been here. his heart aches at just the hint of seeing it again.

"don't make me say it again, potter," you try to say threateningly with that small smile, your eyes falling to your lap.

harry is stunned into silence, watching you with careful eyes. "but, you were right. i needed time to be healthy again." you said to him, your back still turned. harry stayed quiet, allowing you to continue. "i was angry with you. i still am. i don't think it'll ever stop," you inform him, the coldness returning to your voice. "but," he was preparing himself for the rejection, the questions, the begging.

"i'd like to stay, if you'll have me," you offer in a slightly embarrassed tone, your face turned the other way.

to say harry was shocked at your request is an understatement. he was expecting you to have a plan to take him out if he had rejected your request to leave yet. he never considered the idea that you might actually want to stay with him.

"i'll have you forever, if you let me," harry responds, a small smile on his face as well. you shoot him a warning look. "not forever. just until i feel well again." you tell him, your voice cold once more. you turn back to the sun, now completely over the horizon. "figured you owe me that much," you say in an accusatory voice.

harry just smirks to himself. you could never be soft for long when he was around. but he appreciated that you felt you could ask him to stay, though you never had to in the first place. harry really would have had you forever, if you'd let him.

"stay as long as you need to." he says.

you glance back at him again, your eyes softer this time. you're analyzing him for a moment before turning to him a bit. "it took me a long time to understand why you sent me to azkaban," you tell him, your voice steady and emotionless. harry just watches you, admiring the light surrounding you.

"you would've never stood a chance in destroying the world had i been free," you state, your eyes still examining him. harry offers you another small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes the same way. "you knew you were weak," you say.

harry's now analyzing your expression, your words swimming around in his mind. "i did," he admitted to you. "it was just easier if i knew where you were all this time," he says breathlessly.

your eyes narrow at him once more, the anger returning to your body language. "easier for you. i would've never done the same if the roles were reversed." you snapped at him harshly. harry believed you. he thought about it a lot in his nightly battles with his own mind.

"you're right," harry stated, still admiring you in your anger. you were upset, but gave harry a questioning look. your eyes softened only a bit. "i think about it all the time," he admits to you gently.

you're a bit puzzled by his admittance of guilt, but don't let it stop you. "i hope it haunts you at night the way it haunts me," you say sharply, your eyes dark.

"always has," harry says to himself, only making you more angry. "you poor thing. must've been so tough relaxing in this mansion knowing i was rotting away in solitary confinement." your voice is strong, powerful, a contrast to the broken words you gave harry your first day here.

"it was," harry says simply, sensing your rising impatience with him. you stood from your seat, towering over him as he continued watching you in wonder. "you evil little rat. you're just lucky my magic is restricted by this spell. i would've killed you in your sleep that first night." you threaten him, gesturing to the protection spell around the castle and balcony.

harry wants to stop himself, but can't keep the smirk off his face. this only angers you more, pulling your arm back and slapping harry square across his face.

he doesn't react, instead allowing himself to stay facing away from you. "i hate you," you state weakly, your hands balled at your side. harry looks at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. "i know," he says softly.

you frustratedly sit back down, turning to look back at the sunrise once more.

a long silence settles over you two, listening to the sounds of the city as it awakens around you. eventually, you stand, turning to leave harry alone on the balcony. you pause before you leave.

"i still never thanked you, harry." you speak softly, your back turned to him. he looks over at you, your curves glowing in the morning light. "you never had to," he replies, and you're off down the dark hallway.

for the next few months, you and harry live together amicably. he sees you around more often as you start to leave the confines of your room. of course the library was a place of solace for you, but he started to see you more in the living room, on the balcony, or in the dining room enjoying jinx's company. for a while you two exchanged polite greetings, simple glances and acknowledgements, before asking about each other's days, or commenting on the weather. it was agonizingly slow for harry, but he was breaking through your walls one way or another.

one day not long after you'd slapped him on the balcony, you sat in the living room with harry, across from his seat on the couch. he was surprised by your presence, but gave you a small smile over his book anyway. "jinx tells me you've been acting different," you'd stated bluntly, watching his face for a reaction.

harry put down the book he was reading, giving you his attention. "have i?" he asks. you were always examining him, your eyes critical but curious at the same time. "she says your anger used to be terrible. even worse than i remember." you lead him on.

harry bit his lip thinking about the years where his rage was at its worst. he tried not to dwell on them, and instead tried to focus on the newfound emotions consuming his life. but he couldn't deny the path of destruction he'd left while seeing red.

harry eventually nodded, his eyes distant. "it was," he admits, his voice just as lost in thought. you shifted in your seat. "you let it ruin everything, harry." you said softly, leaving him looking at the floor in disappointment. "i know," he admitted.

the silence between you was palpable. harry felt the weight of it on his shoulders before you spoke again. "i would hear about the things you did while in azkaban. the guard would tell me even after i asked him to stop." you inform him. harry can still feel your eyes shooting daggers at him.

"for so long i fantasized about being the one to kill you, to finally put an end to voldemort." you said wistfully. harry glanced at you, seeing a longing look on your face. "how brave of [y/n] to put her love aside to kill the dark lord's apprentice." you said in a mocking tone, leaning back in your seat.

harry watched you, imagining you in azkaban, dreaming of putting an end to his life, while he dreamed of freeing you. it was a fair trade, he thought, and not one he would argue against at this point. and it didn't go unnoticed that you mentioned your love for him, either.

"you still can," harry says, causing you to snap your eyes back at him. "excuse me?" you ask with a sneer. harry puts his book to the side and sits up, his feet planted on the ground. "kill me, that is. it's not impossible." he tells you with intrigue.

you're staring at him incredulously, your eyes always searching him. "you're…you're kidding, right? i mean, you took my magic while yours seems to be highly skilled. you really think i'd stand a chance?" you ask with a sarcastic laugh.

harry stands from his seat, taking achingly slow steps around the coffee table towards you. "yes, while your magic is weak, you are not, [y/n]. i've gone out of my way to keep the knives, fire pokers, swords, and hundreds of books on potions and charms out for your use, at any time, have i not?" harry questions you, getting closer now. though you would normally pull back from him, you stay seated, trying to process his words.

standing just before you, harry admires the curves of your face against the light of the fire. "with your nimble step and cunning wit," harry lifts his hand to gently put his fingers to your chin. the first physical contact he's had with you. unless you count the time you held that knife to his throat. "you could gut me like a pig before i even have the chance to squeal," harry's voice is soft but dark, your breathing caught in your throat at the contact.

as he backed away, harry could see the physical effect he had on you. your nervous blinking, your jaw tightening, hands trembling; he found it sweet he could still do that to you, even if you claimed to hate him.

after that day, harry felt less tension between you two. maybe being vulnerable around you made you realize he was never a threat to begin with. he didn't want anything from you, and he didn't care if you never wanted anything from him. as long as you were safe, that was all he cared about. he hoped you were starting to understand that.

though conversations between you were still tense and cryptic, there was a sense of unspoken comradery that felt nostalgic to you both. your serious, brooding angst matched with harry's calm, collected coldness made for an interesting match. it was never the same as before, you were both fairly aware it wasn't ever going to be, but there was an undoubted chemistry that still lingered from your teenage years together.

however, something else that always lingered during your interactions is your distaste for harry's actions. at any chance you can, you poke and prod at his past, partly to understand, he assumes, but also to test his limits. you were always cautious and suspicious of his submissive behavior when it came to this kind of confrontation; how could someone who was, at least at one point, so evil, so cruel and heartless, become so nonchalant about their past? who wipes out entire cities just to 'not dwell on it'?

this was always a point of contention between you, even if everything else until that point had been somewhat playful. it never so much upset harry as it riled you up, bringing strong emotions to the forefront, causing you to lash out at him. though he always stayed calm, he also always seemed to listen. he never disagreed with your feelings or sentiments, if anything he agreed with your hatred for himself. it's like that day in the living room when he tempted you with his death, and yet you never took the bait.

harry rather enjoyed watching you work yourself up, and admired how quick you were to defend yourself. he never wanted to upset you, of course, but sometimes he couldn't help his cheeky responses knowing it would get a look out of you that made his heart jump. it might not be the most gentlemanly thing he does, but something about your anger excited him. it was nothing like his vengeful rage from the past, but it had its own potency that ran a chill down his spine. harry was so used to everyone cowering away from him in fear of his power that he relished your open aggression towards him. it was thrilling, and it was exactly what he needed.

harry tried to remain respectful of his guest, but having such a beautiful mind and body occupy his space with him was hard to ignore sometimes. his eyes would wander, as well as his thoughts, and he had caught himself fantasizing about you a few too many times to admit. you were stunning, of course, you always had been, but there was something about you now that elevated your beauty in harry's eyes. maybe it was the dark, unforgiving coldness of your eyes, or the strong scowl that your expression rested in, or the underlying anger that was ready to bubble over at any point, but harry was completely infatuated with who you had become.

he knew how hypocritical it was for him to admire the parts of you that were forced out in your desperation to survive the decision he made for you all those years ago. though you seldom mentioned your years in azkaban, harry could see and feel the effects it continued to have on you. they weighed on him heavily, and though harry wasn't one to regret what's happened in the past, he wished he could've figured out another way to protect you at the time. a way that didn't dim the light inside of you the way that it has been.

but still, that light was there. when you smiled to yourself at your own quips, when you admired the food jinx prepares you, when you lost yourself in your books, harry could physically feel the light radiating within you. it was familiar, like an old hug from a friend, and was unmistakably beautiful.

sometimes he felt like a teenager again, discovering the parts of you that made him fall in love in the first place. your natural charm, your captivating eyes, the innate draw he felt to you simply by being in your presence. it was unlike anything he's felt for another person, before or since meeting you. but rather than two teenagers flirting over study dates, you were now two closed off adults with a complicated history and 'break up', if you could even call it that. it was nothing like the past, yet it was entirely too similar.

you and harry had been sitting in silence together in the living room, reading your respective books, enjoying each other's company. it was one of harry's favorite things to do with you now, and one of the only ways you two could be together without it ending in tension. neither of you talked, neither of you made noise outside of the occasional chuckle or gasp at your readings; it was a peaceful excuse for harry to be near you, and sometimes admire you from over the pages.

this night, however, you broke the traditional silence by asking harry a question you'd been keeping to yourself. "harry," you started. he loved the sound of his name in your voice, it was invigorating to listen to.

harry turned his head to you, his book still in his lap, noticing you've long since placed yours on the table beside you. "[y/n]," he responded with his typical smirk, returning his eyes to his book.

you cleared your throat a bit, your ankles crossing in front of you. "how often did you think of me," it was more of a statement than a question, your tone not as cold and questioning as it typically was.

harry knew what you meant, of course, and waited a moment before answering you. "i'd never stopped," he said simply. it was true, and it still is.

you turned to look at the fireplace, your knees bouncing out of the corner of harry's eye as he pretends to continue reading. "but you never came back for me," you stated. harry's eyebrows furrowed, glancing at you again before looking away to leave you with your words. "you left me there to die," you said, that familiar coldness returning to your tone.

harry let out a sharp breath. "that was never my intention, and you know that." he says without a reaction. you become visibly irritated, your jaw clenching with your fists. "you never thought about me," you insisted, your words heavy with contempt.

harry shut his book and threw it beside him, leaning towards you. you turned to glare at him, your nostrils flared. "i was lucky to sleep one full night in the last 5 years without a singular dream of you." he tells you, his voice as steady as his eye contact. "you haunt me like a ghost, [y/n]. you always will."

you're looking at him questionably as you stand from your seat across from him, now making your way towards him. "good. i hope you never forget about what you did to me. i won't." you hiss at him, your cheeks turning red. harry's mind races with you towering over him, leaning back in his seat to fully enjoy the view.

"how could i forget about you?" he quips, that same damn smirk making you grit your teeth. you take another, heavier step towards him, your fists trembling at your sides. "stop fucking doing that," you spit threateningly.

harry cocks his head to the side, looking you up and down. he likes seeing you like this, even if it scares him a bit. "what?" he asks, pushing you even further.

you step between his legs and lean into his face, only leaving a few inches between you. "that, you fucking creep. is this funny to you?" your voice is raised now, the anger finally starting to boil over again. "not at all," harry says, still smirking at your reaction.

"then wipe the smirk off your face and stop doing this to me, harry." you instruct him, leaning back to cross your arms in front of you. harry's biting his lip, not able to resist the lustful thoughts he's having of you in this situation. "doing what, exactly?" he asks, curious what you mean.

"this, all of this, harry. you look at me like a starving animal. you watch me around the house like a stalker. you say you think of me all the time and yet you've only so much as touched my chin." you rattle off, clearly frustrated with these thoughts you've kept inside. "you bring me back here and have me live like a princess when there's people outside who live like animals because of you and what you've done," you continue to raise your voice at him, now getting yourself completely worked up.

harry just watches you, like always, not disagreeing with any of your sentiments. as he normally doesn't, he knows you're a smart girl.

"and you're still fucking looking at me like that," you growl, your arm coming across his neck once more, like the first night you were here, holding him against the cushions of the couch.

harry doesn't stop you, as he never does, and instead enjoys the feeling of you kneeling between his legs in an attempt to further choke him. "i swear on my own life i'll still kill you, potter. what the fuck do you want from me?" you interrogate him, your dark eyes searching him for answers.

the smirk on harry's face only grows, causing you to push further into his throat. it's ironic how much he wants from you right now that would only further put his life at risk in your hands.

"i…never wanted…anything…" harry chokes out. he knows he's stronger than you and could easily escape your grasp, but he enjoys the feeling of letting you have control over the moment, and over him.

"that's a fucking lie," you say through gritted teeth, getting nose to nose with harry. "tell me what you want." you insist.

harry's heart is racing, his mind going blank from the lack of oxygen, and an inconvenient erection growing through his trousers. he could tell you so many things he wants, how many nights he's spent imagining you on top of him like this once again. he knows it would only anger you more, and he was almost tempted by that thought alone.

after a few moments of harry struggling to keep his eyes focused on you, you could feel something against your thigh that caught your attention. glancing down, your weight on harry's throat lessened enough for him to breathe slightly. you looked back up at his eyes with a look of confusion and shock before quickly returning to anger.

"seriously? are you fucking turned on right now as i'm threatening your life?" you ask him with disgust, slightly pulling away. harry's cheeks flush as he tries to catch his breath, your arm still resting across this collarbone. he stays quiet, his eyes glancing between you and his lap.

you scoff at him. "you're so pathetic, potter. how you were ever a leader of anything is a mystery to me." you ridicule him, an amused smirk coming across your own face.

your condescending attitude only fuels harry's excitement more, trying not to let his expression expose how much he's enjoying this.

"it's almost like you want me to kill you," your voice is quiet but dangerously cold, giving harry goosebumps as your breath falls across his blushing face. he tries to stop it but his body can't resist a low whine being forced from his throat.

your eyes fall to his lips for just a moment before you lean into them, surprising harry with a hungry kiss as you relax your weight onto his body. more moans escape harry's mouth as you roughly force your tongue past his lips. his hand naturally finds your waist, but you slap it away harshly with your free hand. "no touching." you warn him, your lips brushing against his.

"yes ma'am," harry responds.

you give him a look, your other leg kneeling beside his as you straddle his thigh, your skirt falling perfectly over his knee. "i still hate you," you growl, choking him against the couch once more. "i know," harry says breathlessly, staring at you like a helpless puppy.

forcing him into a suffocating kiss, you eventually let harry breathe as your lips find his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin and hands grasping his shoulders tightly. he groans at the pain, earning a slight roll of your hips on his leg. harry wants nothing more than to touch you right now, guiding your hips into his body, pleasuring you like he's wanted to for so long. but for now, he's just glad you're kissing him, and enjoys the feeling of your breath against his bruised skin.

"shirt off." you command, sitting back to observe the puddle harry's become in your grasp. he wastes no time taking off his sweater, throwing it behind him as your eyes trace over his scarred torso. your cold gaze softens at the sight, your fingers tracing the healed wounds carefully.

for a moment, when you glance at harry through your eyelashes, he feels that same love you shared as kids. the soft, innocent admiration that came with inexperience. for just one moment, nothing was complicated, and there was no history. you were discovering harry all over again, like he had been with you.

the moment didn't last for long as your gaze hardened once more looking at him. you stood from your straddling position, much to his disappointment. he was ready for you to end the moment and leave, but you didn't.

"on your knees." you instructed him. again, harry wasted no time as he sunk to his knees in front of the couch, eye level with the hem of your skirt. he looked up at you eagerly, hardly believing the privilege he had to see you above him like this.

harry's heart was racing as you lifted your skirt to expose your panties to him. his eyes never left yours, his breathing hitching at the beauty just in front of his face. his hands were patiently folded in his lap, aching to grab every part of you.

you slowly lifted one thigh onto harry's shoulder, reaching down to take the glasses off his face for him, setting them to the side. "now," you told him, your voice seductive as you lean your weight into him once more. harry holds his shoulders steady, his mouth close enough to your soaked pantines to nearly taste you already.

"let me ride your face," you coo, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as he continues staring at you with hungry eyes. "it's the least you can do for me," you smirk, your voice still chillingly cold and cryptic.

harry lets out a sigh of relief and desperation, eyes glancing at your panties before returning to your gaze. you slowly push his open mouth onto you, not able to hold back a sound of relief yourself.

harry's eyes flutter shut as your hips roll onto his face, losing himself in your smell and taste. your fingers tangle into his hair to keep him in place, soft, breathy gasps falling from your lips as you watch from above.

after a minute you become too desperate and pull your panties aside, instructing harry to hold them as you force his mouth onto your dripping pussy. harry listens like a good boy and holds the fabric, his hand also taking the chance to grip your inner thigh. a deep moan escapes your throat at the feeling.

harry's tongue quickly works its way across your arousal, enjoying every part of you as he pushes himself further into your pussy. your hands try to pull his hair back to relieve some of the overwhelming feeling, but harry doesn't let you control him for once. he's desperate to please you, his hunger growing the more of you he's allowed to have.

harry's other hand grabs for your skirt to hold it above his head, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. your face is twisted in pleasure, lips bitten, eyes glazed over as you watch harry disappear between your legs.

harry moans at the sight of you, sending shivers across your skin. you moan, biting your lips closed, your hips stuttering against his mouth. "fuck," you mumble, earning another moan from harry as his tongue circles your sensitive clit.

a hand rushed to your mouth as you attempt to hide your filthy noises, the feeling making your eyes roll back. you're trying to mask your pleasure, but harry can see right through you.

you finally successfully pull his mouth off of you, lips swollen and wet as his head rests in your grip. "good," you say breathlessly. your voice falters a bit. you take your thigh off harry's shoulder, again, much to his disappointment.

"sit," you tell him, gesturing to the couch once more. harry complies, returning to his spot on the couch behind him. you reach forward and unbutton his pants, pulling them down a bit with his assistance. you can see his erection through his briefs, causing you to smirk a bit before returning to your neutral expression.

"no touching," you remind harry as you position yourself to straddle his hips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. harry's sure you can hear his heartbeat racing under your control.

you start grinding your soaking wet panties against harry's clothed cock, your mouth falling open with his at the sensation. the light of the fire behind you leaves harry with the beautiful sight of you glowing in his lap, your warm skin pressed against his as your breathy moans fall into his neck.

harry can hardly take the teasing any longer, his moans becoming needier the harder he gets under you. "fuck, [y/n]," his voice is deep with desire, his head rolling back once your roll your hips into him harshly. you moan at the sound of your own name, your hands returning to his shoulders as your nails dig deep into his skin.

"that's right, say my name," you smirk, grinding into harry at a faster pace. "so pathetic," you remind him.

harry continuously lets your name fall from his lips as you watch him, a helpless, desperate mess beneath you. he loves the feeling of letting you use him any way you want to.

soon you can't wait much longer, and you pull out harry's cock from his briefs. the feeling of your hand grasping his shift makes harry's hips buck up involuntarily, silently asking for more.

you can't help but chuckle at just how eager he is. you're more than enjoying the control and effect you have over him.

"now," you say again, causing harry to look back at you with needy eyes. "you're gonna let me use you until i cum," you tell him, teasing yourself with the feeling of him against your wet pussy. harry's eyes nearly roll back again as he nods for you, his lips parted with uneven breaths.

you slide harry inside of you, adjusting to the feeling as harry's head falls back once again in pleasure. "so fucking wet," harry sighs softly, nearly whining. once your hips lower completely onto his length, you start to ride harry slowly, still adjusting to him. he's a full blown whining mess beneath you, his chest flushed and heaving as your pussy tightens around him.

you take in the sight of him, your eyes exploring every sweaty part of his body as you continue riding at a slow pace. you unwrap your arms from his shoulders, leaning back into your hips. "take my shirt off," you tell harry.

his eyes open again, looking at you eagerly. his hands nervously begin lifting your shirt, holding the fabric carefully between his fingers, and savors the sight and feeling of pulling it off of you, his eyes glancing at your chest before locking with yours again.

"so beautiful," he tells you, your skin looking deliciously soft in the warm lowlight. "i know, now be quiet," you shut him up, picking up the pace of your hips.

harry's eyes narrow at you, the intoxicating feeling of you wrapped around his cock only making him hungrier for your pleasure. the sight of you bouncing in his lap, your breasts just in front of his face as you lean your hands next to his head on the back of the couch.

"open," you tell harry.

he doesn't have to be told twice before his lips part, his tongue eagerly waiting for you. you guide your nipple into his mouth, your hips rolling onto harry's cock in circles. his teeth and tongue tease the sensitive skin, your pussy gripping harry even more and earning a low growl from his chest. his hands remained at his sides, but he wanted nothing more than to feel you everywhere on top of him.

you start riding harry once more, his teeth still gripping your nipple making you whine at the feeling. "fuck," you let the word slip out, your own teeth sinking into your bottom lip. harry's more than aroused at your reaction to him, his cock aching inside of you to release.

you pull harry's head back by his hair, forcing him to look up at you. you reach for his glasses that you sat down earlier, returning them to his face delicately. harry appreciates the gesture and can better see the pleasure in your eyes, a soft smile falling across his lips.

"so pretty," he whispers. he can see the blush you try to hide, looking away from his eyes and down at your hips.

you start groaning in frustration, your grip on his hair tightening, causing harry to wince. "you're gonna make me cum," you tell him through broken moans, your thrusts becoming uneven. harry can feel you tightening around him again. he groans at the feeling, your name slipping from his mouth again and again. this only makes you fall apart more, high pitched whimpers coming from you as you chase your high.

you soon sink into harry's neck, your cries of pain and pleasure falling across his skin as your legs start to shake. you can't even form words as your body feels the waves of intense pleasure from each thrust onto harry's cock. your hands move to his shoulders again, holding onto him for stability as you continue to ride out your climax.

harry grows impatient at the feeling of your orgasm and watching you break down into him. he finally grabs for you, moving your hips to the couch beside him, staying inside you while you gasp at his movement. he kicks off his pants and adjusts himself between your legs.

"harry," you try to protest, your voice weak and shaky. "just let me do this, darling," he growls, his hips becoming flush against yours as he pushes his cock completely inside of you. you let out a gasp, your hand slapping over your lips once more.

harry hungrily digs his cock deeper inside of you with each slow thrust, his hands holding himself up above you as he watches his cock easily slide in and out of your soaking wet pussy. he folds your legs back as he sinks even deeper into you.

"holy fuck," he groans, his breathing heavy, hands gripping the back of your thighs to keep himself steady. "so beautiful, [y/n]," harry tells you again, his droopy eyes focused on your face twisted in pleasure.

you look at him, your eyes full of lust, but still cold as ice. "i…hate you," you remind him through strained breaths, struggling to take his entire length, still glaring at him.

this pushes harry over the edge, his hips quickening until he feels himself start to unravel. he pulls out of your warm pussy and cums on your stomach, groaning at the sight of you below him.

you gasp at the feeling, looking at harry with shock. "did you just cum from me saying i hate you?" you ask, your tone mocking his desperation. harry nods, still stroking his cock slowly, his other hand remaining on your thigh as his moans quiet down.

"you're disgusting," you tell him coldly, but harry can see the smirk on your face and the lust in your eyes. he watches you below him, smirking in return.

"and you love it."

[changbunnies]

Aurora (18+)

♡ Pairing: Prince!Felix x Duke's Daughter!Reader

♡ Genre: light angst, fluff, arranged marriage au, royalty au, historical au, one sided pining to eventual mutual pining, slow burn-ish ??, eventual smut

♡ Word Count: 21.8k

♡ Summary: Y/N, a duke’s daughter in the southern territories of Miroh, is promised to crown prince Felix in the north in the hopes that the dueling territories will reach peace. Yet, despite how much she initially loathes the idea of being married and away from her family, she can’t help but fall in love with the prince she was promised to.

♡ Warnings: outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, felix is nothing but sweet but it takes the reader time to trust him, attempted cheating (not from reader or felix, you'll see), 1 mention of having children, kind of possesive felix? but not too much, i think that's it but lmk if i missed something!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): felix calls reader "my love" (yes this needs a warning), so much kissing!! so many "i love you's!!" (a changbunnies smut staple), reader and felix are virgins, nipple play, oral (f + m receiving), handjob, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: you can also read the story on my ao3 where it is divded into chapters here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You knew well the day would come where you would be married off to a family looking to expand their power. You knew that you would have to leave behind all things you found familiar and comfortable to live in your husband’s estate.

You knew that your responsibilities as a nobleman’s daughter would catch up with you sooner rather than later. And despite knowing all these things in your mind, your heart had not felt prepared for the reality of your fate in the slightest. 

Your night was spent in a grand ceremony of music and laughter as two families, one yours and the other your now husband’s, as well as commoners from all over the bustling town you would now call home, celebrated your new union. You were now Lee Y/N, wife to the northern king’s one and only son, Felix.

And while there was high likelihood that Felix would not sit on the throne for decades, the choice of who would become his wife was still something that had to be decided with the utmost care in the event that an unexpected tragedy befell his father. 

Though you were not a princess, you were the eldest daughter of a grand duke. You were raised in elegance and novelty that most would never have the privilege of living in. You were also graceful, well mannered, and adored by your father’s people in the south, which was something the king valued when seeking out the ideal partner for his only heir. And with your union to the prince now solidified, the country was ever closer to a more unified and prosperous existence. 

The ceremony itself consisted of fake smiles you had long practiced from a young age; a mask of joy and grace to hide your inner tumultuous feelings. When the celebrations had come to a close, and the time came to bid your farewells to your family as they made the long journey back home to the south, you did your best to hold back the tears and see them off with a smile.

You played the role you had been taught by your elders well, giving polite words of parting to the commoners who made it the ceremony and maintaining an elegant air around the royal family that you were now a part of. Felix let out a relieved sigh when the last of the guests departed, turning to you, his now wife, with a gentle smile afterwards.

“Shall we retire for the night as well?” he asks as he holds out his arm, clearly offering it to be linked with yours. You accept the offer easily, deciding that if anyone saw you reject your husband on such an offer it would reflect badly on your family’s manners. The last thing you needed were rumors to circulate about your parents ‘not raising you right.’ 

“I hope you’re not too ill at ease,” he says as you exit the ballroom together, “meeting your betrothed on the same day as your ceremony is quite a shock.” He’s certainly not wrong about that; it was easily the greatest shock of your life. In fact, you spent much of your month-long journey to the northern lands in denial, utterly convinced it must be a falsehood, or some manner of prolonged bad dream you would surely wake from. 

Only on your arrival in the morning, when you had finally seen the royal castle with your own eyes and met your suitor and his family face to face, did your reality smack you squarely in the face. The truth of things could no longer be rejected; you were going to be married this evening whether you wished it so or not. You were left with no choice but to conform in that very moment, to accept your fate for what it is. 

“Yes, it took me no small measure of adjustment, but I am grateful that you and your family have spared no effort in accomodating me.” You offered a kind word– after all, it was no lie that his family were much kinder people than you had expected them to be.

Once you reached the age of maturity, your family received countless marital requests from various suitors, many of whom were vile men beneath a mask of sincerity. You had watched your cousins marry into many such families, and found yourself dreading the day it would happen to you as well. 

While it was undoubtedly unfortunate that you were forced into a marriage, the fact that Felix and his family seemed to hold genuine kindness in their hearts made you quite lucky. However, your luck being better than most did not mean you were happy about any of this.

Sure, the fact that you weren’t wed to a boorish man who felt the need to treat you like an object was a good thing, but that didn’t change that the freedom of choice was stripped away from you. You should feel relief that Felix seems to be a sweet person, or some sort of joy that your new family is seemingly considerate and caring, but you don’t.

What you feel instead is.. Well, you aren’t quite sure what name to put to the feeling, though dread felt the closest. Yes, you felt a looming dread over knowing that this was your life now, and you were never, and will never, be given a choice for something different. 

“If there is anything at all I can do to help you in this transition, I ask that you do not hesitate to tell me.” Felix’s voice, while still much deeper than you had anticipated it to be, was soft and kind as he made the offer.

You could feel a hint of guilt for not appreciating such a thing as much you knew you should– he’s obviously trying his hardest to be kind to you, and despite that you’re just.. Unhappy. There was no other way to put it. 

“I will, thank you,” you reply in your perfectly rehearsed well-mannered tone. You may hate the situation you’re in, but you won’t take it out on him. After all, he likely didn’t have a choice in this matter either, and he’s been nothing but sweet and accommodating to you thus far. As much as the rebellious part of your brain wishes to kick and scream and throw a tantrum, you don’t want to do anything that would hurt or reflect badly on your new husband. 

“This is my– well, our, room,” He says as you approach two large, ornate doors, decorated with a wood carving of the royal family’s emblem standing proudly in the center: two soldiers mirroring each other with swords raised skyward, and a beautiful, intricately drawn phoenix beholden in the center. “We can enter if you wish, but I do not intend to force you to lie with me when you are not yet comfortable being next to me.” 

“Truly? Is such a thing alright?” You nearly exclaim, unable to disguise the surprise in your voice at his statement. Felix smiles in the same sweet manner he has all night as he answers, “Of course! I know it’s.. Customary for newlyweds to lie together right away, but I have no desire to force you into an uncomfortable situation. And well.. I do hope that we’ll share a bed in the future, but I am more than willing to wait until you are ready.” 

You felt truly taken aback as you stared at him. Sad to say, you half expected his tune to change once the two of you were alone. You'd heard many awful tales of men who are sweet and doting in the eye of the public, but change the moment they are behind closed doors, their true natures and selfish desires exposing themselves once there is no one they have to impress or keep up appearances for.

And also sad to say, it wouldn't have surprised you if the crown prince was one of those awful men; men in positions of power love to flaunt and make use of it, flashing their wealth and their status and forcing those beneath them into submission. You were lucky that in your father's lands in the south, you had enough status to prevent those men from harming you explicitly. 

But here you were, in a forgein land, married to a man who was second only to his father, the king. A man who held substantial power over you in every regard now that you were wed, but was giving you the freedom of choice.

And then there was the statement that followed– he wants to lie with you, would likely be pleased if you did so this very night, but is willing to wait until you want to of your own regard. It's possible he is simply a smooth talker, years of diplomatic lessons and high social status turning him into a charasmatic liar, an effortless charmer. 

Was it in his true character to treat women with such consideration, or were you an exception until he got you where he wanted you? Did he sincerely view you are more than an object to be had, or was he going to play the long game, waiting until the moment you lower your guard and become comfortable to strike?

Regardless of the answer, you feel truly thankful in the moment. You've had a whirlwind of emotions today, and not needing to immediately lie with your new husband takes an immense weight of your weary shoulders. You're happy to have the space to decompress alone in your own private space offered to you. 

“The maid’s have prepared a room for you further down the hall. Shall I take you?” he asks, the sweet smile having not at all faded. You hesitate a moment before you nod, not wishing to offend him should you appear too eager or if this part of a game he wishes to play, using your vulnerability as a pawn. “Yes, please.”

“Very well,” he replies as he leads you further past the room that you are supposed to share together. The walk down the hall is rather quick, ending just a few yards away from your starting point. “I hope you don’t mind, I wanted your room to be in proximity to mine in case you have need of me,” he clarifies as you approach the door to what will be your bedroom for the foreseeable future. 

“Truthfully, it’s more than I was expecting. I appreciate it,” you smile your first genuine one of the night, truly relieved to not have to share a bed with a relative stranger right away, and to have the space you need to process what your life will be like from this night onward. Felix unlinks your joined arms and opens the door for you to enter, his apparant kindness unfaltering. 

The moment you step inside your new room, you are in awe. Even for what is likely a small guest room, it’s still much larger than your bedroom back at your family’s modest estate. The furniture is well crafted and beautifully adorned in gentle blue and white shades. In the corner of the room, you see that your belongings from home have been neatly placed, with essentials on top and personal comforts at the bottom.

This surprised you most of all; not only was he kind enough to prepare a separate room for you, but he had all your belongings brought here ahead of time, as if he already knew this would be your answer. 

Behind you, Felix stands in the doorway, having not followed you into the room. He wore an expression of anxious anticipation, waiting to hear what you thought of where you’d be sleeping. He was as patient as he possibly could be, hoping silently that whatever opinion you held would be positive. He truly wanted you to feel safe and comfortable here, so that one day you could grow to have a genuine connection with him. 

When you turned back towards him, your soft smile made the anxiety welling within his breast wash away in an instant. “It’s to your liking?” he asks, and you respond with a nod. “It’s lovely, thank you.”

Truthfully, you felt another tinge of guilt for doubting his pure intentions just moments prior. The way relief instantly washed over his face was a clear indicator that he was truly trying his best to make you comfortable. 

“Ah, I’m relieved to hear that!” Felix holds his hand over his heart, as if it had just been racing in his chest; and to be fair, perhaps it was– he did seem genuinely considerate in all his actions, and he must’ve been nervous up to this point. “Before I go, should I call some maids to help you remove your gown? It looks rather intricate, so..”

Felix’s observation wasn’t wrong; getting your wedding gown on early this afternoon required the help of your mother, sister, and many others, and you didn’t feel you’d be able to remove everything on your own. 

So, you gave your approval to receive the maid’s help, and Felix nods, “I’ll alert them quickly so you can get your rest soon. Knights will also be posted in front of your room at all times starting now, and maids will come to your room routinely, so please notify them if anything is needed urgently.”

He was about to turn to leave but stops, hesitantly meeting your eyes one last time before he departs. “Uhm– good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.” His smile was bashful, and you found his subtle, soft change in demeanor oddly endearing.

While you were still very much uneasy about being in this place, and had your issues with being married, it’d be a lie to say that Felix’s earnest efforts to make you happy and comfortable weren’t helpful, and that maybe with him as your husband, you could be happy someday. 

You groan as you are wrestled from sleep by a quick succession of knocks on your door; not urgent in any way, but loud enough to rouse you out of the pleasant dream you were having. Groggily, you stand from your bed, rubbing your eyes as you step toward the door.

You open it slowly, and come to see Felix standing before you with a tray of various foods in hand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I brought you breakfast. May I come in?” You nod and step to the side to allow him entry, letting your assigned guards close the door behind him.

“The maids said they couldn’t wake you, so I decided to give it a try at my first available moment,” he explains as he sets the tray down on your bed. “I’m still unsure of your preferences, so I got a little of everything. I hope there’s something here you enjoy.” 

It has been just a few weeks since you officially became a member of the royal family and Felix’s wife, but you still often found yourself being taken aback by just how thoughtful and earnest he was towards you.

He seemed to have even the little things in mind when trying to accommodate you, and you often found yourself unsure on how to react to such kindness. In the end, you settle for a simple thank you as you climb back to your spot in bed to eat under the comfort of the blanket. 

“When you’re finished, I would like to take you on a tour of the castle if you’re not opposed. I believe getting familiar with your surroundings will aid in your adjustment,” he says, watching you carefully for any change in expression. It is true that since your arrival, you’ve spent most of your time holed up in your room, not coming out unless there was need for it. 

And though you were perfectly content to continue to do so, you could understand how it would become a problem, not just for Felix but for yourself as well. You can’t spend the rest of your days hiding away in your guest room, and you won’t adjust to your new life any easier if you don’t at least try to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. 

Besides all that, Felix has been incredibly sweet and patient thus far. You owe it to him to try, at the very least. His face lights up when you give your agreement, an earnest delight painting his face. You weren’t sure why he was so eager to offer you comfort, or why he always seemed so happy when you returned his smiles, but that pleasant quality of his was undeniably helpful in easing the ache in your heart. 

"I still have some things to take care of with my father before we begin, so take your time finishing your breakfast and getting ready. I'll be back later," he continues to smile as he stands, seemingly excited about what the afternoon will hold for you (and he is excited! There is so much to show you, and he hopes you love everything the castle has to offer.)

Your maids enter the room shortly after Felix departs, ready to help you with whatever you may need, and to begin tidying up once you've finished eating. You're not sure how long Felix will be, so you follow his advice to take your time, leisurely eating your breakfast and making small talk with the maids as you do.

You were nervous to speak with them your first few days here, unsure of what sort of dynamic they had with the royal family, but you all warmed up to eachother rather quickly. They were kind, playful but still professional, and the ones around your age were especially excitable when it came to the prospect of gossip and dressing up. 

Even when you weren't interjecting into conversation, you enjoyed listening to them talk about romance, what they think of the working men in town, what dresses they plan to buy with their savings and what they'll do when they have a free night to spend out. You especially liked to listen to them talk about Felix.

Some of them had been here for years, and they knew much about him that you hadn't come to learn yet. It seemed that he'd always been sweet and kind, gentle and shy as a boy, but grew more confident with age and experience. Despite that, according to them, there were still many times where you could catch him becoming pink in the face, shyness blooming over it the way it had when he was still small. 

It made you curious– what did Felix look like when he was shy? You were sure he must be beautiful; you're not blind after all, you can clearly see that the man you married is handsome beyond what words could describe. Being against an arranged marriage is completely seperate from recognizing that the man you were promised to looks like he was sculpted straight from God's own hands.

But it takes more than beauty for you to have feelings for someone, and that's why you liked hearing the tales of his youth, moments that reflected that the Felix you met is the genuine him, no tricks and no falsehoods. And maybe one day, you would see him be shy, and seeing it would spark feelings in your gut that you hadn't felt since the time you were a child with your first crush. 

“Are you ready to begin the tour?” Felix smiles brightly as he holds out his arm for you the same way he had on the night of your marriage. You had just finished taming your hair and tying half of it behind you with a ribbon when he arrived back at your room, free of whatever his duties were and ready to dedicate the rest of his afternoon to you.

When you first stepped out, Felix’s timid stare didn’t go unnoticed by the maids, who insisted on helping you despite being told you were capable of getting ready on your own. 

You chose a simple, muted yellow gown with white trim accents to wear from the clothes you brought with you from home. It was one of your favorite dresses to wear casually as it was light, airy, and easy to walk in. You had no plans to do anything extravagant, but your assigned maids insisted on you wearing at least some jewelry, so you let them place a pearl necklace on you with dainty earrings to match. 

And so, the maids secretly beamed with delight at Felix’s reaction to your appearance (though it wasn’t their added accessories that caught his attention in the first place; it was simply you.) “I’m ready, thank you,” you say as you accept his invitation to link your arms together.

Felix shifts his gaze from you to the maids, giving them instructions to finish tidying your room while the two of you are out. They bow politely, getting straight to work on cleaning as you step out of your room, and you can hear their soft, delighted giggles even as you are led down the hall. 

The tour started about as you expected, with Felix leading you from room to room and stating simple facts such as 'this is where my older sister and her husband sleep’ or ‘this is the hall where your family will stay when they next visit’ and so on.

Typically, daughters move out of their family homes upon being wed, their entire purpose to give their husband’s family a successful lineage and ideal heir, but you suppose a special exception is made when you’re part of the royal family. You wonder how different your life would be if the expectation to leave your family behind wasn’t placed upon you from birth. 

He has a younger sister as well, one who has yet to be wed and who you met only briefly, but you wonder if she’ll be allowed to live in the castle as well when her time comes, if her husband’s family will have guest rooms just as yours will, and if she’ll have the luxury to stay in the place she’s familiar and comfortable for her entire life.

You know his sisters aren’t much different from you, really. Women often don’t have freedom of choice, and you especially doubt the princesses ever get a say in what comes next for them (even if the king and queen are caring people), but at least they still have their home, and their family right there with them. 

You were envious of that; you missed your home and your family so much. Would there ever be a day where you could see the place you grew up in again? How much older would your family be the next time you saw them?

Your younger sister, who was still small and naive– how different would she be? How much taller, how much more mature? It saddened you to think about, and you had to consciously make an effort to not think about it any further, and focus instead on the things Felix was showing to you. 

He skips past the dining hall and ballroom since you’ve already become well acquainted with them from the wedding ceremony, and instead brings you to the royal library as your next stop. It was an understatement to say it was gorgeous, but you could find no words to do it justice.

It was the largest library you’d ever seen, equipped with grand staircases and beautiful handcrafted spandrels carved into the arches. The bookshelves reached up the ceilings and covered every wall, apart from the back section where large ornate windows filtered in sunlight from the gardens outside (which Felix assured you that you’d be seeing soon.) 

“This is incredible, I’ve never seen such an impressive library!” you practically beam, unable to hide your excitement at the impressive collection of books. You’ve always been a fan of literature, spending countless hours losing yourself in fantasy worlds and star-crossed romances.

“I could spend all my days here and still not read everything,” you muse with a smile as you wind your way through various bookshelves, taking note of every title that peaks your interest. 

“With such an extensive collection, there’s bound to be something that suits your tastes,” he says with a smile of his own as he follows you through the winding path of bookcases, “feel free to grab anything you’d like! You are allowed to take from the library as you please.”

Oh, you intend on doing just that. You suppose you should start with just a few for now though; the library isn’t going anywhere after all, and neither are you. 

It takes some time, but you eventually decide on a handful books to bring back to your room first, mostly fantasy romance titles (because how can you resist the call of your favorite genre?) Felix, who had been watching fondly as you made your selections, quickly instructs a nearby maid to bring your selections back to your room before asking if you’re ready for the tour of the castle to resume. 

In much higher spirits than when you began, you happily link your arms with Felix again, eager to see what else the castle has to offer you. There’s not much more for you to see on the inside; you’re briefly shown the knight’s barracks and the maid’s quarters, as well as the informal living space his family prefers to relax together in when they have the time. (It’s still extremely elegant and beautiful for an “informal” space, but you digress– they’re royalty, after all.) 

He leads you to the gardens next, which until now you had only seen briefly from the windows, and wow, is it more stunning when actually in front of you than you ever would have believed. All the flowers and hedges are well maintained and vibrant in color, a cobblestone path laid before you and winding around the garden carefully, lattice fence work protecting the flowers in the back and maintaining the border. 

There’s ponds littered about, the cleanest and bluest you’d ever seen, the fish inside clearly visible even at a distance. In the center lies a beautiful marble fountain, with large, meticulously detailed sculptures of what you assume to be a goddess to adorn the surroundings.

It’s all utterly breathtaking, beyond anything you’d ever seen at home in the south. As you reach the end of the cobblestone path, there lies an iron wrought gazebo with matching seating and a table beneath, right in the center. 

Felix unlinks your arms and steps up first, holding his hand out to you to accept as you proceed carefully up the few steps up to the gazebo. He pulls a chair out for you, smiling when you accept the seat and then takes his own seat directly across from you. There’s still a chill in the air, as spring has only just begun to set in the north, but the sunlight that filters through the iron keeps you sufficiently warm.

“Would you like some tea? You must be tired after all the walking we’ve done,” Felix asks after he’s gotten more comfortable in his seat, the iron cold at first but warming up quickly due to his own body heat.

“That’d be lovely,” you answer sincerely, and he smiles again, looking around quickly for any nearby attendants he can call to assist the two of you. Within minutes you are provided with fresh tea, as well as a handful of biscuit style cookies, and you thank the maids for their quick work as warmly as you can.

“It’s been so long since I last walked the entirety of the castle grounds, I’d forgotten how tiring it is,” Felix sighs after he takes a sip of his tea, seemingly unphased by the high temperature of it. You on the other hand are snacking on the cookies you’d been provided as you wait for the tea to cool, having no desire to scorch your tongue and potentially embarrass yourself in front of your husband. 

“Yes, I can’t imagine doing it daily. The maids certainly have their work cut out for them,” you empathize, truly hoping they feel appreciated for all the work they’ve done for you thus far, and have done for what you imagine to be decades for some of them. You didn’t have much help on your family’s estate back home, as it was much less grand in comparison to the splendor of the castle you now live in. 

The moments that follow are serene; you listen to Felix talk about various things pertaining to the castle as you sip your tea, including stories of how he used to get lost as a child and always needed someone's help to get back to where he needed to be. You laughed once, when he told you about a time he got stuck in a utility closet and cried until he was discovered by a maid, who had to spend several minutes calming him down before carrying him back to his room. 

It was a cute story, and you couldn’t help but giggle from how he dramatically explained the darkness that encompassed him, and how terrified 7 year old Felix was at that moment. You were worried for a moment after that it’d seem like you were laughing at him and not with him, but the way he smiled at you after he heard your laugh told you he was perfectly happy with your reaction. 

It was the first time he heard you laugh since you arrived– genuinely laugh, and he liked it. It made him feel warm, and gave him hope that you were finally starting to feel comfortable around him. He’d never hurt you, and he hoped that as you grew closer to him, you could genuinely love him one day. That’s all he wants really; to love the person he’s married to, and be loved in return. 

He’s seen it happen before; his parents, whose marriage was decided long before he was born but was the truest form of love he’d ever seen, and with his older sister, who was against her marriage at first but came to be truly in love with the man she was promised to. He wanted that to– to love and be loved with all his heart, to have something special and all his own with the woman he was promised to. And he'd work hard, do everything he could to show you that he was someone worthy to give your heart to. 

You stayed in the gardens for some time, simply talking and enjoying the scenery until the sun began to shift behind the trees. The shade brought a deeper chill with it, a slight shiver crawling over your skin each time the wind blew. “Let’s go back inside, there’s still something I want to show you,” Felix suggests upon seeing the way your body tensed from the chill creeping over you. You easily accept the offer, letting him lead you out of the gardens and back to the castle.

Warmth immediately spreads through you when you’re back inside the castle’s walls, body releasing its cold tension as you let Felix guide you to where he wants to go next, your arm linked in his as is coming to be your norm.

You come to a now familiar hall– the one with your bedrooms, and Felix stops in front of the doors to his room, the one you will one day share in the future. “Your room..?” you ask, looking at him inquisitively. 

“I’m not asking you to move in yet, just to see it, if that’s okay with you,” he explains his intentions, ensuring that he means you no harm by inviting you into the private space. Felix has given you no reason to mistrust him at all, and while there is some slight hesitancy due to your own fears, you agree easier than you expected yourself to.

He’s trustworthy, you think; he’s a gentleman through and through, and he’s shown you more than once how considerate and respectful he is, so.. Why not? The royal knights guarding his room open the doors for you at Felix’s signal, and the two of you step inside together, letting the guards close the door behind you to offer you privacy (not that you necessarily need it at the moment.)

His room is similar to yours, with much of the same features, but much larger in scale and with items you imagine are specific to Felix’s own tastes. His furniture holds the same blue and white tones as yours, but with the additions of a lovely yellow, reminiscent of the sun shining in an almost clear sky. 

He has a fireplace, only slightly larger than the one in your room, and you can tell even from a distance that his attached bath is very grand in both appearance and size. The biggest difference from your own room however has to be the piano sitting in the corner of his room, large and spectacular in its handcrafted design.

You cautiously step closer to it, carefully running your hand over the sleekly painted black wood, fingertips tracing over the gold leaf accents. “This is beautiful,” you say, turning back to look at him when you’re done admiring the beauty of what you can only assume is his personal piano, “do you play?”

“I learned as a boy,” he answers with a beaming smile full of pride as he takes a seat in front of the keys, “I haven’t had much time to play recently, but it’s one of my favorite things to do. I always feel the happiest when I’m playing.”

He motions for you to take a seat on the nearby chaise, so you do, sitting comfortably against the soft cushion. “Would you like to hear a song?” he asks, a bit nervous but eager to show you what he can do after years of diligent practice.

“I’d love that,” you reply, his infectious joy causing you to smile as well. You watch as he turns his attention to the keys in front of him, his face changing as he closes his eyes, the smile you had become accustomed to seeing fading as he prepared to focus. 

The song starts soft and slow, and while you didn’t recognize the melody, you found it entrancing and indescribably beautiful and serene. You watched and listened in awe as he continued, his eyes still closed and body swaying along with the melody he was playing. His ability to play without looking at the keys or sheet music amazed you, and attested to the fact that this is indeed something he loves to do. 

You clapped when he finished the song, and his expression immediately returned to the vibrant smile he often held. “That was beautiful Felix! You’re really talented,” you praise him earnestly, truly moved by his talent.

“Oh, no, anyone who has played as long as I have can do that,” he insists despite the light blush crawling on his features from your compliment. 

“You’re being modest,” you say, hoping he recognizes that you truly mean it, and aren’t just saying so to be kind or polite. You’ve seen a fair amount of people play the piano in your time attending balls and banquets, but saw no one as talented and clearly passionate as Prince Felix.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to being so openly complimented, or the fact that he had never played in front of anyone but his family, but he found that the praise affected him in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. 

No, it was because it was you specifically complimenting him that made his face flush and heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. Was it strange to hope to hear you compliment him more in the future? Maybe one day you’d compliment his appearance; tell him he was handsome, or beautiful, or cute even. He’d be happy with any of them, as long as they were from you. 

He'll tell you too– how beautiful you are when you smile, your excitement over your books cute, your very presence endearing. He knows it's too soon to call his feelings love, because how do you fall in love with a stranger in only a few weeks time? But he's certain that one day, maybe not too far off from today, it will be love, and the warmth and joy he feels whenever you look at him will expand tenfold, beyond anything he's ever experienced before now. 

Since the first time you’d entered Felix’s room and he’d played the piano for you, it had become routine for you to spend most of your days there with him, listening to him calmly play melodies while you silently read your books. It was nice listening to him play while you were reading; it felt like it added a special ambience, and helped you get even further lost in the tales written on the page. 

Sometimes you’d even notice him watching you read from your peripheral, smiling to himself for just a moment before he turned his attention back to the keys. When his fingers grew tired, you’d start to read aloud, oftentimes at his own request. Felix explained that he liked listening to you read, and you imagined that the feeling was similar to how you felt listening to him play piano.

Relaxing, comfortable, serene; that’s how the two of you felt listening to the other. Honestly, you were embarrassed to do so at first; after all, the book you were reading at the time had to do with with a woman in a magical fantasy land falling in love with an elf, and you would’ve been extremely embarrassed if he laughed at the concept or shamed you for your taste in literature. 

However, you found that he listened to you intently, like the tale you were reading from the pages was of the utmost importance for him to hear. He’d ask follow up questions when you were further in the book than he last heard, often asking what happened next and if the characters had overcome whatever trial they had been facing yet.  

Felix remembered all the details of what you read to him– the setting, the character’s names, what their thoughts and feelings were at the point you’d read them to him. It impressed you, as well made you feel warm and a little fuzzy. It showed how much he genuinely cared, that he listened to you and cared about the things you care about, that he wanted to know what you like beyond a superficial level. 

Whenever night came however, you retreated back to your own room, promising you’d return the next day. Maybe it was silly to not officially move into the bedroom you were meant to share when you had begun to spend most of your days there, but you simply weren’t ready to yet. You’d grown to trust Felix quite a bit, but sleeping next to him still seemed a step too far out of your comfort zone. 

You also worried it’d send him the wrong message– you didn’t want him to think anything would come of you sharing a bed just yet. You just found his presence comforting, and that was all. You knew, since the very day you first came here, that he hoped the two of you would share his room when you were ready, but you didn’t want to unintentionally give him something he thought was more than it was supposed to be. 

It seemed so.. Intimate, much more than you had ever been with someone. You liked him, and you trusted him, that much was true– but enough to share a bed? It was nerve wracking to think about, and while you knew it would happen someday, there was no need to rush it along; especially not when he was giving you the freedom and space to tackle your marriage on your own terms. 

But on nights like tonight, when your heart was heavy and tears pricked the corner of your eyes, you wondered if you should’ve just moved in with Felix already. It was only a matter of time before the warm weather brought rain with it, and alongside the downpour came thunderstorms. You weren’t sure what time of night it was when the crash of thunder woke you from your sleep, but as the grogginess faded and the sound sat with you, your heart ached terribly. 

You didn’t hate thunderstorms– in fact, you didn’t mind them at all, usually finding them quite pleasant to watch and listen to. It was your sister that hated them, who’d crawl into your bed every time one struck, trembling hands rousing you from your deep slumber and clinging to you the moment you awoke and offered her a place next to you. And each time a thunderstorm rolled through, you couldn't help but think about her, sadness encroaching over you without any means to stop it. 

What was the weather like back home, you wondered? Had spring's rain been gentle to her so far or were the storms as prevalant there as they were here? Would your sister suffer through it alone now that you weren’t there to comfort her? Your parents were kind, but you weren’t entirely sure they’d allow her to crawl into bed with them, or to hold her close as she cried the way you always had. 

How much of the remainder of her childhood would you come to miss? In just a few years time, she’ll be a woman the same as you, married into a new family and away from the last of her comforts. You don’t hate where you are now, nor do you hate Felix or the family you now call your own, but you miss the people you grew up with, and your little sister most of all. 

You miss holding her hand, hugging her when she’s scared, wiping away her tears when she’s sad or frightened. You miss guiding her through the lessons you once took, helping her to understand and offering the help you didn’t have then due to being the oldest. You miss giggling together when sharing stories, how cute she looked when happily accepting and showcasing your hand-me-down dresses that were now hers. 

Before you knew it, tears rolled down your cheeks, the ache in your chest unable to be ignored or pushed aside any longer. It was as if all the sadness you’d been harboring surfaced all at once, and the moment one tear fell, another followed, and another, until you were openly sobbing, unable to control or stop it from happening. 

You thought again of Felix, who was just a short trip down the hall from you. Would it be alright to go see him? You promised you’d go to him if you needed something, and well.. You could use some comfort, if you were being honest with yourself.

If you lit some candles and tried to read to distract your mind, all you’d effectively do is blur the pages and stain them with your tears, unable to focus on the words in front of you as your mind swirled and processed all your emotions. Felix, while still relatively new to you and finding his place in your life, is your family now.

Who else can you approach with your melancholy if not him? He’s sweet– he’ll comfort you, he’ll listen to you, he’ll be patient and considerate. In the nearly 2 months since you’d first arrived, he’s always shown you just how gentle of a person he is. And he always seemed genuine when expressing his desire to share his life with you, and be someone you could trust and rely on. 

You take a few deep breaths to steady yourself, wiping the tears from your face as you rise from your bed. Your night guards seem surprised when the doors to your room open and you emerge from them, but ultimately they say nothing, letting you walk down the hall without interruption and closing your doors for you. 

Felix’s guards, who recognize you even in the dim light of the candles on the walls as his wife, acknowledge you with a brief, professional nod when you stop in front of the doors. You hesitate there for a moment, wondering if this is really okay or if you should abandon this idea and turn back to your room.

But his guards, who mistake your hesitance as you waiting for them to open the doors, do so as quietly as they can, motioning for you to go ahead and step inside the room. Well, there’s no going back now that they’ve opened the doors for you, so you quietly step inside, thanking them softly and letting them pull the large doors shut behind you.

The room is dark, the light that would normally pour in from the moon being obscured by the dark rain clouds that hang in the sky. His candles are all responsibly blown out, but your eyes are adjusted to the darkness enough to find your way to his bed regardless. 

You swallow, hand trembling as you reach out to him, shaking him gently and mirroring the actions your sister used to take when she woke you up at night. He groans sleepily, voice deep and gravely as he stirs awake, eyes slowly drawing open, wearily looking for the source of what woke him. Felix sees you standing above him, but it takes his sleep-addled brain a moment to process the sight, half wondering if his weary eyes are playing a trick on him. 

But no, it really is you, looking at him with sad eyes and a quivering bottom lip, and he can feel the tremble in your hand that rests on his shoulder now that he’s fully conscious. He sits up quickly, concern painting his face as he gives you his undivided attention.

“Y/N, what’s the matter? Has something happened?” Your voice wavers as you try to tell him, I’m sad, I’m lonely, I miss everyone from home, but it doesn’t fully come out, the words dying in your throat as tears well in your eyes again. 

He opens his arms to you and you crumble into them, burying your head in his chest as you allow yourself to cry. He sympathetically whispers your name, careful as he wraps his arms around you in a hug, conscious of where he allows his hands to rest.

He doesn’t know what's wrong, what has brought you to such tears, but he’s glad you came to him with them. It would’ve saddened Felix to later learn that you suffered in your room alone when he would’ve gladly done whatever he could for you. 

And then he hears it– the crack of thunder, lightning illuminating the room for a brief moment before you’re sheathed again in darkness. Was that the problem? Were you frightened? You weren’t of course, but he didn’t know that, and he comforted you through your sobbing as if you were.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here with you,” he told you, his voice a deep whisper, holding you just a bit tighter whenever lightning struck, fully believing the problem was that you were afraid. Despite the misconception, you were comforted all the same. This was exactly what you were hoping for, what you needed to hear.

The storm eventually recedes, as does your sobbing, the room becoming ever so slightly more illuminated as the rain clouds pass onward. He can see your face more clearly now when you look at him again, can see how wet and shiny your cheeks have become from fallen tears, but you also appear calmer, your lip trembling much less and breaths more stable. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks softly, carefully, and it is now you become hyper aware of the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, of your head resting against his chest, of the sound of his heartbeat in your ears.

You relax your fingers, which you realize were clutching his sleep shirt quite hard, the fabric having become harshly wrinkled from your grasp. He loosens his arms to let you lift yourself away from him, watching silently as you wipe your face clean. 

You hesitate to meet his gaze– not because you feel embarrassed over your outpouring of your emotions, but conscious of how close you just were, and how natural it felt to have his arms around you. Maybe the fact that it felt so right is a testament of how close you’ve grown in the time you've been here, and how comfortable he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you mutter quietly now that you’ve found your voice again; you know his duties leave him tired, so there’s a tinge of guilt you feel for interrupting his rest. “Don’t say that, I’m glad you woke me,” he assures you, and he’d reach out and hug you tight again if he knew he could.

You believe him– you know how earnest and sincere Felix is, and that he cares about you; maybe not in the way a husband cares about his wife, but cares nonetheless. You should be honest too, clarify why you were really crying so he doesn’t grow to think you’re genuinely afraid of thunderstorms. 

“I, uh– I’m not afraid of storms, that’s not why I was crying. Well, it was, but not because I was frightened,” you explain, and Felix looks a bit puzzled, but nods anyways, listening carefully to what you tell him. You tell him everything– how your sister was afraid of them, how you spent many dark nights easing her fears, and how your tears were born from how much you miss her, and your family as a whole. 

His heart breaks for you, truly, it does. He assumed you missed your family, he took notice of how close you were to them on the night of your ceremony, but there was no way he could’ve known how deep your pain was. And really, he can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.

What if it was him who had to separate from his parents and siblings to live somewhere new? Would he be able to handle it with as much acceptance and grace as you have? You never complained about anything, even when you were saddened.

You treated everyone around you kindly, never spoke ill of anyone or about your circumstances, and that’s when he realizes you have much more inner strength than he’d known. There’s a small prick of guilt he feels for taking you away from your family, but even if it wasn’t him that you married, it still would’ve happened to you someday.

He wishes he knew what he could say or do to comfort you the best; there was nothing that could completely take the ache away, of that he was sure, but if he could make it better somehow then he’d do whatever he could. You can see the gears turning in his brain, can see him struggle with finding the words to say, unsure if what he’d done for you thus far was good enough. 

And there’s a new dilemma brewing in your mind– what do you do now that you’re calm? Do you just.. leave? Go back to your solitude and spend the rest of the night alone? If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t entirely want to go back to your room.

Maybe it was time for you to finally move in with Felix, and share the room, share the bed, as you were meant to. It’s a strange feeling you don’t entirely recognize and know what to do with; you just know that you want to stay here, with him, and feel his arms around you again. 

Maybe it’s simply because he’s all you have here; which isn’t entirely true, but it is how you feel. Do you have a family here? Yes, the royal family is your family now too. Do you have friends here? Yes, you’ve grown quite close to your maids and other staff you interact with.

But are you comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of them, or to share your feelings of loneliness and homesickness? No, and in that regard, Felix is all you have. 

Felix is your companion in this lonely place, the person who makes your days brighter and bearable through the melancholy, the one who ebbs away your sadness and replaces it with warmth. And you spend all your days with him, next to him, talking to him, sharing everything, including silence.

Would it be so bad to allow yourself this comfort? To finally take a step forward and move into the room you were meant to share? There’s a part of you that’s scared to take that step, afraid to confront what your desire to be close to him means, unsure how to unravel and make sense of the complexities of your thoughts.

But there is an undeniable truth– Felix is your husband, and that would likely never change. So even if you don’t love him, wasn’t it okay to be close to him regardless? He makes you smile, he makes you laugh with his stories and jokes, he plays the piano for you and listens to you so intently, he makes you feel warm and fuzzy; and he told you he wants you to be here.

Maybe he doesn’t love you yet, but he’s expressed that he wants to, that he hopes the two of you will look at each other fondly and live happily. And maybe you don’t love him yet, but that doesn’t mean that the day you do is far off.

You look at him, take in the compassion and concern he holds for you, allow the feeling of warmth to seep into your pores; you may not be in love with him, but you do still have love for him. Isn’t that enough? 

“Felix, if it’s alright.. Can I–” you pause a moment, shy apprehension prickling your skin, but you collect yourself enough to continue, “I want to stay. Here, with you.” You can see even in the low light how his eyes widen, though it’s hard to decipher whether or not his surprise is pleasant, but you hope it is given how he’s expressed his hopes for the future.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, not at all against the idea, just surprised by your admission. “I don’t want to be alone again, at least not tonight,” you explain, hoping he understands, “And I don’t have to move in completely if you’re not ready for me to, but.. I spend all my days here with you anyways, so.. I want to, if that’s okay.”

Felix’s heart is racing, his face growing pinker by the second, and he feels lucky you’re making this confession in the darkness, where you can’t easily tell how obvious his blush is. “Of course you can stay,” he says, shifting more to the side to allow you the space you need to get comfortable under his thick blanket.

He’s stiff when he first lies down next to you, unsure of whether or not it was okay to touch you, whether or not you’d even like it if something as simple as his arm being pressed against yours, if it was alright with you. He already knew he was undeniably attracted to you, but he’d never do something if you were uncomfortable, or touch you without explicit permission, even if the touch was meant to be comforting as opposed to romantic.

But you reach out to him first, softly ask him to hug you again, and he’s more than happy to oblige your request. You can hear the rapid beat of his heart as you move in close, and you wonder if he’s nervous; you are too, to be fair.

You’ve never lied this close to a man before, or let one hold you in his arms the way you let Felix, never shared a bed with anyone but family. But you want this, and despite the nerves that come with doing something so new to you, you’re happy, comfortable. 

Felix’s heart begins to slow the longer you lie together, as does yours, and the exhaustion that comes with crying, as well as being woken in the middle of the night, takes hold over you. You fall asleep first, though Felix is not far behind you, the soft sound of your even breaths akin to a lullaby in his fatigued state.

You’re warm, comfortable, safe; you may not have all the things that were once familiar to you, but you have Felix, a person who radiates kindness and compassion, a person who despite everything, makes you happy. 

There’s part of you that wonders if sharing a room with Felix was a decision made too hastily; not because he did anything wrong, but because it came with unforeseen challenges. What was the challenge? Dressing, undressing, bathing to name a few.

He was always respectful, kept his back turned to you whilst you were changing or kept himself away from the attached bath if you were in it. And you likewise never peeked towards him when the opposite occurred. 

You certainly didn’t regret your decision– after all, you spent all your days with Felix, so it only made sense to spend your nights with him too now that you felt comfortable enough. But there was a certain timidness that came with undressing in the presence of a man, even if said man wasn’t looking and had his gaze fixed to the wall until you were finished. You wondered though, wouldn’t there come a day where he was allowed to look? 

The thought of Felix someday looking at your exposed, bare skin made an unfamiliar feeling well in your gut– one that was entirely foreign to you, but not at all unpleasant. Butterflies, perhaps? You’d read about the sensation in your novels, the characters often expressing how seeing the one they love made their stomach react in ways strange and new.

And as explained in the countless romances you read, your heart would race when he held your gaze after you emerged from the bath, your face would flush whenever his touch lingered for longer than what you would consider typical of a friendly relationship. 

It was no exaggeration to say that sharing a room with Felix brought you even closer than before. Once you got past your initial shyness, the weeks that followed were some of the most pleasant you’d had.

You settled into a nice routine, sharing breakfast before he had to depart to attend to his royal duties. You spent the rest of your morning and early afternoon perusing the library shelves for your next read or sitting out in the gardens, sometimes reading in the warm light of the sun, sometimes simply enjoying the scenery around you. 

You’d reunite at dinner time, sometimes sharing that time with family in the dining hall and other times eating in the privacy and comfort of your room. Felix would often insist that you bathe first, ever a gentleman to you, but on days he seemed particularly worn out and exhausted you would do your best to convince him he needed one more than you, encouraged him to relax and let the hot water soothe away any aches. 

No matter the order of the bath, your nights would end the same; you’d spend the last few hours of your day listening to Felix play the piano as you read, oftentimes reading your literature aloud once he grew tired and joined you where you sat, whether that be the chaise facing the piano, the sofa across from the fireplace, or simply the bed.

On the nights he was extra tired, his eyes would grow heavy and close as you read to him, and when you gently told him he was falling asleep, he’d mumble that he was still listening, urging you to continue.

It was endearing, and there was a certain joy you felt in lulling him to sleep with your softly spoken words, knowing that even as the comfort seeped into his bones and urged him to rest, all he wanted was to listen to you. You liked to think it even helped him, hoping that you brought him as much solace as he brought you, hoping that you alleviated and dispelled any troubles simply by being there for him the way he was for you. 

Tonight was another such day; the changing of the season brought with it longer, warmer days, and often the sun wouldn’t begin to sink until you were already well into your nightly routine. The moon had just begun to emerge when Felix settled down on the sofa next to you, making sure he lit the candles before he sat as darkness began to settle in.

It was a bit of a challenge at times to read in the dim, wavering light of the candles, but you’d grown used to it in your time as a novel enjoyer, and you welcomed the cozy atmosphere the candlelight brought. He listened to you intently at first, but the more you spoke the words from the pages, with your steady, soft and even pace, the more sleep called to him, and it became a struggle for his eyes to remain open.

His head rested against the back of the sofa, the cushion acting as a pillow for his weary body. Your softly spoken words, along with the low light the candles brought to the room, were enough to call him to sleep much faster than he’d otherwise expect. You pause when you notice his eyes have completely closed, not sure if he’s still listening with his eyes shut, or is indeed asleep as you suspect.

But when he makes no reaction to your pause, you are certain sleep has taken him, and you smile as you quietly close your book. You set it down on the nearby table, wondering if you should try and wake him, request him to move to the bed, or if it’d be better to bring over a blanket and let him be. 

You look at him, quietly taking in the sight of his sleeping form. Felix is beautiful, even whilst sleeping, and you wonder if he knows that. His eyelashes are long, his freckles a unique and expansive constellation, his parted lips and honeyed skin almost entracing to look at, begging to be admired by all who look.

And admire him you did, in quiet moments like this. Moments where everything was serene, in the space belonging only to the two of you, a space where you are the only ones who exist. 

Carefully, you reach out to him, gently tapping on his shoulder until he stirs. “Felix,” you call softly, and he barely opens his eyes, letting out a small, groggy ‘hmm?’ in response.

“You fell asleep,” you tell him quietly, voice almost a whisper, “let’s go to bed.” He hums his agreement, which due to his deep, sleepy voice sounds more like a grumble. You rise from the sofa first, offering a hand for stability if he needs it. 

He falls to the bed with a grunt, barely managing to pull the blankets up over his shoulders, and you can’t help but giggle at the display. You work your way around the room before you join him, blowing out the candles until the room’s only illumination comes from the moonlight peaking through the window curtains.

You’re not quite as tired as Felix, but you settle into bed regardless, knowing that once you’re under the blankets and comfortably next to him, sleep won’t be all that far behind. Felix has been working extra hard lately, preparing for an upcoming ball to celebrate the summer solstice.

Apparently they hold it annually, as well as one for the winter solstice, but you had arrived at winter’s end, after that celebration had already concluded. It keeps the spirits of the commoners high, gives them an event to look forward to, as well as a chance to mingle with those from other, father towns who come in to join the celebration of the season. 

That’s not its only purpose however; it also gives the royal family a chance to meet with other officials and people of high standing beyond that of just letters, and ensure that they continue to have a prosperous, mutually beneficial relationship. Dukes, barons, soldiers who have returned from war-torn fields– it’s important for the king, and by extension Felix, to know where they stand with all of them. 

Of course, you were no stranger to lessons in diplomacy, but you’re sure there is much more Felix has to keep in mind than simply being diplomatic. There’s a lot that goes into the politics of the kingdom, and you can’t imagine the weight that falls on his shoulders, knowing that one day he’ll inherit the responsibility of deciding the future of everyone within his territory.

It’s also possible that someday, your knowledge from growing up in the south will be a vital asset to him, and that he’ll seek your input on how to govern the farthest reaches of the kingdom. You sigh a little, moving in closer to Felix.

It’s best not to stress yourself out with thoughts about governing the kingdom, or about the upcoming ball; it’ll be your first ball as a married couple in the public eye, and there’s a separate set of nerves that come along with that. You wonder how much like a couple you should act; should you stay glued to his side, act lovey-dovey for the duration of the night, or would that be unseemly for royalty to do? 

It’s possible there’s no need for you to appear in love– after all, it’s no secret that arranged marriages can be loveless. But still, you think it’d be beneficial for the people to see you genuinely care for Felix– it could set a positive example, and show that the north and south have no need to fight against each other.

You think if you just act natural, and don’t put too much thought and effort into “proving” you love Felix, then the people will see your honest feelings come through.  And besides, you told yourself you wouldn't worry about such things now that you were in bed, so your only priority should be going to sleep. 

Felix’s arm rests around your waist, which is normal for you now. After the first night, when he hugged you until you fell asleep, it felt nice to wake up with his arm still there, holding you close. He apologized the next morning when you woke up, worried that he may have made you uncomfortable, though he didn’t have control of where his arm lied once he’d fallen deeply into sleep.

You assured him though that it was perfectly fine– in fact, it was comfortable, and you enjoyed the closeness after feeling so lonely. It became a natural part of how you slept, his arm always around you, sometimes loosely, and other times strongly keeping you close.

Now was one such time you were held loosely, his arm limp with sleep but you didn’t mind; it gives you the ability to easily adjust your position turning so that his hand was against your back and your head could rest close to his chest. Your movement rouses him slightly, and he instinctively holds you tighter.

You whisper an apology for unintentionally waking him with your movement, not entirely sure that he’s even alert enough to truly hear you, but you say it regardless. You guess he does hear you, because he mumbles a response, though it’s not entirely decipherable. “..ove you.”

“Hmm?” you hum in question, glancing up to look at him, but it’s no use– he’s back to sleep within seconds, as if he was never awoken at all.

Oh well, it likely wasn’t anything important, probably just dreamy ramblings of a tired mind, or an acceptance of your apology. Maybe tomorrow you can ask him if he dreamt anything pleasant, or if you appeared to him in your dreams the same way he had begun to in yours. 

You were well into the solstice ball, sighing as you stood off to the side of all the dancing, feeling exhausted from everything you were experiencing. You thought your wedding was tiring, but this was somehow even worse; when you got married to Felix, only locals to the town were welcome inside the castle to witness it and celebrate, otherwise chaos could ensue.

But with the solstice ball, any and everyone was welcome, and with that came a myriad of people for you to meet and communicate with. Most who attended were eager to see the prince’s wife, curious about what sort of woman he’d married, and you couldn’t help but be anxious about what opinion they’d hold of you after seeing you in the flesh.

Honestly, you wanted to make a good impression; you’d be saddened if you were unliked by those who would one day be your people alongside Felix. Your father was someone who governed with compassion, and the royal family were much the same, and you hoped they could see you held the same values. 

Still, it was tiring to portray your best self for hours without end, and you took the opportunity for a break at the first moment you could. You stayed at Felix’s side for the first hour of the evening before going your separate ways, him mingling with various men of high status while you traveled the ballroom floor, introducing yourself to as many people as you could.

There were still many people for you to meet and talk with, but hopefully they’d understand your need to take a moment for yourself. You sipped on some water, your throat thankful for the soothing liquid, having become quite parched from all the talking you’d done.

You also looked yourself over briefly in one of the ballroom’s mirrors, making sure everything about your appearance was still neatly in place. You had went out to town with Felix to get a new dress, and it arrived mere days before the ball, just in time. 

You expressed that you were worried about your appearance, the dresses you’d brought from home being expensive and beautiful, sure, but still falling short when compared to the lavish gowns his sisters and mother wore.

Felix, who didn’t entirely realize he was speaking his thoughts aloud, said you’d look beautiful in anything, and both of your faces went red, before he coughed awkwardly and quickly changed the subject, saying that they could simply buy you a new dress if you’d needed it. 

You did also consider borrowing a gown from his older sister, but he insisted that was nonsense when they were more than capable of buying something specifically for you, and so you’d agreed to go out to town with him, going to a seamstress well-respected and trusted by the royal family.

It was your first outing since your arrival, not because anything necessarily stopped you from leaving if you wanted to, but simply because it required the coordination and cooperation of the royal guard accompanying you, and really, you had no need to leave until then. 

After the seamstress’ daughter took your measurements, and you answered various questions pertaining to color and style, as well as looking over and feeling various samples of fabric, you were free to leave, with the promise that once your dress was ready, her daughter would bring it to the castle, along with an alteration kit if any adjustments were needed. Before returning to the castle, Felix brought you to a jeweler, and you also passed a bookstore, where you couldn’t help but notice your favorite novel was on display.

Felix asked about it when you noticed your subtle pause to look, asked if you wanted to go inside and look around, or buy the copy of your favorite novel that was on display, but you told him there was no need. After all, you still had your very well-loved copy at home (which, while beginning to fall apart, was still perfectly readable and sentimental to you), and countless books in the library you still had interest in before feeling the need to purchase any new ones. 

All that to say, your night on the town was well spent, and you were thankful how well your gown and jewelry came together, and you truly felt good about your appearance tonight. Your maids also dutifully perfected your hair and makeup, and even hours into the night, you found no imperfection with either.

Felix also went red in the face when he first saw your completed look, much to the delight of your maids, who had to suppress their gleeful giggles; it seemed they loved when Felix looked at you with awe. You allow an attending maid to take your water from your hands when you are finished with it, thanking them with sincere politeness.

You give yourself another moment to collect yourself before returning to the main ballroom floor, careful not to bump into those dancing as you make your way through the crowd of people. You hoped to locate Felix, and see whether or not he’s still caught up in whatever political talk he was having when you last brushed past him. 

Instead, you hear a familiar voice questioningly call your name, and you pause, stopping to look around for the source. It couldn’t be.. could it? “Christopher!” you gasp, met with the sight of a boy, now man, you hadn't seen in nearly 3 years, “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you know? My station is just a few towns over,” he explains with a smile. Honestly, you were completely shocked. Your fathers were close friends, and though Chris was a few years older than you, you’d spent a lot of time together due to the close relationship of your fathers, both personal and professional. 

While your father is a duke, Chris’ was a very well-respected knight, who earned the title of baron due to his unwavering loyalty and dedication to serving your father, having sworn his fealty to him many years ago, before you were even born. Chris had similar ambitions as his father, and dedicated himself to training from a young age, always expressing that one day he’d serve the royal family. Coincidentally, he was also your first, and only, childhood crush. 

And truly, you didn’t know that he lived in a relatively short proximity to the town you now called home. Upon meeting the requirements to join the royal guard, he was sent north to receive further orders, and you’d lost contact with him not long afterwards, with the only news you’d learned being that he married a year after moving from the town you both grew up in– an arranged marriage, same as you. 

His wife, as far as you were aware, was a local girl whose family offered a significant dowry to be married to such a well-respected and honorable family. You wondered more than once if he was happy, and if your father ever considered Chris as a potential husband to you, but in recent times you stopped lingering on such thoughts completely. Your situation was set in stone, and you didn’t bother entertaining thoughts on what-if’s and could-be’s now that you too were married. 

“I didn’t! But it’s nice to see you again, I didn’t expect to see a familiar face,” you tell him sincerely; disregarding the childhood feelings you once held for him, it truly is nice to see a friend from home again.

“I was surprised when I heard you were the one Prince Felix married, and so I had to take this chance to see you again, and see the truth of it for myself.” You giggle a little, imagine what Chris must’ve looked like when he learned his childhood friend had married someone so important. 

“I was surprised too, believe me. I never anticipated marrying into the royal family,” you say, smiling as you speak. Though there were hardships that came with being relocated and away from family, now that you were growing accustomed to your life here, you actually found it pleasant. And you really enjoyed Felix’s presence; while you were initially upset about your marriage, you had truly begun to view it as a good thing in the recent weeks. 

“Did your wife come too? It’d be lovely to meet her,” you ask as a follow up, hoping she was somewhere nearby. “Mm, she’s here somewhere,” he replies, much more dismissive about the topic than you’d expect him to be.

It makes you want to ask if his relationship with her is bad, but perhaps that’s not appropriate to ask given the circumstances. “Would you like to dance?” he asks, quickly shifting focus, and you hesitate, a slight frown forming on your face. 

Normally, you wouldn’t be opposed to sharing a dance with a friend, but the circumstances surrounding your lives have changed substantially since you were last in contact. You’re both married, and even if it meant nothing beyond friendship for either of you, there was an image that needed to be upheld at all times, especially in the eyes of the public.

And you couldn’t help but think about what his wife, or Felix, would think if they saw you dancing with each other. Felix knew Chris by name alone from times you talked about home, but there was no way for him to know what he looked like. And in turn, you don’t know if Chris’ wife knows who you even are, if you’d be crossing a boundary in your respective relationships without even knowing it.

Further still, the thought of Felix seeing you in the arms of another and being upset, or even jealous, is enough to deter you from making that decision. You’re trying to form something real with Felix despite the circumstances that brought you together, and you won’t do anything to hinder that.

You want him to know that you respect your marriage, and that you won’t put his feelings in jeopardy by entertaining the advances of other men. Not that you think Chris means anything by his request, but still– better to be safe about these things than sorry. 

It’s strange though; you already knew you like Felix quite a lot, and care about his feelings, but there’s something beyond that, that makes you want to abide by the sanctity of your marriage. Technically speaking, you only have to be a devoted wife in public. It’s no secret that those in arranged marriages have concubines and secret affairs. If you truly wanted to, you could do the same, but you have no wish to do so. 

Is it loyalty? Love? All you really understand is that you never want to do anything to break Felix’s heart. You also don’t know if he even has enough romantic interest in you to be jealous in the first place, but either way, that’s not an emotion you want to cause him to feel. Some may be happy to see their betrothed jealous, but you’re not that kind of woman; instead, you’d feel rather guilty and apologetic. 

You glance across the crowd, spotting Felix still mingling with his father and other men of high status, completely unaware of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Hopefully, you can return to his side soon, once you're done catching up with Chris. “I’m afraid I can’t,” you finally say, hoping he understands your need to politely turn him down.

“What a shame,” he sighs a bit, his hand reaching out to you and settling on your arm, near your shoulder, “You look beautiful tonight. I would’ve loved to share a dance with you, as adults.” 

“O-Oh, thank you,” you mutter, taken aback by the words that left him. The Chris you knew was never so forward, nor did he ever openly compliment you. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure how to respond; this was a situation your younger self would have dreamed of, but now you just feel.. odd.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, even when we were kids. I never imagined this is where life would take us, but.. If it’s your public image that worries you, maybe I could seek you out later, and we could have some alone time?” he continues seamlessly, as if this is a sentence he’s practiced in his head over and over again. 

Again, this is something your younger self would’ve been ecstatic about, even prayed for, but now you just feel.. uncomfortable. You don’t feel flattered by his compliment, nor do you like the implication of his statement, and you recoil away from the hand that lingers uncomfortably on your arm.

“We can't do that,” you say firmly, doing your utmost to make it clear you have no desire to partake in a scandalous relationship with him. You liked him once, but you were a kid then, and what you feel now for Felix is much more grounded in reality than the puppy love you had for Chris. 

“Why not?” he asks, looking at you with eyes that would’ve once made you melt. And there is genuine hurt there, which you do feel sorry about, but you simply don’t return the sentiment he seems to have. “We're both married. Shouldn't you be loyal to your wife?” you counter; even if your marriage to Felix isn’t born of “real” love, you have no interest in infidelity, nor do you want to be the reason Chris is unfaithful in his marriage.

“I don't love her, I never have. And though I moved of my own volition, I always wondered what would’ve happened if I stayed behind, and expressed my desires to make you mine. But what of you? Do you love your husband?” His words, his question, make you swallow, unsure how best to respond. You liked him once, that much is true, but you like Felix more. What you have with him.. You value it, deeply. 

It’s easy for a 14 year old to say they’re in love with their crush when they’ve never experienced what real, adult love feels like. There are times, even now, when you’re unsure of what the beating of your heart truly means, but there is one thing that you know for certain– you love Felix, much, much more sincerely than you ever loved Christopher. The difference between loving him, and being in love with him, make little difference in this case. 

Though, the more you’ve thought about it, the more you’ve come to think that maybe you are really, actually in love with him. You wouldn’t desire him if you didn’t, wouldn’t be up at night wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, or what kind of father he’d be to the children you’d one day have. You wouldn’t feel a void in your chest at the thought of no longer being by his side, even deeper than the one you’d felt upon moving away from home. 

And if there is anything your time reading romance novels has taught you, it’s that love is more than temporary butterflies and racing of the heart. Love is more than excitement, than desire, than the heat of his touch on your body; love, real love, is the comfort you feel in his presence. The safety, the hours spent together talking or relaxing, even in the comfortable silence you share during a meal– that is love.  

When you can’t imagine your life without him in it, when even the mundane sounds fun as long as it’s with him, when you still feel warm and fuzzy in his presence even after the butterflies have passed, that is love. Now that you’ve come to know what life is like when Felix is next to you, holding you, sleeping with you, sharing his voice and his talents with you, you never want to know what the absence of him would feel like.

All of that is to say, you think you’ve had your answer all along; you don’t just love Felix. You’re in love with Felix. 

“If I must tell you.. I do. I love Felix, truly. He’s a wonderful man,” you answer honestly, and Chris holds a deep frown. It must feel unfair– that’s how you felt about your circumstances at first. There’s no way for you to know how long he had feelings for you, but you were able to move on, while he clearly hadn’t. And truthfully, you feel sorry for him; none of this is his fault, but still.. You can’t change how you feel. 

“Surely you don’t mean that,” Chris says, a bit desperate, and again, your heart twists. You do mean it, unfortunately for him. And you have no intention of letting him think he has a chance to change your mind, when quite frankly, he doesn’t. Unbeknownst to you, Felix would glance your way whenever he was able to, always wanting to make sure you were handling yourself well.

It was your first solstice ball after all, and he imagined it could be overwhelming and tiring for you to mingle with so many people you had never met before. He just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure you weren’t getting burnt out from the countless interactions with others. And that’s when he sees it– a man he doesn’t know, his hand lingering on your arm, and you, looking up at him with a troubled expression on your face. 

The look of discomfort you hold as the man continues to speak, hand still on you despite how you recoil.. He can’t help but clench his fists, a foreign sort of distaste bubbling within his veins. He can see your expression change as you speak– still uncomfortable, but not quite distressed. Sad, maybe? Perhaps this guy was being forward with you, and you were trying your best to look sympathetic as you gently turn him down. 

“If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I must attend to,” Felix says politely as he bows towards his father and his peers, not lingering to answer questions, though he really should if he doesn’t want to appear rude. He approaches you with haste, though still careful to not appear in too much of a hurry or frantic– he doesn’t want those around him to suspect something is amiss.

The man’s hand is thankfully no longer on you, he realizes as he comes closer– it’d be terribly unbecoming of someone of his status to cause a scene. “There you are, my love! I was looking everywhere for you,” Felix says with a smile as he approaches you, wrapping you in his arms as if the other man doesn’t exist at all.

Your face reddens, heart picking up; my love, he called you my love! You’re aware this is likely only happening because he spotted you and was able to perceive how you felt, but still, your heart reacts to the words nonetheless. 

“Who’s this?” Felix asks as he turns his attention to the man in front of you, his hand resting on your waist in a motion that you’d easily be able to interpret as defensive, possessive.

“O-Oh, uhm– this is Christopher. Do you remember what I told you, about how we grew up together due to our fathers being good friends? We ran into each other, and were just catching up,” you explain, and Chris, not wanting to make a fool of himself, easily goes along with your words. 

“Oh, how lovely. It's a pleasure to meet an old friend of yours,” Felix smiles jovially, extending a hand out to Chris. He accepts it, and the two politely shake hands, with Chris feeling a degree of shame and embarrassment. This definitely isn’t his finest hour; but maybe now that you’ve firmly rejected him, he can try to find happiness in his own life, love in his own marriage. 

“My deepest apologies for interrupting your reunion, but I thought it was time my wife and I shared a dance,” he says to Chris before looking back at you with a smile, and it’s so utterly charming that you practically feel your legs turn to jelly, “Shall we, my love?”

God, your face must look so red right now. But after the few seconds it takes to finish processing, you gladly accept, offering a timid smile. Felix bows politely to Chris before he leads you away by the waist, your heart still racing as you follow his lead. Away from the crowd of people, he stops and turns to you, the natural charisma he held melting away the moment your eyes meet.

“Are you alright? I’m– I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all, I just..” You smile softly, and shake your head; I liked it, I want to hear you call me ‘my love’ again, I want you to keep wrapping your arms around me and holding me by the waist you want to say, but don't. Instead you carefully lean up, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Felix.” 

His face grows red, his hand reaching up to his face, fingertips lingering over the spot you kissed him. He smiles cutely, shy and sweet, heart pounding even from something so small. He’s infatuated with you, after all, and any affection from you is enough to make his body react.

“Why don't we really go have that dance?” you ask with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You shared a dance when you first married of course, as is customary, but this one would be different; as opposed to a dance between newlyweds with no love between them, now you could say you were dancing with the only man you’d ever sincerely loved.

“Of course, my love,” he replies as he takes your hand in his, leading you to the center of the ballroom floor, both of you bashfully smiling and giddy with affection for the other. You do your best to ignore the stares of others around you, most of them just eager to see the display of love from the newest royal couple in front of them, and keep your focus entirely on Felix.

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes linger on his lips before he shifts his attention back to your eyes, his cheeks dusted a pretty shade of pink contrasted against his freckles. You really want him to kiss you, if you’re being honest, but you don’t think it’d be entirely wise to share your first kiss with the eyes of the entire ballroom on you.

Maybe, if either of you can conjure your bravery later on, you can kiss in the privacy of your shared room, free to indulge in the feeling of each other for as long as you wish too. Though, perhaps you should stop thinking such thoughts for the moment, lest Felix realizes you’re blushing way too hard. For now, you'll just enjoy the moment you're sharing with him, knowing now, with all your heart, that your love for him is true.

The remainder of your night continued without incident, sharing a few more dances with Felix before you separated again to continue mingling. You saw Christopher again briefly, where he apologized for his behavior and then brought you over to meet his wife.

She really seemed like a sweet girl, and you hoped that Chris would be more open to the idea of loving her now that there were no “what-ifs” keeping him held back. She also seemed quite genuinely infatuated with him, which you couldn’t blame her for– Chris was strikingly handsome, and you might have still held similar feelings for him if it wasn’t for Felix. 

When the ball came to a close, you were eager to get back to your room and get your aching feet out of the heels you’d worn to match your gown, as well as get the heavy, dangly earrings off your ears. You insist that Felix bathe first, as it will take you quite some time to remove all your accessories, get your hair down from the way it was styled, and out of your intricate gown (not as intricate as your wedding gown, of course, but still enough that you wouldn’t be able to remove it swiftly.) 

He didn’t take all that long in the bath, spending just enough time to wash up and effectively dry off, entering your room after he’s changed into his sleep clothes. He respectfully keeps his eyes away from you until he’s sat comfortably away from where you are at the vanity, your dress off and left only in your undergarments. You were brushing out your hair, making sure it was completely tamed and smoothed down to make washing easier before you enter the bath. 

You take a quick glance at Felix before you enter the attached bath, his back turned to you as he nervously fiddles with his thumbs. You soak in the tub for some time, letting the hot water soothe you until it turns cooler, now comfortably warm as you take time washing your hair and body.

Normally you wouldn’t take such a long time in the bath, but it was just so relaxing after the long day you’ve had, and you indulged in the comfort it offered you before you got out to dry off and slip on fresh clothes. 

You half expected for Felix to be in bed already, but when you step out you see that he was waiting up for you, sitting atop the blankets of your bed, back against the headboard. “Sorry I took so long, you didn’t have to wait for me,” you say as you step to your designated side of the bed, mirroring his position against the headboard.

“Well, I didn’t want to go straight to bed without having some down time with you,” he explains a bit timidly, and you smile, finding him endlessly sweet. 

The light in the room is low, the only candles lit now being the ones closest to your bed. He sits up straighter, turning to you with a nervous disposition, and you watch him curiously, wondering what’s on his mind to make him look at you in such a way. “Listen, before we go to bed, I, uh– I actually have something for you,” Felix says, meeting your gaze timidly. 

“Really? What is it?” you ask, having not expected to receive anything so suddenly. Well, sudden to you, but Felix had actually been planning this for quite some time. He steadies his nerves and turns to his nightstand, opening the drawer and digging through it until he finds what he needs– a book.

You recognize it instantly when it’s in front of you; it’s a new, almost pristine copy of the book you told him was your favorite, the one you insisted you didn’t need when you stopped to look at it the day you were out together. “When did you get this?” you ask in surprise, carefully taking it in your hands and ghosting your fingers over the cover.

“The same night you saw it, I asked a guard to discreetly purchase it for you,” he explains with a soft, sheepish smile, hoping you’re pleased. “There’s something else,” he says, and you glance up at him in even further surprise. Gently, he takes the book from your hands, opening it to a specific page. 

“I.. before giving it to you, I wanted to read it, understand for myself why it's your favorite. So.. I did, and there’s a part that really resonates with me, and.. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to read it to you,” he explains, and your heart stirs, thumping wildly in your chest.

How is he so considerate and perfect? You almost can’t believe it, and you don't even know how he found the time to read it without you knowing, but you can ask him about it later. For now, you're much more interested in the fact that he not only read your favorite novel, but wants to share a part he loved with you, a part that spoke to him, and wants you to listen to him read it in his beautiful, deep voice. 

He swallows, takes a breath, hands trembling a bit as he holds the book open and looks down at the page in front of him. You watch him with full attention, somehow feeling just as nervous; you don’t know what he intends to read, and as you yourself have read this story countless times, it’s hard to imagine which specific part he’d like the most– there were just so many possibilities and moments you loved to try and guess. But then he starts, and immediately, you feel your heart positively melt. 

"Taeryn stares at her, his fingertips ghosting her skin, his eyes transfixed in her stare, her gaze swallowing him whole. And he knows, as his fingers brush her hair softly out of her face, as her cheeks burn and breath hitches with his gentle touch, that he loves her. 

He loves her as naturally as he breathes air; to love her is effortless, as easy as it is to simply be. He loves her for as many reasons as there are stars in the sky– countless, never ending. She engulfs him, enraptures him, a moth unable to resist her bright, beckoning flame. 

And he knows, from the way every synapse in his brain fires when their lips meet, how his blood burns in his veins simply from her touch, that there is no greater feeling beyond this. To be lost in her is God's greatest gift, and he will thank Him for the rest of his days, because what else could compare to the pure bliss of loving with all that you are, and being loved in return?”

The words that you already found so beautiful sound even more so coming from him, and you can’t help but suck in a breath as you listen to him speak the words written on the page, as if he’s mirroring the character, feeling the very same emotion.

He closes the book slowly, and your heart races when his eyes meet yours again. What should you say? It was beautiful? Thank you? That doesn’t feel like nearly enough to describe how you feel or how much you appreciate this gesture. 

Felix carefully sets the book to the side, his palms beginning to clam up as he looks at you. He planned this for a specific reason, but now that he’s met with the most critical moment of all, his mouth feels dry, and his chest tightens as his heart accelerates.

He wants to tell you he loves you, and maybe he’s been reading the signs all wrong, but he thinks you love him too, he hopes you do. Maybe your affection for him doesn’t go past platonic, which he would learn to accept with time, but it would truly break his heart if you didn’t feel the same.

So he hopes, he prays, with all his heart, that when he tells you how he feels, you’ll reciprocate. You can tell what he wants to say, even with your lack of romantic experience, it’s obvious; no one commits to a gesture so thoughtful and romantic without the intent to become something greater. Given your time reading romance, that’s something you feel confident enough to say– Felix loves you. And you love him too. 

So you meet him halfway, inching ever so slightly closer to him, looking him in the eyes as you do. His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and then back again, his breath beginning to go uneven. Felix looks at you, eyes full of love, awe, and wonder, and not wasting another breath, he kisses you, his hands reaching to your face, holding it in his hands. It’s chaste and careful, your eyes remaining closed for several seconds after he’s pulled away, your body buzzing with elation. 

“I– I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you looked so beautiful today and I–” he swallows, nervous to continue, but pushing through it the best he could, “I wanted to tell you, wanted to kiss you, and I.. love you.” It feels as if a million butterflies are in your stomach, light and erratic in their movement, their excitement unable to be contained.

“I love you too,” you admit, breathy and soft, inching a bit closer, and he does the same, until your bodies are only centimeters apart. “Is it okay to– ..I want to kiss you again,” he asks, desperately awaiting your approval. You grant him it easily, and his lips are on you again within seconds. 

One of his hands remains on your face, cupping it gently, while the other moves to your waist, arm wrapping around carefully, keeping you close. The foreign feelings you’d never experienced that were in all the literature you read– you feel them now, intense and overwhelming, your senses knowing nothing other than Felix.

What is it that novels usually compare it to? Sparks flying? This was beyond simple sparks– it was like fireworks, bright, beautiful, bursting in your blood and filling you with warmth. 

The kisses you share are slow, measured and careful, and you never separate for long, your lips always finding each other again within seconds. Felix is breathless when he finally pulls away for longer than a few seconds, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes looking straight into yours, countless emotions swimming in them.

“I want.. can I be honest?” he asks and you swallow, whispering a soft ‘yes’ that you hope doesn't sound too nervous. “I.. want you, really, really badly but.. truth be told, I'm nervous,” he expresses sincerely, his cheeks growing a deep shade of pink, traveling all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Your face, already flushed from kissing, grows impossibly hotter from his admission. He wants you.. Like wants you, wants you? You want him too, having spent multiple sleepless nights wondering what it would be like to have each other, body and soul. 

“It's alright, I am too,” you tell him honestly. “Are you?” he can't help but ask; not because he doubts you, but rather wanting the affirmation that he isn't the only one with a heart racing out of control. You nod, seeking out his hand and intertwining your fingers. “I am. But I want you too.”

God, he almost feels light headed; he can't believe the moment he's secretly dreamed of countless times is actually happening. His face is hot, his blood burns, his heart thumps loudly in his chest, and you want him, you want him, you want him.

He takes a breath, does his best to steel his nerves before he speaks again, “We'll go slow, so please tell me if it becomes too much.” You nod, giving his hand a squeeze, meant to convey that you understand and will do as he requested if you begin to feel overwhelmed.

“I love you,” Felix whispers against your lips before he captures them in another kiss, needier this time, more urgent and impassioned. You can't help but let out a noise of surprise at first, but you easily melt into the kiss, eyes closing as you meet his passion with fervor of your own. 

His kisses are slow, just as before, but they feel more purposeful, sensual, and when you feel his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in, you easily oblige the request, opening your mouth for him and allowing his tongue to run across yours. Your stomach flips, the feeling of his tongue curiously exploring and rubbing around yours making you dizzy; you never knew kissing could feel this good.

It's so intimate to share your breath with someone, and you feel your body react in ways entirely new, but pleasant. You spend several minutes just like this; kissing over and over, letting his tongue draw circles around yours, only pulling away when one of you desperately needs a breath. 

“Can I touch you?” Felix asks once he's pulled away again, and the question, along with the deep, breathy baritone of his voice, makes a shiver run down your spine as butterflies once again flutter in your stomach. “Yes,” you breathe, perhaps sounding a bit more eager than you would've wished, but really, you shouldn't feel embarrassed when he wants you just as bad as you want him. 

Again, his lips are on you, but this time he allows his hands to carefully roam your body, gentle and slow in their exploration. Even though he's simply touching you over your clothes, you react to his touch as if bare, whimpering into his mouth when he palms your breasts with both hands and gently squeezes. 

It's easy for his thumbs to find your hardened nipples through the fabric of your nightgown, and again you let a soft sound of pleasure pass your lips. Felix pulls away to look at you, flushed, breathless, and so, so pretty; he's never felt more blessed in his entire life than he does right now.

He watches you bite your lip when his thumbs pass over your nipples again, doing your best to suppress what you perceive to be an embarrassing noise. “Is it alright if I take this off you?” he asks, stilling the movement of his hands as he waits for your answer.

“O-Only if you take your clothes off too,” you answer shyly, and he smiles timidly, finding your request more than fair. “Of course, my love. Whatever you want.” Felix stands from the bed, slowly pulling his sleep shirt up and over his head, likely feeling that you'll be more comfortable if he's the one who's exposed first.

And God, you can't believe the physique he'd been hiding underneath all this time; his lean body much more toned than you could've even imagined. He feels shy under your attentive gaze, but he continues nonetheless, taking the waistband of his pants into his fingers and pulling them down his legs.

His erection, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by you, and you can't help but stare at the obvious tent it creates in his underwear. You've never seen one before, and you're infinitely curious what his looks like, but there's no need to rush to find out; you have all night together. 

Swallowing down the shyness your stare makes him feel, he returns to the bed, sitting directly in front of you. You start to lift up your gown, but he stops you, replacing your hands with his own– after all, he asked if he could be the one to take it off you. You allow him to lift it up to your shoulders before you help him take it all the way off, paying no mind to where on the floor it lands once it has been tossed aside. 

The shy part of you makes you want to cover your breasts and avoid his gaze, but the other part can't help but indulge in the mesmerized twinkle held in Felix’s eyes. “So beautiful,” you hear him say under his breath, his hands now making contact with your skin without a barrier. You look down, taking in the sight of his hands holding and squeezing your breasts. 

Your body shudders when his thumbs once again rub over you nipples, and he loves watching the way your face changes, how your brows furrow and you bite your lip. He loves the way you gasp when he takes your nipples between his fingers, how your eyes close and head falls back when he carefully rubs and pinches them. 

He kisses you when you lift your head again, but he doesn't linger there for nearly as long as before; instead, he begins to trail kisses down your jaw, to your neck. The kisses make you shiver, and you tilt your head to the side, allowing him easier access to your heated skin. He carefully guides you back as he kisses all over your skin, so that you fall back against the bed, head not quite making it to the pillows, but you don’t particularly care.

He takes his time, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses over the expanse of your neck, his slow descent to your collarbone and the top of your chest nearly driving you crazy with want. Your breath hitches when he kisses one of your nipples before letting his tongue come out to lick it, lips closing gently around it.

He gives your other nipple equal attention once he's satisfied with his stimulation of the first one he devoted his attention to, and then slowly trails kisses down your body, below your ribs and over your stomach. You feel almost delirious with anticipation, and you half wonder if he's only going slow to drive you crazy (he isn't, of course, but you're becoming much too needy to recognize that.)

Felix caresses your legs, placing kisses over your thighs, as well as just over your panties. There's an obvious wet spot, which you can't help but feel embarrassed by once you've seen that he's noticed. You can't help it– this is easily the most aroused you've been in your entire life.

“Want me to take them off?” he asks, and you nod eagerly, covering your face in embarrassment when he chuckles at you. “You're so cute when you're shy,” he says, and you let out a whine; why does he have to say it with such a sinfully attractive voice?

Your reactions boost his confidence, helping to alleviate some of the nerves he'd felt when you first began. And you really are so, so cute right now; it simultaneously further endears him to you and makes his cock throb. 

“I'm going to take them off now,” he warns since you aren't looking at him, and he wants you to be completely aware of what actions he takes. You peek through your fingers, nervously anticipating what his reaction to your exposed sex will be. He slowly pulls your underwear down your legs, and you take a deep breath before you part your legs for him to see you fully. 

Fuck, you're perfect. There is nothing in the world that could've prepared him for the sight of your glistening heat. He swallows and licks his lips, looking back at you before taking any further action. “Do you need to stop?” he asks, not wanting to push you too far if you aren't ready for this. Truthfully, you are overwhelmed– but in the best way possible, and you definitely don't want to stop here. 

“No, want more,” you admit, trying your best not to stutter or mumble so he hears you clearly. “Tell me if you change your mind?” he says, more like a question than a statement, and you nod, assuring him you will if you feel the need to. He lowers himself so his head is between your legs, and the sight of him there alone is positively dizzying. 

You hear him comment under his breath about how wet you are as his fingers rub through your folds, which does no favors for your racing heart. He then carefully spreads you apart with two fingers, and again, you see him swallow and lick his lips. Fuck, he has to taste you, needs to find out if you're just as sweet as he imagines you to be. 

Everything is so new to both of you, and Felix doesn’t entirely know what he’s doing, but instinct drives him forward. You gasp and shudder when his tongue makes contact with your dripping heat, slowly but greedily licking up all you offer him. When his tongue finds your clit (a pleasant accident on Felix’s part given his unfamiliarity with the female body), the pleasured noise that involuntarily escapes you tells him he should focus his attention there. 

“Feels good?” he asks before he licks again; he’s sure he knows the answer, but he still wants to hear you say it anyways. You nod quickly, another embarrassingly loud moan leaving your lips when his tongue swirls around your most sensitive spot. You’ve pleasured yourself before, in private moments with your own fingers, but nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to how Felix’s tongue feels. 

His lips wrap around your clit, as if kissing it, his tongue alternating between long, flat licks, quick flicks, and swirling around it, and you’re positively seeing stars, eyes rolling back as your head falls back against the mattress. You cover your mouth with your hand, your other hand desperately clutching at the sheets beneath you, legs trembling and thighs unconsciously closing around Felix’s head. 

You feel it, the familiar heat pooling deep in your stomach, your muffled moans quickly turning to desperate whines and whimpers as he drives you closer and closer to sweet release. You can tell however, that your orgasm will be much more intense than any you had ever given yourself, and it scares and excites you in equal measure. But fuck, even muffled, your noises sound so unbelievably sweet in his hears, and he wants to hear them louder, clearer. 

“Take your hand away, my love, I want to hear you,” he separates from your heat long enough to tell you, and you whine, this time in embarrassment, as you lift your head up to look at him. A mistake, in hindsight– the sight you’re met with being more erotic than your heart can handle. His mouth and chin glisten with your arousal, the sweat lingering on his brow making his hair stick to his forehead in a way that makes your heart want to give out– he’s just so.. alluring.

“But the guards,” you try, and he shakes his head, not at all deterred by the fact that they stand outside your bedroom doors. “Don’t care,” he says simply, and you can tell he’s completely serious. There aren’t many things Felix is selfish about in his life, but this, you– he’ll be as selfish as he pleases. “They’re just for me, right? So I don’t care if they hear them, because you’re mine, and they know that too. So please, let me hear you.” 

Oh, wow. How can you deny him after hearing that? With a shy nod, you agree to not cover your mouth anymore, and he smiles, pleased with your response, and quickly gets back to work between your legs. It’s insane how quickly your release builds back up, as if there was never a pause to begin with, and a curse leaves you between your loud, whiny moans and whimpers.

Felix has never heard you curse before, but he has to admit he likes how it sounds coming from you, and knowing he has caused you to become debauched enough to do so without being conscious of it. Before you know it, you’re seeing white, releasing all over his face as your body jolts and trembles, back arching from the bed as he continues to stimulate you through it.

You eventually whine and push his head away from you, becoming overstimulated from all the attention his tongue continued to give you after your orgasm. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he moves up your body, connecting his lips with yours again, and the taste of yourself lingering on him and his tongue makes your head spin. 

Your hands reach for his underwear, trying to pull down the fabric and spring his cock free; it’s a much more forward and desperate act than you ever imagined yourself doing, but you’re so hungry for him that you can no longer think about being demure. You just want him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything in all your years on this earth. Felix takes the hint, not that it’s even subtle enough to be a ‘hint,’ and makes quick work of taking off his underwear. 

The sight of his cock leaves you speechless, breathless; do they all look so simultaneously hot and pretty, or is it just because it belongs to Felix? “Can I..?” you ask, not entirely sure what you’re asking to do– you just know you want to make him feel as good as he made you feel. God, yes, please, Felix thinks, but he just nods with a slightly shy smile, shifting his weight off you and laying on his side next to you. 

You lay on your side as well, pressing a kiss to his lips as your hand reaches for his cock, fingers curiously running along his length, feeling every vein and ridge. Felix releases a shuddery breath against your mouth, your fingers feeling so different from his own, small and soft, but so, so good. Your touch is intoxicating, and his body jolts when you rub your thumb over the tip, spreading his pre-cum all over it. 

A soft groan escapes him when you enclose your fingers around his length, fingers not quite able to wrap completely around and meet your thumb, but it’s more than enough to have Felix feeling good when you start slowly moving your fist up to the tip and then back down. Eventually, as your fingers spread more and more of his pre-cum, his length becomes slick, and it becomes easier for you to pick up your pace, swallowing all the low groans he emits with your mouth.

But you can’t help but think– it felt so good when Felix used his tongue on you, so wouldn’t the same be true for him? Isn’t it worth trying? He opens his eyes when you take your hand away, watching curiously and with bated breath as you gently push him back by the shoulder, having him lay flat on his back as you move to lie comfortably against his legs, his cock a mere inches away from your face. 

He lifts himself up to watch you, supporting his weight with his forearms, breath quickening as you take him in your hand again, sticking your tongue out to curiously lick the tip. The taste of his pre-cum is unlike anything you’ve ever had, and while you don’t think there is anything you could compare it to, it’s not unpleasant. You look up at Felix through your lashes, and God, the sight of you, so pretty and perfect, with his cock in your hand and tongue licking away at him, is enough to drive him crazy. 

Would he fit inside your mouth? How good would it make him feel? Driven by curiosity and desire, you open your mouth, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock as you start to sink your head down on him, and the shaky, breathy groan he lets out in response makes your heart skip a beat and core throb. You keep your eyes on him, watching as his head falls back, his adam’s apple bob up and down, the way his stomach contracts the more you pleasure him. 

The sounds that escape him encourage you to keep trying your best to take more of him in your mouth, retreating just a bit when you’ve taken enough of him to cause yourself to gag. Felix has to make a conscious effort to not buck his hips up and drive himself further down your throat, lest he hurt you or make you gag again, but fuck, it feels unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He knows for a fact he’s going to cum if he lets you keep going much longer, and so, with a shaky breath, he asks you to stop.

You pull off of him the moment he asks, looking at him curiously; you knew he was feeling good, so why did he want you to stop? He sits up completely, capturing your lips in a kiss lest you worry about how well you did for him; you were perfect, you’ll always be perfect, and even if he’s at times too shy to convey that with words, he’ll make sure you know with his actions.

“I want to be inside you,” he tells you, lips still close enough to yours to easily kiss you again, to feel your breath against your skin, “do you want that too? Do you want me?” 

God, yes, you want him so fucking bad. Are you nervous? Of course you are, you’ve never been so intimate with someone before, but there’s no one in this world you would rather give yourself to than Felix. You want to be connected to him, physically, mentally, in all ways conceivable. He’s the one for you, the love of your life, the most perfect man you’d ever known, so there’s not a single doubt in your mind, or your heart, that he’s the one you want to do this with, and that you want to do it now.

“Yes,” you kiss him, “I want you,” another kiss, “so bad,” and another. He’s elated to hear you say it, his relief and joy going beyond words. He would’ve waited for you, of course he would’ve, but he can’t deny how much he craves being inside you, making love to you, pouring all his love and affection into you.

He loves you so, so much, and it’s reflected even in his most carnal of desires. It’s more than sex, it’s more than simply wanting to feel good; to be with you intimately is the greatest display of love you could ever share.

He lies you down carefully, making sure your head actually makes it to the pillows this time, and he situates himself between your legs, hands rubbing over your hips and thighs as he leaves another lingering kiss to your reddened lips. His hand comes between your legs, and he finds your hole with his fingers, wanting to make sure he knew where to aim his cock. You’re still so wet and warm, and the fact that he’s this close to being inside you feels like a blissful dream. 

Taking his cock in his hand and lining it up, he looks at you, wanting to make sure one last time that you want him to keep going. “Are you ready?” he asks and you nod, completely, 100% positive you want him inside you.

“Yes, I'm ready, please put it in,” you practically beg, and that’s all Felix needs to hear to continue. He starts to push in slowly, watching your face carefully for any discomfort or pain, stopping when he hears you let out a small hiss. 

“Are you okay? Do you need to stop?” Felix asks, using all of his self control to make sure he takes good care of you, and makes your first times as comfortable as possible. “I-I’m okay, just keep going slow,” you tell him and he nods, seeking out one of your hands and intertwining your fingers.

“Squeeze if you need to, okay? I won’t do anything to hurt you, my love, tell me to stop and I will.” You smile, already knowing he’d do his utmost best to make you feel safe, loved, and comfortable. It stings a bit, but it doesn’t necessarily hurt– and Felix’s soothing words, touch, and kisses do wonders in lessening the discomfort you initially felt.

Felix clenches his teeth once he’s fully sheathed inside your heat, your warm, wet walls tightly enveloping him making him almost overwhelmed from how good it feels. He thought your mouth was amazing, but this– God, it’s better than anything he could’ve ever imagined. 

You can see how much effort he’s pouring into staying still until you're ready for him to move– clenched jaw, furrowed brows, sweat dripping from his brow from concentration. Contrary to what he expected, he’s the one squeezing your hand, trying desperately to ground himself and not lose control of his body, to succumb to his senses. He’s breathing heavily, forehead once again pressing against yours, but you don’t mind in the slightest. 

You love how close he is, how full of him you feel, how the sting and discomfort slowly dissolves away, leaving nothing but the desire to feel him move inside you. “You can move, I’m ready,” you whisper, and carefully, slowly, he pulls out to the tip before pressing back in one gentle, fluid motion.

“It’s okay? Doesn’t hurt?” he asks and you shake your head, timidly smiling at him. “Feels good, keep going,” you tell him, and he easily obliges, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the feeling of you.

He can’t help but groan, even with the slow pace he’s setting he just feels so good, and the way you look up at him doesn’t do him any favors. Your pretty eyes, your flushed face, the way your hair has messily fallen around you, the way you clench with every sound that tumbles from his lips, letting him know how much you like hearing him– everything, literally everything about you, about this moment, is a blessing to him. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, causing him to push in deeper, and his eyes roll back, head falling forward into your shoulder as another groan leaves him. He gradually starts to pick up his pace, always making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying it before he goes faster, experimenting with angles to find what feels best for you, because everything is already good for him. 

He knows he’s found the right angle when you let out a loud gasp, followed by a moan when he thrusts again, and again, your hand tightly squeezing his, though he knows it’s purely because of the pleasure, and not at all because he’s hurting you or you need him to stop. You curse under your breath again, your nails starting to dig into the flesh under his knuckles, your other hand clutching once again at the sheets beneath you. 

“Feels good? Tell me, tell me it feels good,” Felix practically begs in your ear, his deep voice growing higher in pitch as he drives himself closer to release, his groans turning into desperate sounding whines. “So good, fuck, love you so much, feels so good,” you babble, and Felix whines louder, hips stuttering as he continues fucking into you.

He intended for this moment to be sweet and sensual until the end, but he really didn’t anticipate how your walls around his cock would drain him of his composure. You don’t seem to mind in the slightest however– in fact, you seem to be enjoying the moment just as much as him, your legs starting to tremble as your second orgasm looms closer and your moans and whines grow in volume.

He crashes his lips into yours, your kisses turning much less romantic than before, having devolved into a messy, desperate display of tongue and teeth. It’s a different sort of display of passion, but it is passion all the same, and you couldn’t ask for anything better than this; Felix is perfect in everything he does, and this is no exception. 

You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, and you know he must be close; so you keep your legs tightly wrapped around him, making sure that when his cum shoots inside you, it’ll be as deep as it can get. Feeling close yourself, and wanting to cum with him, you bring your free hand to your clit, rubbing it in the quick circles you know feels best for you. Within seconds, you’re cumming around his cock, and the way you squeeze and clench around him is enough to send him straight into his, his cum shooting out in long spurts, filling you to the brim. 

You’re both breathless, hearts racing and bodies hot, and after collecting his breath, Felix kisses you again, not messy or desperate as just moment priors, but full of love, truly the happiest he has ever been. He doesn’t pull out of you until he feels himself start to soften, and he mutters for you to wait there for a moment and stay still as he rushes to the attached bathroom for a tissue to clean you up.

You wince a little, a bit tender and sensitive from all the attention you received, but Felix is gentle and careful, as he is with everything when it comes to you. When he’s done, you make your way under the blankets, shifting over to your side of the bed, waiting for him to blow out the candles and settle in next to you.

Should you both get dressed? Maybe, but neither of you particularly want to– there’s something special and intimate in staying just as you are now, bare in each other's arms. He holds you close, as he always does, kissing the top of your head, and smiling when you look up at him from where your head lies against his chest.

“I love you so much,” he tells you and you smile too, pecking him on the lips and hugging him tight. “I love you too,” you whisper as you close your eyes, exhaustion quickly settling over you. You never imagined how happy you would one day become the day you became Felix’s wife, and now you know that it was actually a blessing in disguise, something you didn’t know you needed. 

From the moment he first saw you, Felix knew you were the one, instantly enamored with you. He hoped with all his heart his marriage was one he could be happy in, that his wife would be someone he could truly love, and you answered his prayers from the very moment you entered his life. He doesn’t want to say it was love at first sight, but somehow, he just knew– you were perfect, the one he was destined to be with and love with all his heart, his soulmate. 

It sounds like a cliche he’d find in one of your romance novels, but it’s genuinely how he feels. No one in this world would ever compare to you, and he’d forever be grateful to his parents, your parents, and even God himself, for putting you on this earth at the same time as him, and allowing you to be his wife.

He wishes he had words stronger than “I love you,” or that he knew how to articulate himself in a way that would explain the depths of how he feels, but he supposes those simple words will have to do. He loves you, and there has never been anything he's been more certain of than that. 

[thewulf]

Until the Morning Light || Aragorn

Summary: Request - I wanted to see if I could request an Aragorn x reader. You don’t have to write anything! No pressure <3 It is a bit cheesy, so…Maybe something where they started having strong feelings for each other during their travels to destroy the ring and are so desperately longing after the other, just that they never confess and even the encouragement of the fellowship doesn’t help... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just adore this man! Thank you for the request always!!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, death, blood, crying, angst, Battle of Helm's Deep, lotr warnings

Born under the vast skies of Rohan you grew up amidst the rolling plains and the echoing calls of horses. From a young age you were not just a child of the land but its protector, honing your skills with a blade as well as you could listen to the whispers of the earth. Your heart was fiercely loyal and brave and tempered by the tender tales of your mother. She bestowed upon you a rare gift, a deep connection with nature that allowed you to sense and communicate with the world around you in ways few others could.

This unique ability was distinct from the innate affinity that elves hold with the forests and rivers. Unlike the elves whose communion often involves a harmonious coexistence and a capability to influence nature’s growth and health your gift did not extend to bending the will of the woods or the waters. Instead, it manifested as an intimate understanding. An almost magical perception that let you hear the secrets of leaves rustling in the wind and feel the subtle shifts of the earth beneath your feet. It was a communion, but of a different kind. A silent dialogue that did not seek to alter but to understand and empathize, providing guidance and comfort where it was most needed.

Such a profound connection to nature brought with it a heightened awareness of the creeping darkness that threatened to engulf Middle earth. The very land you communicated with now echoed with the distress of encroaching evil. A warning you felt deep in your bones. It was during this time of growing shadows that tragedy struck your life profoundly. You lost a beloved family member to the dark forces spreading across the land. An event that shattered the peace of your world but also forged a new resolve within you. Carrying the weight of this loss, you vowed with a heart heavy yet unyielding to protect your homeland and its people. This vow was sacred and resolute. It sharpened your resolve as much as your blade and became the echo of your every step on the path of the Fellowship.

It was during these turbulent times that Gandalf the Grey came to your village. The wise wizard saw in you not just a skilled warrior but a unique spirit whose abilities were as rare as they were needed. With words as compelling as the winds of your homeland he requested your presence in the Fellowship. "Middle-earth needs hearts like yours," he said. His eyes twinkling with a mixture of seriousness and kindness.

Thus, with a heart full of resolve and a spirit called to a greater cause, you joined the Fellowship. Not just to honor your vow but to fulfill a destiny that seemed written in the very leaves of the trees you so loved. As you set out from Rohan the wind seemed to carry whispers of encouragement and the land itself seemed to nod in approval. Its daughter now a guardian in its most desperate hour.

Upon your arrival at the rendezvous point where the Fellowship was gathering you were immediately aware of the intense gazes of many. Their eyes scrutinizing every new face—evaluating, assessing. Yet, when you first met Aragorn his gaze was different. It was calm, welcoming, devoid of any judgment that demanded you prove your worth. He seemed to see right through the facade that others often expected you to wear. The mask of a warrior constantly proving herself. Instead, Aragorn acknowledged your capabilities as if they were as clear to him as the daylight.

As you both shared the duties of setting up camp that first evening Aragorn asked you about your journey from Rohan. His genuine interest was refreshing, and soon you found yourself teaching him about the unique properties of the athelas plant found in your homeland. Its healing powers far greater when used with the right incantations. A secret you had kept closely guarded. To your surprise he not only listened intently but also shared his own knowledge creating a beautiful exchange of wisdom.

As the journey progressed Aragorn often sought your company for the watch shifts. During these quiet hours under the vast, starlit sky, you both would sit by the fire. The crackling flames casting flickering shadows on your faces. It was here in the solitude of the night that you shared stories of your pasts. You spoke of your family in Rohan. Of the laughter and tears of your childhood and the deep connection you felt with the land.

Aragorn, in turn, shared tales of his travels. The burdens he carried and the hopes he harbored for peace in middle earth. These exchanges that were filled with laughter and sometimes a comfortable silence laid a strong foundation for your growing affection. There was an ease between you. A mutual respect that flourished without the need for words making each shared moment a treasure.

One evening deep into the journey after a particularly taxing day when tensions within the Fellowship seemed to strain the very air around you Aragorn noticed your weariness. Without a word he took up your watch insisting you rest. "We all have our strengths," he said softly with a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Tonight, let me watch over you." It was a simple act. But in that moment his kindness felt soothing to your soul. It solidified a bond that was quickly becoming as vital as the quest itself.

These moments under the stars with Aragorn where you didn't have to prove yourself but were simply accepted were what you cherished most. They were reminders that in the looming shadow of war there existed moments of peace and deep, unspoken understanding.

Aragorn's presence became a constant in your days and you found yourself increasingly seeking his company. Whether strategizing for the next leg of the journey or sharing a quiet moment away from the rest of the group his steady demeanor brought a comforting consistency to the unpredictable days. After a particularly fierce skirmish against a roving band of orcs you sustained a slight wound. Aragorn was quick to your side. His fingers skilled and gentle as he tended to the injury. His touch was always gentle and careful. It sparked an unfamiliar warmth in your chest. His concerned eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

As Aragorn wrapped your wound Legolas strolled over with an amused twinkle in his eye. "I see our esteemed leader has found yet another calling… nursing the wounded with such tender care," he commented lightly. His gaze flickering between you and Aragorn with a knowing smile. Aragorn responded with a dismissive grunt. His cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his eyes remained warm and soft as they met yours again.

Gimli has overheard the exchange and joined in with a hearty laugh. "Ah, but it's a good thing we have Aragorn for both fighting and mending. Saves us calling for Elrond every time someone gets a scratch!" he boomed before clapping Aragorn on the back with such force that it drew a surprised smile from the usually reserved ranger.

This playful banter brought a light-hearted moment to the group easing the tension of the long journey. Later that evening as you sat by the campfire the teasing continued. Gimli’s loud snoring eventually became the subject of jest, and you all shared a hearty laugh. Emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere you nearly confessed your growing feelings to Aragorn. But just as you gathered your courage he turned contemplative, his gaze lost to the horizon.

"I sometimes wonder what lies ahead for all of us," he said softly. A distant look in his eyes. "The weight of this quest, it's much to bear—for all of us." His words were heavy with the burden of leadership and the uncertainty of the future, and they momentarily stalled your confession.

Despite this the bond between you only deepened, strengthened by each shared challenge and quiet moment of understanding. Legolas and Gimli’s lighthearted teasing served as a gentle reminder of the friendship and affection that blossomed even in the darkest of times, adding a touch of warmth to the journey's cold nights.

As you and the Fellowship arrive at Helm's Deep the air is thick with the weight of impending conflict. The massive stone walls of the fortress loom over you, their stark, gray surfaces a harsh reminder of the battle that awaits. Shadows stretch long across the ground as the sun dips below the horizon casting an ominous glow that barely penetrates the gathering dusk.

Around you, soldiers move with a sense of urgency. Their faces set in grim determination. The clanging of armor and the sharp ring of sword against stone fill your ears. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Despite the hustle and bustle a heavy silence hangs over the assembled troops, each person lost in their own thoughts of the coming night. The air is cool and carries a hint of moisture. The breeze whispering through the battlements as if in mourning for lives yet to be lost.

In all of this your gaze finds Aragorn. His expression is one of resolve marked by the burdens of leadership and the knowledge of what everyone is fighting for. His presence is a steady force amid the chaos, and you feel a strange mixture of comfort and unease as you stand beside him knowing the challenge that lies ahead.

In the midst of this anxious bustle your childhood friend, a charismatic warrior named Ealdred from your village, unexpectedly arrives to aid in the battle. His arrival brings a sudden surge of warmth to the cold stone surroundings of Helm's Deep. As soon as Ealdred sees you his face lights up with a wide, infectious smile and he strides over with open arms.

His greeting is loud and joyous in the subdued murmurs of the assembling warriors. "Ah, if it isn’t the bravest shield-maiden of Rohan!" he exclaims while enveloping you in a hearty hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. The familiarity and comfort of his embrace, reminiscent of your shared past filled with training and childhood adventures, momentarily lift your spirits.

Laughter rolls easily from Ealdred as he sets you down. His presence a stark contrast to the tense air around. "I told myself I wouldn't miss a chance to fight alongside you again," he chuckles before clapping you on the shoulder with a warrior's camaraderie. The sincerity in his voice and the joy in his eyes are a balm to the unease that has been gnawing at you since your arrival at the fortress.

From a short distance away, Aragorn watches this reunion unfold with a complex whirl of emotions. He notices the brightness in your smile. A glow he has seldom seen during the long and perilous journey. Your eyes sparkle with laughter, reflecting a happiness that stirs a pang in his heart. The ease of your interaction with Ealdred, the way your body leans slightly towards him in familiarity and comfort, does not escape Aragorn’s keen observation.

Each laugh shared between you and Ealdred, each nostalgic look exchanged, seems to draw a line of subtle tension through Aragorn. He tries to focus on the preparations at hand, but his gaze involuntarily drifts back to you. The way Ealdred's hand lingers on your back, the warm, open smiles, the apparent joy of your reunion… it all fans a flame of jealousy that Aragorn struggles to suppress.

Though he attempts to dismiss these feelings as trivial they gnaw at him with an intensity that surprises him. The sight of your unabashed happiness with someone else plants seeds of doubt and worry that even the din of the oncoming storm cannot drown. The moment crystallizes something crucial within him. The realization of how deep his feelings for you have grown and how much he fears the possibility of not being the one who brings such joy to your eyes.

As you and Ealdred laugh over shared memories such as recalling the escapades of your youth in Rohan, his arm casually drapes around your shoulders in a brotherly gesture. The familiarity and ease between you two are evident. But to an observer like Aragorn each laugh, and touch seem to whisper of something more.

From his vantage point Aragorn watches the interaction his chest tightening inexplicably with each passing moment. The way Ealdred looks at you with such open admiration and joy, ignites a flame of jealousy in Aragorn’s heart that he can neither quench nor fully understand. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. A subconscious echo of the turmoil brewing within him.

Ealdred, ever observant, catches the intensity of Aragorn's gaze from across the way. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "I believe the great ranger isn't just watching out for danger, you know," he teases nodding subtly towards Aragorn. "The way he looks at you... it’s as if he’s trying to will you to notice him. Quite the admirer, our King-to-be, wouldn’t you say?"

Your eyes widen slightly. The comment catching you off-guard. For a moment you're lost in thought considering Ealdred's words. You glance over at Aragorn observing his now averted gaze, the stoic mask momentarily fallen, revealing a hint of vulnerability. The idea of Aragorn, a king, having such feelings for you seems almost unfathomable. Yet the possibility stirs a flutter of excitement deep within.

Laughing softly, you shake your head trying to mask your sudden nervousness with humor. "Oh, Ealdred, don't be silly. Aragorn and I—we're just friends," you reply though your voice lacks conviction. "Besides, how could a king ever see anything in someone like me? I’m just a warrior from Rohan. Certainly not a lady of court."

Ealdred gives you a knowing look, his smile suggesting he sees right through your casual dismissal. "Well, even the mightiest kings need true friends and perhaps something more," he murmurs while giving you a playful wink before turning his attention back to the bustling activity around Helm's Deep. “Go to him, I will see you around.” He gives you a push.

As Ealdred walks away you're left with a curious mix of doubt and wonder, pondering his words. The thought lingers in your mind mingling with the echoes of what might be unspoken truths between you and Aragorn. The idea feels both impossible and thrilling, setting your heart racing as you watch Aragorn commanding his men with natural authority. Could there really be more to your friendship? The question hangs in the air, unanswered but increasingly impossible to ignore. Of course, you wanted more but when you learned of his destiny not so long ago you let those thoughts fall away.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Gimli, having observed Aragorn’s unusual demeanor, seize the opportunity for a bit of light-hearted ribbing. "Come now, Aragorn," Legolas chides with a graceful arch of his eyebrow, "your warrior's stare is more intense than any orc's glare we've encountered. And far more directed at our friend than any foe."

Gimli chortles, adding his own gruff commentary. "Lad, you're as subtle as a dwarf in an elf’s dance," he laughs before slapping Aragorn on the back. "Even the blind could see the way you look at her!"

Aragorn was caught between his role as a leader and his personal turmoil and offers only a rare, tight-lipped scowl in response. Though the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying a reluctant amusement at his friends' observations.

Once the teasing subsides Aragorn's gaze drifts back to you, now mingling with a quiet reflection. The light-hearted jests of his companions echo in his mind, stirring a resolve. Perhaps it was time to confront these feelings. To explore the truth behind the glances, the smiles, and the unspoken yearning that had begun to shape his heart. As night falls over Helm's Deep, the looming battle stirs a newfound courage within him. A courage not just to fight enemies, but perhaps to also voice the truth of his heart.

As the day before the battle approaches the air at Helm's Deep grows tense, filled with the weight of impending conflict. Soldiers go about their final preparations. Their movements sharp and focused, while commanders issue last-minute orders with stern expressions. In this bustle, Aragorn finds himself repeatedly glancing your way. His usual calm demeanor overshadowed by a restless concern that has little to do with the battle strategies at hand.

Finally, unable to contain the turmoil stirring within him, Aragorn approaches you. His stride is purposeful yet there's a hesitation in his eyes that you've seldom seen. "I need to speak with you," he says, his voice low, drawing you away from the others under the pretext of discussing the morrow's tactics.

You follow him to a quieter part of the fortress where the sounds of preparation are but distant echoes. As you stand there facing him in the dim light of the torches, Aragorn seems to struggle with his words. His gaze intense and searching.

"A moment ago, I was thinking about our positions for the battle," Aragorn begins, his tone tentative. "But truthfully, that's not why I asked you here." He takes a deep breath. His hands clenching and then relaxing at his sides. "I... I've noticed a distance growing between us while we’ve been here, one that wasn't there before. And I fear," he pauses, his voice tightening, "I fear it might be due to misunderstandings... emotions left unspoken." His admission hangs between you, stark and revealing. The air feels heavier as if charged with the gravity of his words. His eyes never leave yours, seeking, perhaps, a sign of your feelings.

You feel a knot form in your throat. Your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and revelation. The thought that Aragorn might share even a fraction of the feelings you've struggled to hide sends a shiver through you. But there's also fear—fear of what such an admission means in the face of the darkness that might claim tomorrow.

"Aragorn," you start, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I've also felt something change. But I believed you saw me only as a… friend in battle, nothing more. With the shadow of war over us I thought it best to keep my feelings to myself." Your confession feels like shedding armor you didn't realize you were wearing, leaving you exposed but strangely free.

Aragorn steps closer. His presence enveloping you in a sense of warmth and safety that contradicts the coldness of Helm's Deep. "I have long admired you, more than as a friend," he confesses, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "But I too feared to speak, to disrupt the bond we have with uncertainties of heart. Yet on the eve of such uncertainty… I find that silence is a greater burden than the risk of sorrow."

The distance between you diminishes with his words bridging gaps formed by unspoken doubts. As you look up into Aragorn's eyes, reflecting both the torchlight and his earnestness, you realize that regardless of what the morrow holds, this moment—honest and raw—has changed something fundamental between you. No longer just allies but something deeper. A connection forged not just in the heat of battle but in the vulnerability of shared hearts.

The emotional confrontation beneath the shadowed walls of Helm’s Deep leaves the air between you and Aragorn charged with newfound understanding and fragile hope. As the initial shock of your mutual confessions fades, the reality of the coming dawn—laden with the uncertainty of battle—sets in, lending a poignant urgency to your words and thoughts.

Aragorn’s eyes that reflected a mix of resolve and tenderness, lock with yours. “We stand on the brink of war, a war that may consume us all,” he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil you know roils beneath. “But this moment… this truth between us, cannot be overshadowed by what tonight may bring.”

You nod feeling the weight of every word. His hand was still holding yours. He squeezes gently trying to ground you. “I have carried this in my heart, thinking it unwise to speak, fearing the complications it might bring,” you admit. Your own voice stronger than you feel. “But now, facing the unknown, I see only the folly in silence. My heart, just like yours, cannot bear the burden of what-ifs.”

Aragorn’s face softens. The warrior’s mask yielding to the man beneath. “Then let us make a promise,” he proposes. His gaze searching yours for hesitation. Finding none, he continues, “If we survive this war, if fate grants us passage through this darkness, I promise to explore this path with you. To see where our hearts might lead us, unburdened by duty.”

Moved by his words you feel a resolve awaken within you. “I promise, too,” you respond, the night air around you bearing witness. “To find you again. In a world at peace and discover the depth of what we might become together.”

The pact, sealed with the sincerity of shared heartbeats, seems to carve out a small sanctuary against the chaos of the impending battle. As you both stand together the day turns to night and the distant sounds of the encroaching army grow louder, yet, in this secluded moment, there’s a sense of peace. An oasis of calm before the storm.

Aragorn gently lifts your hand to his lips. His kiss a feather-light promise against your skin. “No matter what comes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your fingers, “know that tonight has changed everything.”

As you part ways to prepare for the night ahead, each step back to your respective duties is reluctant but necessary. The promise of a future, however uncertain, fuels a quiet courage in your heart. A courage not just to fight, but to survive, to return, to begin anew.

The stars overhead that were witnesses to your solemn exchange, twinkle with a hopeful light. They cast a soft glow over Helm’s Deep. In the quiet before the battle, you hold onto the memory of Aragorn’s words, the warmth of his touch, and the promise of tomorrow. A tomorrow where you might explore the uncharted paths of both peace and passion.

And in the quiet before the storm with the world held at bay, it is enough.

As night envelops Helm's Deep, the distant roar of the approaching enemy fills the air. A grim reminder of the battle that lies ahead. The walls were thick with the tension of awaiting warriors and bristle with weapons as the moonlight casts long shadows across the battlements. You take your place among the defenders. The weight of your armor familiar and reassuring against the chill of the morning.

Across the way, Aragorn readies himself for combat. His eyes briefly meeting yours across the crowded space. In that fleeting glance you find a silent exchange of resolve and reassurance. A mutual understanding that whatever the day brings, you are not alone.

The battle erupts with the thunderous sound of orc drums and the clamor of arms. Waves of enemies crash against the fortress's defenses. Each assault more ferocious than the last. Amidst the chaos you find yourself fighting back-to-back with Aragorn. Each move synchronized with an instinctual precision that speaks of your deep connection. His presence by your side is both a comfort and a spur pushing you to fight with a fierceness you hadn't known you possessed.

As you parry and thrust Aragorn covers your flank. His swordplay a seamless dance of deadly grace. Every time an orc breaks through the line threatening to overwhelm you, Aragorn is there, his blade swift and sure. In return you guard his back with equal vigilance, your own combat skills honed by years of training now coupled with a personal drive to protect him at all costs.

From the corner of your eye, you catch brief glimpses of Legolas and Gimli, their unique partnership effective and deadly against the enemy. Despite the severity of the battle, you see Legolas shoot a quick, satisfied glance towards you and Aragorn, a small smirk playing on his lips as he loses another arrow into the horde. Gimli, engaged in a competition of his own with the elf, nonetheless nods approvingly in your direction after cleaving another orc with his axe.

The battle rages on. Each moment a blur of sound, motion, and adrenaline. But within this turmoil your bond with Aragorn becomes your strength. When fatigue begins to claw at your limbs it is his steadfast presence that reignites your resolve. When despair whispers in the shadows of your mind it is the promise of a future together that keeps the darkness at bay.

As the tide of the battle shifts with every orc felled and every moment you and Aragorn continue to stand, the hope for victory grows. It was fueled not just by the strength of arms but by the power of the unity you have forged in the heart of conflict. The knowledge that someone fights beside you not just for the fate of middle earth but for the promise of a shared tomorrow is more potent than any weapon forged by dwarves or elves. Together, you fight not only to protect Helm's Deep but to preserve the future that you vowed to explore. In the heat of battle that promise binds you ever closer. A promise that against all odds you will survive to see what lies beyond the war.

As the echoes of battle fade and the sun begins to rise over the now-quiet walls of Helm’s Deep, the air is filled with the heavy scent of rain and renewal. The fortress, though scarred by the night’s ferocity, stands resilient. A showing of the courage of those who defended it. Among the weary soldiers there’s a palpable sense of relief mixed with sorrow for those lost. A bittersweet victory.

In the aftermath as others tend to the wounded and recount the close calls you find yourself seeking out Aragorn. You find him standing alone looking out over the battlements at the dawning day. His profile etched against the lightening sky. His stance is one of a man who has carried too much, seen too much, yet stands ready to face whatever comes next.

Approaching quietly, you stop beside him, sharing the view in silence. After a moment he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting the myriad emotions of the night. Without a word he takes your hand. His grip firm and warm, anchoring you both in the now.

“Aragorn,” you begin but he shakes his head slightly, asking you to stop.

“Let me speak before the world rushes back in,” he says softly. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering. “Last night in the middle of this mess I realized something beyond the fear of losing what is precious. I realized what it means to truly love.”

He pauses, searching your face for understanding. “I have loved before,” he continues, “but never like this. Never with such clarity and raw hope. Last night I fought not just for middle earth but for the chance to see what lies ahead with you.”

Tears gather in your eyes as his words wash over you. Each one landing with the weight and warmth of a cherished caress. He continues as he uses his thumbs to wipe away your shed and unshed tears. “You have given me a reason to fight. A reason to return no matter the odds. And if this battle has taught me anything it is that I want to face whatever comes next. Not as a king. Not as a ranger. But as a man hopelessly in love with you.”

Aragorn's confession was simple yet profound. It stirred something deep within you. A surge of love and commitment that mirrors his own. You step closer diminishing the space between you and rest your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “And I, too, want nothing more than to face the world with you, Aragorn. To build a life where love is our strength.”

Aragorn begins to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion, confessing his love and the revelation that had come to him amidst the chaos of battle. But as he speaks, something within you stirs. A fierce, overwhelming rush of feeling, amplified by the adrenaline that still courses through your veins.

Before he can finish you close the distance between you were driven by a surge of emotions too powerful to contain. Your hands find his face pulling him down towards you, and your lips meet his in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It's a kiss full of life, of survival, of shared battles and shared dreams. Your bodies press together, each curve and angle molding into the other, as if you could somehow merge into one being united against whatever may come.

Aragorn responds with equal fervor his arms wrapping around you to lift you slightly off the ground deepening the kiss with a passion that mirrors your own. His touch is both a claim and a surrender. A recognition of the bond that has been forged in the heat of battle and sealed in the quiet of dawn.

As you finally part, breathless and hearts pounding, you rest your forehead against his, eyes still closed as you savor the closeness. "I love you," you whisper. The words barely audible but heavy with meaning. "I fought for this, for us."

"And I," Aragorn replies. His breath warm against your lips, "will continue to fight for every day we have together. For a chance to love you as you deserve, fiercely and freely, without the shadow of war."

The promise hangs between you profound and sacred. As you step back still encircled by his arms the world around you seems to awaken. The sounds of the fortress stirring to life, the calls of soldiers and the distant cries of those mourning their fallen. It all fades into the background as you look up at him, seeing not just the warrior or the king but the man who holds your heart.

The sun was now fully above the horizon. It bathes you both in golden light, its rays like a benediction over your newfound commitment. You prepare to face the new day with him. Not just as survivors but as partners bound by love. Each beat of your hearts proof to the battles you’ve endured and the future you will fight for together.

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[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE GRIEF HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot (pt.2)

main masterlist | read part 1 | read on ao3 pairing: javier peña x f!reader (same couple as "when the moon howls"). can be read as a oneshot. summary: javi and you go back to yours after your idyllic pumpkin patch date and he stays over. you comfort him when his demons catch up with him. a/n: hiya! i OBVIOUSLY do not know what "oneshot" means??? bahhaha. this is another entry for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge because i'm just so inspired by it all and javi has me on a chokehold. i promise this is my last entry. also thanks to sweet jo because she kinda sowed the seed and here we are! any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated are most welcomed c: take care lovelies <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). very mild/veiled allusions to intimacy. post season 3 of narcos, canon-deviating as javi is not hailed a hero upon his return to laredo, but quite the opposite. fluff - they are madly in love y'all. domestic bliss. angst. a smidgen of hurt, loads of comfort. description of a panic attack and vivid nightmares. mentions of ptsd and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. nightmare before christmas is mentioned because duh. both javi's and reader's povs (that's more like it). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 4.7k divider by @saradika-graphics

Sunday, 1st November 1998.

2:53 AM.

The bodies just kept piling up in front of his eyes.

Every person whose death he had witnessed.

Every body who had been hung off bridges.

Every person who had died because of a decision he had made.

Every soul he himself had extinguished.

The innocent bystanders, other governmental agents, politicians who had tried to fight the drug lords.

The 1989 Avianca flight that was brought down by a bomb planted by the Medellín cartel. Flight 203 had reaped the lives of one hundred and seven blameless lives ―one hundred and ten, he corrected himself― just because Escobar had wanted to eliminate his political opponent, César Gaviria Trujillo, who, by a fateful twist of the universe, never ended up boarding the flight.

The pictures of such tragedy still stuck with him, burnt into his retinas like a photo negative ― every time he blinked, the colours would pour into the frame, the vision grotesque and gut-turning.

Every single one of them was a failure Javier could not elude, could no longer bury in the most godforsaken drawer of his brain. A failure that would haunt him, would become corporeal in his vivid nightmares.

With the eyes of his dreaming imagination, he could see every one of them souls in front of him ― judging him, blaming him, eyes full of hatred. Accusatory fingers pointing at him, as if it was his Day of Reckoning.

All this piteous death, all this mindless suffering ― for naught.

He had made no true, tangible difference. He had fallen short.

And he was failing all over again in his lucid dream. Unable to stop them from dying, he saw each one of them perish in front of him until a heap of foul death surrounded him.

Javier finally felt it, even welcomed it ― the Grim Reaper’s noose loosely wrapping around his neck. Then taut and firm, a tight caress ghosting his skin. There was no going back, but there was no more guilt either. A bittersweet yet soothing balance, one that could only be served by the Ghoul’s scythe.

And then Death lifted him up, the hanging rope coiling on the tree branch ― suffocating him as his averted eyes watched the scene unfurl underneath him. A snarled mess of bodies, some hands reaching up to him. He would ―should― join them, after all.

A purposeful man would have struck back ― kick his feet, unfettered from his restrain.

But he didn’t fight back. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He got exactly what he deserved.

Javier startled awake, panting and sweating from such terrible nightmare. His heart was pounding against his ribs, his breathing accelerated causing him a painful stitch. He felt his chest caving in with all the panic that had slowly but steadily built up inside him.

His reaction was so severe, he had sprung up and sat up on the mattress. All he could hear was his blood heavily flowing through his eardrums; all he could see was darkness; all he could smell was the lingering stench of death; all he could taste was his remorse; all he could touch were dead, cold bodies.

Javier bent his knees, soles against the bedsheets, and leaned forward with his head buried between his knees. Eyes closed, he had to concentrate on his breathing and slowing down his racing heart. Otherwise, the panic would only grow and grow and grow until madness took over him.

Then a soothing, grounding hand slithered under the back of his tee shirt, a warm touch against his cold, damp skin. Only at that point did he remembered he wasn’t at his dad’s place, wasn’t alone either. His strained muscles visibly relaxed without him even trying.

“Javi,” your sleepy voice prevailed over his drowning anxiety. “It’s alright, I’m here.”

He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, to have you by his side, strong and unyielding ― ready to fight his demons for him if necessary. You loved so fiercely, so deeply, at first he tried to fight it. To spare you.

But how could he? You were the moon that imposed the perfect cadence on his tide, calling him home at night. The moment he had landed his eyes on you and your orbits had crashed, he was a lost man ― lost to you, to your smile, to your unquivering positivity, your calmness, your ease to listen, to give advice, to help without asking for anything in return.

But how could you? Even when his grief was howling loud and clear, you loved him. Despite all his flaws and faults, his obvious defects, you saw past it all ― even past the rumours that flew around in Laredo about him. He knew you had heard all the gossip, how people talked about his fictional shenanigans with the drug lords, a willing participant in their endeavours. How he did drugs on the job and sold some of it back to the narcos. Javier had been deaf to all of it ― he didn’t care for what people were saying. Didn’t even bother to put a stop to it, because he had enough open fronts to fight as it was.

Even his childhood friends had turned their backs on him. But not you. Never you. Not even when he had shared his darkest secrets with you over a pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake. Instead of withdrawing from him, you held his hand as he had talked with a heavy heart and short of breath. The flashes coming back to him, you soothed by the mere caress of your fingertips.

You had touched his core ―just as you were touching him now―, kneaded it until it softened like clay on the hands of an expert ceramist. Javier didn’t think himself worthy of love, not after everything he had done and seen. Colombia had shattered him ― Javier had lost all hope in humanity.

The life he had sustained in Colombia had finally caught up with him, destroyed the person he had been prior to all of it. Once a womanizer, he had no longer found respite in laying with his informers. Had even quit smoking, only to go back to it a few weeks later ― the crushing anxiety pushing him back to the stale taste of tobacco. He had cut down on the black coffee too.

In spite of that, he was far from being a reformed man. He even doubted he could ever be a normal civilian. The trauma that haunted him had a tight grip on him, hefty shackles wrapping around his wrists. And his heavy breathing and sweating were a testament to his struggles.

“Javi?” You called again, your tone delicate and heartening.

Slowly Javier came out of his sluggish haze ― your palm rubbing his spine, beckoning him to come back to reality.

Lifting his head up, elbows on knees, he looked at you over his left shoulder.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, pequeña (little one).” His hoarse voice felt unlike him, so he cleared his throat.

You sat back up on the bed, your hand wrapping around his waist until the palm flushed against his tummy under his tee. You kissed his shoulder and then his lips.

“You should have woken me up earlier, Javi. I want to be by your side when your nightmares startle you. I wanna help you, I wanna be there for you. Always.” Your words tugged at his heart, knowing full well you truly meant them.

A weak, crooked smile took over the muscles of his mouth. How easy you uprooted a grin from him ― you were so effortless to love, to care for, it felt as natural as breathing.

“Old habits die hard.” Javi muttered, bowing forward a bit seeking your warm, welcoming lips.

He had bottled all his suffering up for months now, years. It was hard to let go ― one of the main reasons he had signed up for therapy.

You smiled into the kiss, your fingertips lightly stroking the sensitive skin around his belly button.

“Baby steps.” You pressed a few consecutive pecks on his lips.

Javier sighed, visibly relaxing now as his body released the tension under your attention. He then laid flat on his back again, dragging you with him until your cheek was pressed against the centre of his chest. After, you buried your face in the crook of his neck while your left hand wiped the pearly drops of sweat off his forehead before raking his untamed hair back. That same hand quickly burrowed under his tee shirt, rubbing his clammy skin ― you didn’t seem bothered by his perspiration.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, your lips brushing his jawline.

“It’s just the same nightmare I always have. I was being hung off a tree, dead bodies piling up beneath me.” He struggled to say out loud, unconsciously reaching for his neck where the imaginary noose had tightened.

Your fingers forced his to move to one side so you could kiss his Adam’s apple ― the feeling of the rope around his neck replaced by the calming flick of your mouth.

Javier closed his eyes, his bad dream gradually fading away.

“Did you fight back?” He had told you that was what the therapist had recommended he tried if the nightmare was vivid enough ― that he attempted to regain control.

“No, I couldn’t. Not yet.” He murmured; a tad ashamed of himself.

“That’s okay, Javi.” You reassured him, feeling his vulnerability, as your hand caressed his tummy. “Baby steps”, you repeated.

Javier nodded, turning his face to you so he could press a kiss to your forehead. You snuggled a bit more into his side.

“Go back to sleep, pequeña.”

“Only if you do.” You challenged him with a smile.

Javi let go of a snort, unsurprised by your stubbornness.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep then, both of us.”

6:14 AM.

The thumping rhythm under your fingertips alerted you to Javi’s awakening. Or perhaps he had been subtle enough this time not to wake you up. His heart pumped so hard, you could count his every heartbeat. With your hand still under his tee shirt, lazily resting on the middle of his chest, your thumb traced his sternum a few times.

“I thought you said both of us?” You muttered light-heartedly, your lips brushing his earlobe.

Javi inhaled and then steadily exhaled, his pulse slowing down.

“I just woke up a couple of minutes ago.”

You didn’t know if he was lying or not, but you believed him. Every word he said, you knew to trust. The last few weeks you had unearthed the real Javi, had dusted off so many secrets and emotions, you just knew he had no need to lie to you. There was really no point.

It was weird to think that yesterday you believed this impossible. Your friendship with Javi had developed so fast, you didn’t even have a chance at confessing your true feelings for him. You thought you concealed them well, afraid of losing him ― because you rather had him as a close friend, than not having him at all. A coward maybe, but a coward with him by your side.

You had not planned to fall in love again, not after your last breakup. However, Javier was so different, so down to earth and as broken as you were, you had fallen for him before you even gave yourself a chance at love again. Perhaps you had been putting his pieces back together and thrown yours in the puzzle too ― to the point that your stitches ended where his began.

Unbeknownst to you, Javi had been harbouring feelings for you too. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have thought he would be the one to take the risk. You had melted at the first touch of his lips, as if that was exactly where you belonged. As if all experiences up to that point had led you to his arms. You were meant to be ― two broken soul pieces that fit together perfectly.

Last night had been the best one of your life, no doubt in your mind. Hidden under the linen, you had silently played a new version of “trick or treat” together ― where there were no tricks, but many treats. With the language of your hands, you had read the braille on every groove of his skin. He had mapped you out in return too ― hungry, needy hands making you shiver.

You could still feel the warmth, the love, his scarce yet reassuring words.

‘There are no better toasts than those made by your eyelashes’, he had told you in whispered bliss.

You smiled at the memory ― a heavy, comforting sensation wrapping around your heart, blanketing your whole being.

“What’s on your mind, cariño (honey)?”

You didn’t want to press him, just wanted him to open up if he felt the need to. Javier stirred to lay down on his side ― his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses nuzzling. The intimacy of his closeness made you swoon, but his words wore you down ever so slightly.

“Judy Moncada. Los Pepes. The CIA. The newspaper. All of it, really.” You felt the pain in his voice as your own.

You knew how hard he had worked, for all of it to be taken away so quickly, so dismissively. He had been the scapegoat, and it almost ruined him. No wonder why he took a step back and returned to Laredo.

It still made your blood boil how the town had received him, how they treated him like a pariah. But it was their fucking loss. If they were too blind to see Javier Peña for who he really was, then Javi had not really lost much. You were just glad you had not listened to Alejandra the first day you met him ― otherwise it would have been a great loss to you.

You kissed his forehead, his closed eyes ― his eyelashes tickling the fragile skin of your lips. Then you pressed a chaste peck on his mouth while he enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“Life’s so unfair, I wish I could make them see. See who you really are, Javi. But some people are too stubborn. It’s easier to believe lies rather than the truth. It’s their loss.” You spoke softly, understanding where his train of thought was going.

Javi didn’t reply ― he just kissed your neck in silent gratitude, the hairs of his kempt moustache making you feel ticklish.

“Since last night we were― uhm, busy,” to put it mildly, “I was thinking that today we can do what I had planned for last night.” You suddenly said to distract him.

You couldn’t see, the darkness enveloping you both, but you knew his brows were knitting in confusion.

“What had you planned?” He asked, curiosity staining his question.

You smiled.

“Well… Since you don’t know, it’ll be a surprise.”

7:46 AM.

“Is it really broken?” You pouted from the other side of the counter, walking around to meet Javi.

He had a handheld mixer and was insistently pressing on the button to turn it on to no avail. He clicked his tongue.

“Yeah, it ain’t working. Gonna have to mix all of this by hand, ain’t I?” You laughed at his frustration, as you took the device from him to inspect it.

Yes, it was broken alright. Damn.

“I’m afraid so.” You removed the whisks and handed them to him. “Unless you’re not up to the task?” You cocked a challenging brow.

Javi scoffed, rolling his eyes and snatching the tools off your fingers.

“Please. I think I can handle a pumpkin cake.”

His offence was faked, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He quickly followed as he started battering everything by hand.

“I’m already done with the cheese frosting. So once you’re finished, we’ll leave it to bake for forty minutes.” You explained, leaning against the counter to watch what he was doing.

“And after?”

“Don’t be so impatient. You finish off here while I go look for… something.”

Javi squinted his chocolate eyes and pouted, shaking his head. He was not going to get you to talk.

“Stay here, and don’t come looking for me!” You threatened, burying a finger in his chest, before running away, smirking.

Two minutes later you were deep down in your closet, searching for the boxes labelled “Halloween decorations”. You had only planned to be in Laredo for a year, but that did not stop you from bringing with you all your seasonal décor. And All Hallow’s Eve, being the peak of your favourite season, had to be celebrated properly.

So, you dragged the two boxes out and then dived back in. On your tiptoes, your fingers brushed the rectangular box you were trying to reach for on the top shelf. But as much as you tried, you were not tall enough to get to it.

“Need a hand there?”

You quickly turned around ― Javier had sneaked behind you and scared the shit out of you.

You slapped his shoulder, and he cackled.

“Don’t do that! Almost had a heart attack!” You joked, although your heart was really pounding against your ribcage.

“Let me help with that.” He offered.

Javi easily reached for the box and took it down.

His brows touched each other when he saw what the box was. Then looked back at you with question marks dancing in his pupils.

“I think I got the wrong box.”

You shook your head no, suppressing a laugh.

“No, that’s the right one.” You curled your fingers, your palm extended towards him, asking for the box.

Javier reluctantly gave it to you.

“I don’t get it. You’re like almost two months off?”

You chuckled again, pushing the tall box to your chest as if hugging it. “Can you carry those two boxes to the living room for me, please?”

He obliged, albeit the confusion was still painted on his gorgeous face. You led the way with Javi on your heels. Once you both settled everything on the floor, you spun around to glance at him with puppy eyes and hands laced in a prayer.

“Don’t judge me, okay?” You started off, fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s what my family call a Hallotreen―”

“A Hallo-what?” He interrupted you, a grin fighting its way to the outside.

“Hallotreen. It’s a Halloween tree! Like a Christmas tree, but with spooky decorations! I usually put it up on Halloween night, so it’s ready for All Saint’s Day and All Soul’s Day.”

You extended your arms at your revelation, as if to say, “Isn’t it obvious?!”.

Javi first looked at you blankly, and then erupted in laughter. You couldn’t help yourself but join him as he took a step forward to drape his arms around you, his comforting hands landing on the small of your back.

“God, you’re so full of surprises. I love it, I love you.” You could tell it had slipped from his tongue by mistake, because his fun expression quickly darkened.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden confession. You leaned back a bit, studying his beautiful face, and tilted your head to one side while you considered his words.

“Do you mean it?” You cooed in a hush, feeling so vulnerable, so raw.

Javi’s eyes locked on yours for a never-ending minute. Then they slowly drifted down to your parted lips and nodded as he, unhurriedly, bowed down towards you.

“Yes, I do. I do mean it, pequeña.” He purred, no joking timbre in his words.

Your heart contracted and then expanded in an outburst, your lungs filling up with his minty breath as you tiptoed to meet his mouth before you hummed, “I love you too.”

When your lips crashed, the tenderness pouring from his mouth into yours soothed any lingering doubt. Although sudden, your love was true. You were not imagining it ― Javi felt the same way. You never believed in the tales of love at first sight, but now that you were the protagonist of such story, you definitely did.

The kiss naturally came to an end and Javi pressed his lips against your forehead, holding you still in his hug for a sweet moment. How you wished you could stay between his arms forever.

‘Maybe we do have forever.’ That thought made you slightly emotional. You could see Javi by your side until the end of days. With a family of your own. It just felt natural.

“Alright, let’s do this then. So we put the tree up first?” Javi asked, amused.

You laughed as you took a step back and knelt down to open the box the Christmas tree was in.

“Yeah, and let me tell you. It’s a big one. Seven feet of pure bliss!” You laughed while unpacking it, Javi soon on his knees helping you out, chuckling too.

Ten minutes later, the tree was up, and you both had started to sort out all the Halloween decorations that came in the plastic boxes. There was a big assortment of different bits and bobs, and you directed Javi to get all pumpkin-shaped trinkets sorted first.

Once you had a healthy pile, you both hung all the decorations on the tree with no real pattern. You peppered some pumpkins here and there; some autumnal, plastic leaves to make the tree look fuller and fluffier. You also had some Halloween-themed baubles ― one with a witch inside, other with a pumpkin patch, another one with a murder of crows floating inside. You also dotted some stringed pinecones around the tree.

You had been curating your collection for so long now, you had way too much stuff, and Javi quickly picked up on it.

“What are we going to do with the rest? There’s so much here, I’m starting to think you have a problem?” He joked, sinking a finger on your side, tickling you.

You chortled, trying to avoid his tickling attack. Javi grabbed you by the elbow and forced you to slam against his chest.

“Well… I must confess. If you think this is a lot, it’s because you have not seen my Christmas collection.”

His eyes widened in feigned horror, and then laughed.

“Can’t wait for Christmas then.”

You smiled at him before gently kissing his collarbone. Then you faced the Hallotreen, holding his hand in yours.

It was a masterpiece. The perfect balance of different hues ― oranges, browns, reds, dark greens and some black dotted around. It looked perfect with all the trinkets filling it.

It made you so happy, you clapped your hands before turning to look at an enlivened Javi.

“It’s just missing the final touch.” You announced as you rummaged through one of the boxes and took out the best piece of them all, presenting it to Javi as if it was the Holy Grail. “Ta-dah!”

It was a figurine of Jack Skellington, from one of your favourite movies ― The Nightmare before Christmas. Jack was on a sitting-down position, perfect to crown the tree.

“It’s a Jack tree-topper. I almost fainted when I first saw it a few years ago. It cost me $100, but it was worth every. single. penny”, you punctuated ― you would smack him if he said otherwise.

Luckily, Javi agreed with you with a pleasant hum and a crooked smirk.

“Let’s put it up then, the King of the Pumpkin Patch needs to have a good panoramic view of his kingdom.” He jested and you were so happy with the reference, you could only love him a bit more ― if that was even possible.

Out of nowhere, Javi knelt down in front of you, his back towards you. He looked over his shoulder at you, brows furrowed, when you didn’t move. Javi lightly patted his shoulder.

“C’mon, up.”

“What? You want to carry me on your shoulders?” You asked, confused.

“Yeah, how are you gonna reach the top if not? That’s seven feet.”

You took a step back, gripping the tree-topper tight between your hands and let go of a guffaw.

“Nope, not happening. I’m gonna crush you! I’ll get a―”

A perfect eyebrow raised into his forehead, and he scrunched his lips, his moustache moving from side to side with disapproval.

“I said up.” His tone was commanding ― Javi would not accept no for an answer. “Come on, don’t make me make you.”

With a sigh, you let go of your insecurities and ended up sitting on his shoulders. Javi’s firm hands rested on your knees as he slowly stood up, keeping a perfect balance.

You chuckled nervously as he walked to the tree. Trying to find your own balance, you planted your left hand of Javi’s forehead. Or what you thought was his forehead, because he then complained.

“Hey, I can’t see!”

You looked down ― you had covered his eyes by mistake, so you quickly lifted your hand up and placed it on his forehead.

“Sorry!”

Javi laughed in reply. Reaching up with the hand holding the figure, you were finally able to set it down without breaking it.

“Yay! Done!”

He knelt down again, releasing your knees from the prison of his hands, and your feet finally rested against the wooden floor. When Javi got up, you both took a step back to admire such work of art.

“Dare I say myself? This looks amazing, the best Hallotreen I have ever had!” You screeched with excitement, almost jumping in place.

When Javi didn’t respond, you glanced up at him. His eyes, darkened with something deep and warm, were intently studying your face. His expression was so relaxed, so at peace, you knew the nightmares were now a forgotten memory ― at least until tonight.

Knowing you could be a balm to his emotional wounds made your heart twist with longing. You wished you could take it all away, that you could take his place and suffer it all for him, so he didn’t need to. You loved him so dearly, you promised yourself that Javi would never have to go through such trauma ever again.

He lifted one hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear ― such a loving gesture, your heart melted for him.

“What?” You asked, timid, with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing.” He buzzed, hugging you close to his torso.

The kiss started off soft and tender, a mere graze of his lips against yours. And before it became sultry and demanding, the oven’s clock started beeping.

Javi grunted and you grinned. Grabbing his hand, you dragged him to the kitchen.

9:22 PM.

“Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there far from my home. A longing that I've never known…” Jack was lamenting on the background.

Javier couldn’t help but look at you over his mug of hot chocolate. You were laying down on the couch with your back against his chest, tightly gripping your mug and buried under a fleece blanket. The living room was dark, only two sources of light: one was the TV playing Tim Burton’s Nightmare Before Christmas, and the other was the string of lights wrapping around the Hallotreen.

He could grow used to this, to you. Jack’s Lament somewhat resonated with him ― there was a longing in his heart he had never known before. And that longing now had a name ― yours.

Javi had to suppress a lopsided smirk when you kept on mumbling the lyrics of the song. You knew all the dialogue, all the songs, every single scene. And he let you talk throughout the movie, because he loved listening to all the comments you needed to let out. You were far too excited ― and so was he.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. To you.

If you didn’t mind, he’d like to join you by your side.

Where you both could gaze into the stars and sit together, now and forever.

For it was plain, as anyone could see, you simply were meant to be…

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Just hear me out,

Wild west outlaw König.

That's all ,please and thank you❤️

P.s I love love love your work and you inspire me so much more than words can express,so thank you so much

Wild West Outlaw König Headcanons

Warnings: Outlaw König, König Kills People, Obsessive König, König (DEEP) in Love, Looting, Kidnapping, Implied Smut, Non-Explicit Descriptions of Smut, Dominant König, Submissive König, Mention of Ghost, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You.

A/N: Thank you so much for your kind words, my lovely ! Your kind words have touched my heart, and I hope your creative endeavours flourish <3

Man owns a pair of handcuffs and KNOWS how to use them.

Let’s work on the assumption that he kidnapped you.

Perhaps you were already partially romantically involved but your family would never let you marry someone like König, so he stages a robbery and takes you as part of the ransom.

One he has no intention of accepting any payment for because he’s never letting you go.

König’s monstrous proportions make it easy for him to physically overpower aggressors – other bandits, outlaws, authority figures.

However, he does pose something of a hazard to himself because there’s (much) more of him to hit.

Luckily, he’s straight out of a situation the minute it gets sticky – as if he just disappears into thin air.

Just one of the reasons why he’s called the Phantom Outlaw.

Not to be confused with Ghost, who is also an outlaw but never leaves a trace (or a witness), making his reputation far more ghoulish than König’s.

Though, König does excel in the fear factor, his sheer size and notoriety – his trenchcoat and mask the very visage of Death – forcing everyone who sees him to relinquish their goods in exchange for their lives.

Speaking of, König’s ability to swing thousands in cash makes for a happy home life, given how he spends much of his fortune on you.

Clothes, jewels, literature, instruments, automobiles: you name it, you’ve got at least a treasure trove of each.

Even if you try to resist these gifts, König refuses to let up.

“Can’t have my precious little Engel going without, can I ?”

So, in return, you typically handle all the chores, though König insists you don’t have to.

“It’s not like we can hire a maid to do it for us, can we ?” you tell him. “Especially not when there’s a handsome bounty on that even more handsome head of yours.”

Said bounty is what makes it difficult for the two of you to stay in one place for too long.

And whenever you move, you always try to make the house a safe space for König.

Blankets in his favourite chair, his favourite meal on the table for him whenever you know he’s going to have a rough day, a bit of fun before bed, etc.

You can tell whenever he feels really comfortable, because he takes up three quarters of the bed, just sprawled out like a rapidly growing infection.

And you always fit neatly against his side. Or on his chest.

König calls you his “Little bunny” (or “Bun-Bun”) because of how small you look when you’re nuzzled into his chest.

He never takes you, or anything you do, for granted.

You don’t know this (so keep this a secret between you and I) but König watches you when you sleep. More than you’d think.

Truth be told, the outlaw life terrifies him.

Sure, he has the swagger and the notoriety to make off with thousands in gold, jewels, and lavish material items, but, really, his greatest, most prized treasure is you.

There is only one of you. You cannot be bought, or replicated, or found in the wild like an ore of purest diamond.

Simply put, König’s success is entirely down to the fact that he can’t be caught lacking.

If he ever was to, he knows he’d lose you. Whether you’re taken by a stray bullet in a shoot-out or your town’s rangers come to tear you from his cold, lifeless grip, König takes every precaution to circumvent these tragedies by remaining the fastest hand in the west. And the most ruthless.

Even for an outlaw, his kill count is exceedingly high.

And it’s no coincidence that the numbers began to climb after he met you. Fell in love with you.

People who he’s seen giving you lecherous stares, or those he can sense have poor intentions, he’s taken them out the back and absolved the world of their presence.

And, at the end of every excursion, every execution, every haul, the weight of the world falls from König’s shoulders as he comes back to you.

He takes his mask down around you, hangs his hat upon the coat rack. You’re the only person who he shows his face to.

But, whenever you can tell a fragment of the day resides pinned in his mind, shrapnel of his self-inflicted lifestyle, you make sure to service him before bed.

How he likes to be serviced can change on a day-to-day basis. He’s not fussy.

The only thing that changes is whether he wants to be handled by you or if he wants to slam you into the pillows.

Possessive sex <333.

“Tell me you love me,” he rasps into your ear, pinning you to the mattress with his body, making escape an impossibility to you. “Tell me I’m the only one that will ever have you like this,”

As stated previously; he has a pair of handcuffs and knows how to use them.

Or, if they’re too far out of reach and he needs you bound now, he’ll use rope. Or even just his hands.

Eye contact. The whole time.

It’s as if a different person inhabits him when he gets like this; something dark and jagged, no mere demon, possesses his form. And, by extension, yours.

König’s not stopping until you’re full, he’s empty, and he’s confident you’re not leaving the house for the next few days.

But, when König is feeling fragile, he lets you take the lead.

Just lies back while you’re on top of him, calling him your “Good boy”, “my Prince”, “my protector,” – anything that reaffirms that he holds a great deal of importance in your life.

More often than not, he ends up with tears in his eyes.

Nobody has ever been so gentle and loving towards him as you have. And coupled with how you’re taking him slowly, taking the time to make sure you’re hitting all bases and he’s thoroughly loved, sends him over the edge.

Kiss his tears away and his soul leaves his body.

It’s times like these that, more than anything, König wants a simple life. A paroxysmal desire to lead an ordinary existence where the two of you can live together happily, without the threat of being chased out of town every few months.

And, maybe, one day, even have a family together.

Until then, König will continue to dream, to give you a lifestyle of sapphires and gold and every delicacy the human mind can conjure.

And whenever he looks at you before he leaves, he sees his good luck charm, the light at the end of his tunnel. And, most importantly, the embodiment of love itself.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[matramancer]

If I Were Stronger. [Narumi Gen x Mitsuri! Reader]🌸

🌸Synopsis: What if Mitsuri! reader was there during the fight with Isao Shinomiya?

Part of the Mitsuri! reader series

tags: angst with comfort, MANGA SPOILERS (ch 51), character death, narumi x reader, fem!reader, Mitsuri!reader, reader and Narumi are kikoru’s mentors, kikoru and reader are close, hopeful ending.

It’s quiet in the First Division base.

On a solemn morning, the flags of the base are lowered. Everyone stands in formation, giving a final salute to the loss of a legend.

Standing up front, Narumi Gen holds himself strong in front of his troops, his back so far away. Despite the respect he earned, the high praises,  the honor of dying in the battlefield, no one can deny that the death of General Shinomiya was a tragedy.

A few steps behind him were the other platoon leaders, and for a moment, time had stopped. No rowdy battle cries, no arguments. Not even the bounce from their resident bright ball of sunshine.

it’s quiet. It’s unlike you.

As your eyes drift to Gen’s backside, the black fabric feels like an abyss peering into your memories. The scar from that day that you shared with him. Fresh wounds that you tried not to show. 

You were there when it happened, after all.

“GENERAL SHINOMIYA IS ENGAGING WITH KAIJU NO. 9! ALL UNITS, STAY ON HIGH ALERT!”

As you stopped to turn to your right, you could hear the clash of weapons, as well as the sound of falling debris and rubble. Was that them?

“Platoon leader (L/N) speaking. I’m near the main site and approaching!”

It was a race against time, one where you prayed that you could make it. Narumi and Kaiju No. 8 were speeding ahead too, surely, with the four of you against #9, you could stop him.

You didn’t even register the long run it took from your area to where General Shinomiya was. Not even the pain from the multiple wounds you sported. All you remembered was rubble flying everywhere, and racing to Kurusu’s front as soon as you spotted him.

“Kurusu-san!” Kurusu coughs from breathing out the dust from the rubble you sliced into pieces. 

“Platoon leader (L/N!)” He exclaims in disbelief, still holding onto his laptop whilst you provide cover. As you tried to study the situation, more and more rubble threatened to hit Kurusu. The general was standing strong, his number’s weapon holding against #9. “Please don’t worry about me–provide cover to the chief!” Kurusu stated, before getting interrupted by Isao himself.

“(L/N)!!” Stunned at General Shinomiya’s booming voice, you and Kurusu turn towards him. “Evacuate Kurusu!”

“BUT SIR–”

“AT ONCE!” at General Shinomiya’s orders, you immediately change your stance, picking Kurusu up.

“YES SIR!” Without a moment’s hesitation, you hastily jump away with Kurusu, not knowing what the general had in plan. You hoped he had a plan at all. You could still move, you were strong. You had to do something.

Kurusu’s words brought your attention back to him. “High energy levels–is he planning to use No. 2’s blast?!” Gasping as you let him down at a clearing, the two of you immediately fell to your knees at the sheer amount of pressure suddenly forming from the spot where Isao stood. So that was why…

You nearly flinch at the gunshot from the ceremony, the sound bringing you back to the present. Narumi’s back was still in front of you, only showing a part of his side profile.

It must’ve been so heavy on him. You knew, even from how stoic he was with everyone, that Narumi meant a lot to him. That General Shinomiya also meant so much to Narumi. That their bond, though unspoken, was strong. 

And now he’s gone. He was taken from him right in front of his eyes.

But it wasn’t just Narumi that had a mentor taken away from him.

The ceremony ends, and you excuse yourself as soon as you find the chance. 

A girl lost her father.

“GENERAL SHINOMIYA!”

Your mind drifts back to the battlefield, towards the seconds where you returned to General Shinomiya.

It’s eerily silent. You hated it.

“General Shinomiya! Do you copy?!” You breathed through your mask, twirling your sword through the air to get rid of the dust obstructing your vision. 

The news from Kurusu shocked you to the bone. Two shots. Kaiju No. 2’s main burst twice in a row. General Shinomiya…

Your heart rate quickens. You had to support him fast. There’s no way his body could last. Please, please don’t let this happen again. The Defense Force can’t lose another leader. Especially not its director.

Memories of your late platoon leader flash through your mind, but you blink them away. Now’s not the time.

In the distance, you could see Narumi and #8, finally arriving on the scene. With your combined manpower, you could at least make sure that the general had time to recover.

Your feet ached as you caught your breath once more, now back in the building. You don’t know why or how your body took you here, but there you stood, hands on the lavish wooden doors, hearing the silent sobs of Kikoru Shinomiya.

Heart clenching, your knuckles turned white as you tried to calm your breathing, feeling your throat clamp up. You felt anger, felt grief. But that’s not what matters right now. You had to be there for her.

“Kikoru-chan,” at the sound of your voice and the creak of the door opening, her sniffles paused. You set aside any formalities, nevertheless how the both of you were technically trespassing. You were probably going to get an earful from your superiors too, with a member of your platoon skipping such an important event, indulging AND partaking in breaching what counted as private quarters. But that didn’t matter. Kikoru wasn’t your star student right now, she was just a girl.

You made your way closer to her, letting your stern demeanor falter as you stood in front of her.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone. It’s okay to cry, Kikoru-chan.” You hushed her, slowly bringing your hands towards her.

When she started to sob again, you took her in your arms, sinking onto the floor as her body shook. 

You hated the quiet. You hated this.

You hated how #9 disgraced Shinomiya Isao’s image in front of his own daughter.

The door creaks open again. This time, a heavier set of footsteps made their way to the late general’s desk. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Perhaps Narumi and you were on much more similar wavelengths than you thought, because he at least disregarded how lax your behavior was as a platoon leader. 

“You sure you didn’t want to see him off?”

The three of you shared a strange yet not unwelcome sense of acknowledgement and understanding in that room.

A shared wound that could only be understood by those who were truly there.

The horror you felt when #8 screamed the news to Narumi rang through your body like a bomb.

As you approached rapidly to the sight of what you thought was the general, you saw him turn around.

“GENERAL SHINOMIYA!” You cried out, mustering all of the power in your legs to reach him. 

It wasn’t enough.

“THAT ISN’T THE CHIEF!”

You failed your role. Failed to be that barrier between what you sought to protect. 

Kurusu and the others watch in horror through the feeds as the desecrated face of what used to be Isao turned, as if to mock him.

It was horrifying.

Letting out a gasp, you barely registered the giant blast he sent towards the three of you.

As the rubble cleared, you stood aside Captain Narumi and Kaiju no. 8, still in disbelief.

Hearing him speak about how he killed the general made your blood boil, your knuckles turning white.

But it broke your heart to see Kikoru just behind him after.

Clenching your fist, you and Narumi sprang forward in full offense.

“How dare you.” You swore, in a silent whisper that had never left your body before. As you twisted your body and launched yourself upward, you put your full force into slicing several of #9’s limbs, giving Narumi an opening.

But just as Narumi swore with his entire being that he would destroy #9 in Shinomiya’s place, #9 stopped the fight, throwing a casual remark about how he was going to “call it a day.”

Narumi has never lost his composure, and he doesn’t plan to. But he would not stand for such blasphemy–nor would he ever let #9 get away from him alive.

As he launched his attack, you followed suite with #8 into the fray, bearing your sword like a whip. 

“LETS RAIN HELL ON HIM! #8! (L/N)!”

“SQUADRON STYLE BAYONET TECHNIQUE NUMBER ONE!”

“SECOND FORM: LOVE PANGS!”

 Yet no matter how many hits you got in, no matter how many times Narumi charges at him, no matter how strong #8’s hits was, the three of you were still being pushed back.

You prayed again, prayed that through some high power, no matter what it takes, that you’d be able to end this right now.

“!!!” Your eyes widened as a shot from #9 misses you and hurdles itself towards Kikoru instead.

Without thinking, you immediately move to defend her, taking the brunt force of the hit with your machine gun. “NO!” You yelled. You can’t afford to lose her either. 

Kikoru stares at you with wide eyes, as you steady your balance and change stances to use your other weapon.

Breathing heavily, you let out a cry as you shot at #9 relentlessly, acting as suppressing fire for Narumi and #8.  

It was always in your nature to protect. And you couldn’t afford to fail with Kikoru as you did her father.

Her suit had probably overheated, she was out of commission. The least you could do was–

You let out a string of coughs, a metallic taste in your lips.

Suit overheat. Suit overheat. Cooldown required.

“(L/N)-SAN!” Kikoru screamed, distressed at the data reading of your suit. She cursed over how she was frozen to her spot.

“I still have some fight left in me!” You put your arm in front of her. Kikoru was a bright girl, with a bright future ahead of her. The more you could spare her now, the better.

You were about to put away your gun to slow down your overheating, but just as you did, the sight of one of #9’s attacks slipping between Narumi and #8’s defenses entered both you and Kikoru’s field of vision.

Your eyes widened, feeling the burn of your body as you forced yourself to move.

“KAFKA!” You yelled, taking the hit for him.

You knew Kaiju no. 8–No, Kafka was special, not just to the Defense Force, but to those that cared for him. He was loved. By Kikoru, by the 3rd Division. You had the utmost pleasure of bonding with him from the start of his stay in the 1st Division. You were one of the first to accept him.

And you couldn’t bear to see Kikoru hurt even more.

Narumi’s eyes widened as red splotched your suit, your machine gun wrecked by #9’s burst.

He knew that with your caring personality, you’d always take the choice to wedge yourself to be that layer of protection. He hated that about you sometimes, but especially this time.

But there was no time to worry, you wouldn’t allow it. “RESUME ATTACK, CAPTAIN AND NO. 8!” You choked out, barely nailing your landing. The attack burned through your machine gun and messed you up good. 

As you scramble to get on your feet, your legs caved in, making you unceremoniously thud to the ground. Now you’ve really done it. “I messed up…”

Narumi swears he saw red. He’d never say it out loud, but the grip he had on his bayonet was so hard, he swung, uncaring if his nerves could snap in half.

You could hear the sound of fighting continue just a dozen meters ahead of you, but your vision was going black. You felt something warm running down your forehead and covering your eye. Your ears were ringing.

As strong as The Love Pillar is known to be, she was still a human.

You could barely even hear from your comms now. Was that still Kurusu talking? “REROUTING (L/N)’S SUIT TO FULL HEALING! PREPARE PARAMEDICS!”

No, you can still fight. For your place in the Defense Force. For your oath to protect, for the 1st division that welcomed you so warmly. For Captain Narumi. For Mr. Shinomiya.

And humans always had an exploitable weakness. 

Suddenly, the air stiffens just as your hearing returns to hear Kaiju no. 9. “Ah, I should have done this from the beginning.” 

“What…” You and Kikoru’s eyes widened at the sudden incoming blasts moving towards the both of you.

You stiffen up as your instincts tell you to fight back. To draw your machine gun or to jump out of the way. To protect Kikoru. 

…But you couldn’t feel your legs.

“BASTARD!” in a haze, you only hear Narumi’s yell from a distance, still trying frozen in place.

The last thing you saw was his back in a protective stance, shielding you from the blast.

And the body of Isao Shinomiya flying to the sky, waging war to all of humanity.

It hurts to think, it hurts to remember. It hurts to see the people you care about skewered by guilt and sadness.

It hurt you the most when Narumi sat on the stretcher next to you, hunched over whilst gripping his head in his hands when he thought no one was looking.

You were unknowingly clenching onto the fabric of Kikoru’s uniform too, you realize, as you hear her talk to Narumi. How she wouldn’t even let herself grief.

At the sound of that, Narumi declares something.

“I’ll make you the strongest after me.” You and Kikoru look up in surprise. “I’ll drill what mr. Isao drilled into me to you.” 

As Kikoru’s tears ran, so did her newfound determination. The fight isn’t over. It’s just begun. She swears to it, as you and Narumi bear witness.

“(L/N).” He turns to you, causing your body to stiffen. “I’m entrusting this duty to you. Direct orders,” you straighten, getting back on your feet.

You’ve never seen Narumi like this before.

“Sir.” you fix your appearance, trying your best to look stern. You were never really good at it.

“Get stronger.” You bit the inside of your cheek at his words. It wasn’t just an order, it was a statement. “Train Shinomiya. Be at each other’s side,”

“Show me results.”

***

It’s very awkward to have to take an elevator ride with Captain Narumi after that whole ordeal.

You didn’t even know where to look. For once, no conversations flowed through your mind.

“This is bad!!! This is very bad!!!” You internally panicked. Never mind the constant headaches and large amount of medical treatment you still needed to undergo, you were fretting over what he would say to you as a platoon leader trespassing and enabling a rule breaking cadet! “I can’t look him in the eye!”

“Um…” You broke the silence, yet Narumi made no effort to look in your direction. “Captain.”

You bit your lip. What were you to even say? Yes, you and Narumi were close, but this atmosphere… the weight of the world was on him. Could you even be there for him?

But you remember how hard this was for him. How much of a front he’s handling right now. So, you merely soften your voice, to sound as respectful as possible. Then, you bow. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss, sir.”

Narumi still doesn’t move. Not like there’s anywhere to go.

You wonder if you’ve overstepped any boundaries. He was still your captain, even if you sort of had a strange bond with him. Maybe not as strange as what he has with Vice Captain Hoshina, but still. He was a friend.

“Thank you, (L/n).” Your shoulders immediately relaxed, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I’ll follow your orders to the end. I’ll get stronger, Narumi-kun–” you hold your tongue. “Ahem, Captain Narumi.”

Finally, he turns to look at you. Maybe if your head wasn’t still pounding and you weren’t so fussy over how the bandages felt wrapped around your head, you’d notice how his gaze softened. “You’re still recovering from your injuries. You’re forbidden to go to the training hall.”

“Eh?” You blinked. “Ah, ok. Yes sir.” You twiddled with your fingers, now embarrassed. Right, you weren’t even supposed to be out and about yet.

As your gaze landed on the floor, you failed to notice Narumi’s sight falling onto your figure, furrowing his expression at your slightly limped stature. You had sustained much more severe wounds than him, even if you were still standing. 

But that was just it, you were still standing, and he was god damn thankful for that.

It was a much better sight than seeing your unconscious, limp body in his hands before you were passed to a stretcher and flooded by paramedics, his sight refusing to leave you even as another pair of medics tried to assess his own condition. 

The heat he felt searing through you as he cradled your unconscious body burned through his own skin as a reminder that you were alive–but you were in bad, bad shape. You had paid the price of increasing your abilities past what your suit could handle, reaching a fever of nearly 40 degrees and immediately requiring an IV drip. he had to bark at Kikoru to keep her distance, under the guise that the paramedics weren’t done with you, that she needed medical attention herself, but he himself knew that wasn’t the full cause of his reasoning. He didn’t want her to see you like this.

You were so unlike yourself, motionless on that stretcher, lacking the life and luster that enveloped you.

It was terrifying.

When the paramedics left and he finally got a moment to himself, all he could do was hunch forward, hands grasping roughly at his scalp. The incident flowed through his mind like a waterfall, from the desecrated face of Isao Shinomiya, the war Kaiju no, 9 had waged against him and humanity, the pained face of his disciple, and lingering feel of your lifeless body cradled against him.

He would never let this happen again.

The elevator shakes a bit as Narumi straightens his gaze.

“And…” Your head perks up again, bright eyes meeting his fuchsia gaze. “Loosen up. I’ve had enough of formalities today.” 

He breathes out your name, in a fervor unheard of from the image of Japan’s strongest. A more boyish, young tone. “Show me results like you did when we first met, (Y/N).”

Your mouth gaped a bit, before the familiar smile you always sported, albeit softer, makes its way back to your face. “At least grieve properly, Gen. I know how much he means to you.”

Maybe it was how you operated, your clockwork, but Gen feels a realization with how a part of him had been laid out to you without him knowing, and with that part alone, you had studied and lived with so graciously, that the way you had softly soothed him with your presence had taken him off guard by how welcoming his subconscious was to it.

You were unlike anyone else he had ever met. No one had ever read him like this.

Even when he was silently processing your words, you simply watched him in understanding, your gaze never making him uncomfortable. He was just so accustomed to your presence.

Had you always been so close, he wonders, when he finally realizes that his fingers had grazed yours. 

Looking at each other in mutual shock, you were the one to recover first, to boldly squeeze his hand with an unspoken vow, to pull him into your presence. To let his grief flow.

It flashes through his mind then, his youth with Isao, all his efforts to earn his gaze, how he fought so hard for results. How he’d never see that damn old man reel back in tears over how much he’s achieved now.

It squeezes his heart.

But at last the memories flow.

And he lets the feel of your warmth meld with his skin, the calloused bumps and slight burn from your bandages rubbing against his own as he finally squeezes back, not even out of his own accord. His fingers moved on their own.

When the moment ends and your touch becomes that of a ghost, Narumi is taken aback by how his hands nearly chased after yours.

He wonders how you feel, but at the ding of the elevator floors, you had awkwardly flitted the topic of the conversation away again, leaving unanswered questions.

“I’ll still oversee Shinomiya’s training. It’s what she needs most.” You stare at the cold doors of the elevator, not really knowing why you’re still letting your mouth run. “I know we both believe in her. She has a bright future ahead.”

You feel Narumi’s gaze land fully on you now. “Exactly why I said what I said. Better not see you slack off and let her catch up to you as fast, (Y/N).”

His tone is lighter now, you note. Your heart fluttered a bit at the more casual honorific too. That relieved you, bringing your smile back. “I have no intention of losing, Gen.” 

The entire incident still felt heavy in both of your hearts, knowing what happened. But as long as you can be there for Narumi, you’ll support him in whatever way he needs.

The elevator dings as you both reach the ground floor. “One more thing.”

You turn to him, blinking. 

“Once you’re healed, report to my office.” He walks out first. “Mr. Isao probably wanted to see this for himself, but–”

“You’re eligible for a numbers suit.”

--

A/N: Whew that was a wild ride.... i might do numbers suit reader or meeting hoshina soon!

The thought of mitsuri! reader fighting on field and hanging on through sheer willpower alone is so admirable... wow, u have a really cool gf gen......... though u dont even have the guts to ask her out yet, wow

[five-bi-five-mind]

Too Soft

Fandom: Station 19/Grey’s Anatomy

Pairing: Carina DeLuca x female!reader

Genre: Hurt & Comfort, Angst, Smut

Words: 6.3k+

Summary: Carina is not coping well with the loss of her brother. She’s barely sleeping or eating and she refuses to let you comfort her. All she wants is some sense of control to come back into her life and all you can think is to offer her whatever she needs, no matter what that sense of control may look like.

Warnings: talk of grief; loss of family member; mention of canon character death; rough sex; semi-angry sex; fingering (r receiving); biting; marking; multiple orgasms; overstimulation

A/N: I do not know where this even came from but uh… here y’all go. Idk honestly how I feel about this one lol

This was a new dynamic. Never had you not been soft with each other. Ever since you met, that’s how your relationship went. It’s what you both needed, you were a trauma nurse and she was an OB. Two different things in a sense, sure, but both of you often saw hard situations. Not every patient was a breeze, there was so much struggle, so much loss, even in both cases.

So when you two met you needed softness and she gave it to you. She needed softness too, after all. So your love was gentle and tender. It always had been from the start. The way you both fell in love was fast, but in so many ways you two also took your time. Carina cherished you in every single moment she spent with you and you tried to reciprocate that. With every touch, you could see just how much appreciation she had for every single part of you and with every kiss, you tried to show her just how all-encompassing your love for her was. 

In the year and a half that you two had been together, that feeling was consistent between the two of you. There were hard days, just like everyone else, but you two would talk through it and fall into bed in each other’s arms by the end of every evening. But when things suddenly changed for Carina, you were floundering. 

It was all so sudden. A whirlwind incident that ended in unexpected tragedy for your girlfriend. Carina lost her brother and as a result, you had somehow lost her. She stayed with you, it wasn’t that you physically lost her. It was just that she had suddenly become so emotionally shut off. Although, as she skulked around the apartment looking half alive, you sometimes felt like you lost her physically too. But, for the most part, it was on an emotional level that Carina was just… absent. 

You didn’t expect her to bounce back right away, of course. Grieving takes time and you understood that quite well. But then one month turned into two and then three and then four and suddenly you were rounding on five months of sharing a home with a husk of the woman you loved. In all of this, you tried your best to help too. You begged and pleaded to do anything to assist her in her grieving process. If she wanted space, you’d give it. If she wanted you, she could have it. Whatever she could possibly need you’d make sure she got. Except, she would just shrug off any of your offered comfort and help. It happened so often as the days went on that eventually the only thing you could do was back off.

And that’s where the dynamic got messier. If you backed off, she would come looking for you. Telling you she didn’t want space, so why were you giving it to her when you asked and she said no? Maybe she was picking a fight on purpose, but you’d never let it get to the point of yelling. You’d just sigh and agree to stay with her, but when that happened she couldn’t look you in the eye. She wanted you near– at least that’s what she said, but any time you simply sat next to her it was like you were doing it wrong. You didn’t know how to fix that or how to be near her in the way she wanted.

It wasn’t even this new, uncomfortable dynamic that made things the hardest. No, it was the way Carina just was. Seeing her, this incredibly strong woman, seem so broken. It broke you too. She was hurting to the extent that it felt like the woman you once knew would never come back. Carina was always your advocate for self-care when you had a hard day, but she wasn’t following any of her own advice. 

When was the last time she even really slept? You often caught her in the weirdest places, curled up on the floor, staring blankly, rather than resting or even crying. It was scaring you. For a few weeks this behavior was understandable, you told yourself it would pass and you’d let her do what she needed as she grieved. But now it’s been months and the sleep deprivation had to have been hurting her on a physical level too. Not to mention the fact that she barely ate now. She was looking quite literally dead on her feet and the absent look in her eye was making it harder and harder for you to stay silent to her grieving process.

You tried to tell the people around her, tried to ask them about what to do, but many didn’t have much to say. We all grieve differently, she just lost her brother, or it takes time were the three most common phrases you were met with. At first you agreed, but now you were getting sick of hearing it. It wasn’t that you were impatient to have your girlfriend back or that you couldn’t handle caring for her in her time of grieving, it was that your concern for her was causing you to be literally worried sick.

The final straw to break your silence happened when you woke up to the other side of the bed cold and empty at the late hour of one in the morning. You had told Carina you would really like it if she came to bed not too long after you and pleaded with her to actually join you for once. Not for anything but rest, of course, but still you just wanted to have her next to you again. She had half acknowledged you and you sighed, but took that for now as you trudged off to bed. Randomly, you had woken up to reach for Carina, only for your hand to hit the mattress. Why you had hoped that tonight she would finally try to get a proper amount of sleep in the bed you shared, you weren’t sure. Regardless, it was the breaking point for you. 

You threw the covers off of you, creeped down the hall of your apartment, and saw the bathroom door was cracked with the light on. Gently, you opened the door and stepped in to find where Carina was hiding. What you saw was a new sight: Carina curled up on the shower floor, fully clothed with the shower off and completely dry.

“Carina?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trying to be as gentle as possible as you knelt down in front of her. “Carina, what are you doing in here?”

She didn’t answer. Her tired eyes just flicked up to you before dropping back down. You watched as she hugged her knees tighter to her chest and you sighed. “Carina, come on,” you reached out for her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, no…”

“Carina–”

“Everything,” she mumbled. “Everything is just too– It’s too soft.”

“Okay…” Your voice was hesitant, questioning. You didn’t want to judge her. If this was still part of her grieving process you’d ride it out with her, but it was tiptoeing into unhealthy territory. She hasn’t slept, she’s barely ate, there was a growing dread in your stomach whenever she passed you in the hall, eyes devoid of any emotion, her face stuck twisted in that pained expression she’s kept on for weeks. You were worried she was going to exhaust herself to death, that her lack of sleep and energy would see her collapsing if she tried to work, or do anything really. On top of that, she was carrying so much of this blame and loss inside herself, even if what happened to her brother was by no means her fault. It was too much for her, she wasn’t able to let it out. She was grieving, sure, but was she actually processing it all? Your heart ached to help, but you felt powerless. There was no way to take on her pain if she didn’t let you.

“I- I can’t just be comfortable. If I’m comfortable, I’ll cry and I’ve been crying for weeks. I can’t cry anymore. I-” Carina’s voice broke and she cut herself off, shaking her head hard. “No. No, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Carina…” You scooted closer to her, your hands slipping into her own. “Please,” you urged. She needed some of this off her shoulders, she needed to let herself rest. 

“I’m sorry, bambina.” Carina’s hands slowly withdrew from yours and you knew she saw the hurt look in your eyes. You couldn’t stop yourself. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted some of her back. An ounce of contact that told you she would come back to you. She could grieve all she wanted, for as long as it took, as long as it wasn’t forever. But there was a fear in you, one that said maybe she would never forgive herself, even if it wasn’t her fault. If she didn’t forgive herself, you didn’t think you’d ever see Carina’s bright smile again. The thought shook you to your core. “It’s too soft.”

Those words cracked at your heart. There had to be something, anything you could do. If she can’t handle soft, what can she handle? All you knew was how to be gentle with her, the way she always is with you. “We need to take some of this blame off you,” you begged. “What can we– What can I do? Blame me, you can blame me. Just anything, Carina, please.” 

Carina was continuously shaking her head, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to shed. “No, it’s not about blame. It’s not that. I’m angry, bambina. Not at you, not at anyone, not even at myself, but at the world. I don’t understand it– I don’t know how to stop this feeling. I feel like my emotions are out of control, everything is slipping through my fingers. Everything feels out of control. Bambina, you can’t help.”

“What can then?” You weren’t going to give up on this. Right here, right now, you were going to do whatever you could to alleviate some of this from Carina. If you didn’t find a way tonight, something told you, you’d never get the Carina you once knew back. “Things feel out of control, right? What can we do to get some back? I’ll do anything you need, just name it.” 

Carina kept shaking her head, rubbing at her eyes angrily to fight off the tears she didn’t want to shed. “I don’t want to take what I’m feeling out on you, bambina.” Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she took a deep breath. “That’s not healthy.” 

“And this is?” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you were at your wit’s end. “Does this look healthy? You haven’t slept for days and you’re curled up on the bathroom floor for god’s sake!” 

Carina didn’t say anything to that. Her eyes fell and her face went practically emotionless. All that did was build up your frustration more. Not at her, but at everything. At your powerlessness to help her. At the fact that she lost someone who meant so much to her. At how unfair the world was to the woman who deserved the best. 

“Carina,” you continued, “you want control then we’re going to get some back. This—“ you motioned to where she was curled up on the shower floor, “—is not good for you. Take your control back, even if it’s in a small aspect. Just take it.”

Your eyes burned from frustration tears threatening to spill, but this wasn’t about you. You wouldn’t allow yourself to cry. Not when you knew you needed to give Carina that space to do so. “Give me this blame, put the anger on me. Just do it for now. All I’m asking is that for tonight you just try.” 

Carina looked back up at you now. You could see from the look on her face that she was seriously taking in everything you were saying. In her mind, she was calculating what her next move was. She so desperately wanted you in her arms, but one moment of gentleness would surely make her break apart all over again and she was struggling to put those pieces back together on her own.

She did want to feel in control. She wanted to get back to the place she was in when she first met you. Where she could be your comforting and strong girlfriend, the one who was soft only for you. Now, anything remotely soft set her off and she found herself wallowing, not just in grief, but in self loathing too. Carina’s emotions were so scattered, she didn’t know if she could ever control them enough to be what she once was for you again. That thought alone terrified her just as much as it did you. 

But she had to try, right? For you at least. If she couldn’t hold you like she wanted to, then she could do the alternative. Something inside her told her, if she did touch you in some way– in any sort of way, it would ground her. It might even mend a small piece of her. It couldn’t be soft; she couldn’t handle soft. But here you were, telling her to take it out on you, even if it’s just for one night. Her mind argued with itself. One side was trying to give in to everything you were saying and the other was wary of being anything other than gentle and loving to you. Though, after a moment, her decision was made.

“Meet me in the bedroom,” Carina’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Carina, what…” You trailed off, your eyes searching hers for some sort of answer. You said you wanted to do whatever it took to make her feel better, but you didn’t expect that response.

“Please.”

That was all you needed to hear to let any question you had on the tip of your tongue die. Without another second of hesitation you stood up. Carina didn’t immediately do the same, but she told you to meet her in the bedroom and that was what you were going to do. You walked out the bathroom without saying much more. What would you even say? The confusion was pretty clear in your eyes when you looked back at Carina after she made her request. You figured you’d learn what her intentions were in due time. Whatever it was, you weren’t going to go back on your word.

You sat yourself on the edge of the bed you shared and waited anxiously, picking at an invisible piece of fuzz as you waited for Carina to come in. She took a moment before she followed you. When she stood up from where she had curled up in the shower to look herself over in the mirror, she finally saw just how wrecked she really looked.

Before she followed you in, she decided to take a moment to clean herself up. Splashing water on her face to wash away the few dried tears that had shed helped a little, but she still looked exhausted. Her skin was more pale than she had ever seen it, and she could tell from the dark circles under her eyes that she was severely lacking a good night’s rest. Still, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. At least maybe what she had planned to try with you might make that seem a little more attainable, but she had doubts. 

Carina didn’t even know if you’d accept what she was planning. She knew you meant it when you said you’d take on whatever pain she was willing to unburden herself with, but she still was unsure about this. She just really needed some sense of control and somewhere in her grief-warped mind she thought if she could have an ounce of control over you then maybe she’d be able to grapple with some sort of control over her emotions. At the very least, it would give her a chance to have her hands on you in a way that wasn’t too soft for her.

Slipping her clothes off and pulling on her bathrobe, she took one more look at herself in the mirror. This wasn’t exactly the alluring look she wanted, but that wasn’t what she was going for. She nodded to herself, trying to keep a grip on her resolve to try this before she chickened out and ran back to her not-so-cozy corner of the shower. Creeping up to the bedroom, she peaked in to see that you were still perched nervously on the edge. Her heart ached for the anxiety and confusion she knew she was causing in you, but she didn’t really know how to stop herself from causing that either. Maybe, just maybe, after tonight some of this pain would ease for the both of you. It was worth a shot, even if Carina highly doubted it. 

“Bambina.” Carina’s voice broke through the uncomfortable silence you were sitting in. Your head immediately snapped up to see her standing in the doorway. 

She took one step towards you, then two and you felt yourself getting more anxious by the second. At the moment you saw her standing there in her robe, you began to piece together what she had in mind; what she was going to ask of you. There were so many nights when you’d make love to Carina, each one full of tenderness and love. While there might be love in what was going to transpire tonight, you knew the tenderness would not be there. Control, that’s what she needed. Maybe you weren’t exactly able to picture how she would gain that from what she was planning, but you could imagine it wasn’t going to be gentle love making like it used to be. 

“Lay back on the bed.” Carina’s voice wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t harsh or cruel either. If anything it sounded a tad unsure. But still, when you followed her direction and she watched as you scooted yourself up onto the bed, you saw a flash of appreciation in her eyes. You weren’t going to question her actions, which took some of her tension and unease away. Whatever she was going to ask, you were going to give. Even if you were a little unsure about this shift in dynamics between the two of you, you were still willing to be true to your word. 

She took a few steps into the room, watching as you reclined on the bed. Something inside her shifted in that moment. As she saw you lay on the bed for her, waiting for her to do whatever she had in store, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, she felt that rush of control she so miserably searched within herself for. She hadn’t even done anything yet and the feeling was already flooding her entire body like a drug. 

When she was finally at the bed, she reached out her hands and yanked up your shirt. You helped her get it off you as best you could before you laid back down. It was awkward and you were struggling, but Carina didn’t seem to care much. That act alone was rougher than she ever was undressing you, but you still didn’t say anything.

Carina paused as she looked down at your naked chest. You were already breathing hard, just waiting for her to make a move. Finally, she reached out again and slowly dragged her nails down your body. Your head craned up to watch what she was doing and when her eyes met yours, you shivered at the look she gave you. Her pupils were blown as she stared you down. It was like she was in a trance, watching as five angry, red lines appeared in the wake of her nails on your skin. 

You swallowed hard as Carina grabbed ahold of your pajama pants and yanked them down just as hard as she had pulled off your shirt. Now, you were completely bare in front of her and your anxiety was getting the best of you. It had been a little while since you let Carina see you like this. Even if she had seen you naked so many times before, this time was different. She was different now. Not that she wasn’t still your Carina. She was, it’s just that she also felt somewhat like a stranger. 

But you shook that feeling off quickly when you felt the mattress dip by your feet. Carina slowly crawled over your bare body, her knees stopping and resting at either side of your waist. You tried to take a few deep, grounding breaths as Carina continued her earlier actions with her hands, scratching down your bare sides slowly and leaving marks along the way. It wasn’t hard enough for those marks to linger, but it was still an act you weren’t used to. 

After a moment, Carina leaned down and her lips finally met yours. It felt like home and unfamiliar territory all at once. She felt like Carina, tasted like Carina, but the way she was kissing you was very much not like Carina. The kiss was slow, but not very gentle. She was claiming your mouth with her kiss, rather than the usual feeling she brought when kissing you. When she kissed you in the past, it felt like she got lost in the kiss you shared, but this time it felt like she was dominating it. This was about control after all, you thought as you did your best to keep up with the way she kissed you.

Her tongue licked into your mouth and you groaned, your hands moving up to grab onto her sides. The feeling of her silky robe rubbing against your bare skin was a disjointed feeling, but you tried to ignore it and do your best to keep up with her kiss. If you were being honest with yourself, this side of Carina, the controlling take-what-she-wants kind of side, wasn’t all bad. To be truthful, it was turning you on. Teeth dug into your bottom lip and pulled. Despite the gasp that escaped from you, the act, even though painful, sent a rush that landed straight between your legs. 

The entire time Carina was kissing you, all she felt was a sense of peace. She wasn’t being gentle, sure, so that feeling definitely contradicted what she felt inside. But the more contact she had with you, the more she realized this really was exactly what she needed. It was like instant gratification, the way you responded to her command and her every touch. She felt that control and she was drunk on it. It was like, with this new feeling, all the others felt more muted. Not completely away, but enough that she could ignore them. Eventually, as she kept kissing you, all the tumultuous emotions she had been battling completely muted. There was only Carina and you and nothing could get in the way of Carina’s plans for you. That thought alone sent a shiver down her spine. 

When she bit a little too hard on your lip, the yelp you let out broke her partially free from her power trip. She pulled back and paused as she looked down at you, her chest heaving. The look in her eye was something you hadn’t ever seen from Carina before. It was almost calm. Almost. But it was more like the calm before the storm. Like you knew that whatever was coming was going to be hard for Carina to reign in if you asked for her to stop. Your knuckles tensed as your hands kept their grip on her sides. Whatever she had planned truly wouldn’t be what you were used to with her, there would be no softness.  You knew that when you offered, so while you waited for her to make her move, you mentally prepared yourself to truly give her full control.

“Bambina, are you sure?” She asked, her voice low. Her hand moved to your face, cupping your chin gently. It would be the last moment of softness you’d get from her for a while. 

“Yes,” you whispered, nervousness clear in your voice. You swallowed hard again when she saw your hesitation and tried your best to sound more sure. “Yes, I’m sure. Whatever you need… take.” 

Carina only nodded before sitting up and pulling at the tie to her robe. When she was free of it, she dropped the robe on the floor and practically rolled her entire body against yours. 

“Mio dio,” she groaned to herself as she dragged her bare body against yours. This was the feeling she was missing so much. She kept herself from it in fear of breaking apart yet again, but you were presenting her with an opportunity to chase the feelings she needed while also avoiding the ones she couldn’t handle right now. “I’ve missed this so much.” 

Your groan matched hers and your head fell back onto the pillow. Just the slight rock of her hips against yours was enough to get you wet. It had been so long since she touched you and the way she was touching you now was so different that it was doing unexpected things to you. “U-uh huh,” you mumbled as Carina kept rocking her whole body into yours. Her hands moved to your hips and one of her legs moved until it was slotted between your legs. You felt the pressure on your clit the minute she did that, her bare thigh grinding hard into you. 

Your teeth sunk into your own lip when she steadily rocked into you. Trying to mirror what she was doing to you, you propped your own knee up and felt your breath hitch when her own wetness met your naked thigh. The sounds of skin against skin and both of you panting echoed in the room. Carina’s nails were digging so hard into your sides that you knew this time, those red marks wouldn’t go away so easily. Your hands were on her back, grabbing onto her for dear life as she kept rocking her own thigh into your clit and building up a delicious friction that you hadn’t felt in months. 

All too soon, though, Carina pulled away. Sitting up for a moment, her fingers danced down your stomach until they reached between your legs, where she fully cupped your pussy. “When you cum tonight, it will be because I told you to,” Carina ordered. “Do you understand, bambina?” 

You nodded your head vigorously, but Carina didn’t make any move to continue. 

“I need you to say it,” she snapped. Her tone shocked you slightly, but you knew it wasn’t anger. It was all part of tonight, part of the control she needed.

“I understand,” you murmured and Carina gave you a satisfied nod. 

“I’m not going to be gentle,” she warned as she sat back on her knees between your legs. Her fingers traced light circles on your clit. “But I need you to do this for me.”

“A-anything you want, Carina.” Your eyes met hers and the look she wore now was nothing but pure hunger. 

With that Carina’s fingers moved down and circled your entrance. You tried to brace yourself, you really did, but nothing prepared you for the moment she pushed two fingers into you with such force until she was knuckle deep. A pathetic moan broke free from your lips, but Carina didn’t miss a beat. Each pump of her fingers was unforgiving. She put all the power she could into it, watching in awe as they slipped in and out of you. In this moment, as she sat between your legs and fucked her fingers into you with as much force and pent up anger she could put into it, she felt that pure control she was chasing intensify even more. 

Your body was shaking and you were panting as you laid there and took her fingers with your legs spread open. Without warning, Carina slipped a third finger in you and you cried out. In that moment, Carina moved so that her body was back on top of your own. With each thrust of her fingers, she put her whole body into it. The way she was hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out almost burned, but it was a pleasurable burn. You couldn’t stop the cries that left your lips when all three of her fingers curled inside you and she quickened her pace. 

The whole bed rocked with both of your bodies and your legs began to really shake. Carina’s teeth clamped down on your nipple and tugged hard. Not enough to break skin, but enough to have you shudder in pain that was quickly forgotten with a particularly hard pump of her three fingers inside you. 

Pretty soon, Carina could feel the signs that told her you were close. “No, no, no, bambina,” Carina cooed against the bare skin of your breast. “You’re not going to cum now. You don’t get to cum now.” 

“Carina, I don’t think—“ 

“Shhh, aspettami. Wait, bambina,” she growled. “Wait for me.” She pulled her fingers out then and you practically cried as the feeling of your impending orgasm suddenly faded. “I know, mia cara, I know.”

Carina placed kisses on either of your breasts before leaning back up to kiss your lips. Your lips immediately parted for her as your hands tried to pull her closer to your body. You needed more contact, you were so close before she pulled away. But still, Carina was in control, and she wasn’t going to give into your needy grabbing and pleading. 

She pulled away after a moment to sit up on the bed and you leaned up on your elbows to watch her. The look you gave her must’ve been pathetic because she looked back at you with a knowing smile. One that was classic Carina, a flash of the old her that you hadn’t seen in so long. 

You were so taken aback by it that you didn’t really pay attention to Carina for a moment. She moved until she was sitting at the head of the bed, leaning back against the headboard. 

“On my lap,” she said as she turned to look at you. “You’re going to ride me until you make yourself cum.” She patted her lap for emphasis and you looked down at her hands before looking back up at her. 

You hesitated, a little daunted by this new position she was asking of you. To ride her was one thing, but to get off on her yourself was a whole other. 

“Now,” Carina ordered and you immediately crawled to her. 

Straddling her waist until you were somewhat comfortably situated, you braced yourself on her shoulders. “Is this okay?” You asked nervously as you shifted on top of her. 

“Yes, good, bambina.” Carina’s hand moved down your body and between your legs again. The way her fingers brushed against your clit made you shiver from how sensitive and keyed up you still were. “You’re going to fuck yourself on my fingers, okay?”

You nodded, finding it hard to vocalize anything when you were so ready to feel her fill you again. Luckily, she accepted this and, yet again, you felt the same three fingers fill you. 

The fact that you had to get yourself off on her was one surprise; the fact that she was clearly insistent on stretching your pussy out with three fingers still was a whole other. Yet, Carina didn’t seem to mind the struggle in your face when you tried your best to grind down onto them. You grunted as you could feel the way your pussy was tightly wrapped around them, making it hard for you to take them in deep on your own.

Carina wrapped a strong arm around your back to hold you up firmly while you began to rock your hips into her. After a few minutes of you practically bouncing yourself up and down on her fingers, you began to feel that tantalizing pleasure again. It was only intensified by the way Carina had buried her face in your chest and placed bite mark after bite mark all over your tits. 

Pretty soon, the room was filled with sounds of your moans and Carina’s satisfied praises. You kept fucking yourself onto Carina’s fingers with abandon until finally you were at that edge again. Your whole body was tensing up and you were pulling Carina into you as close as possible. 

“Cum for me,” she ordered. “Cum now, bambina.” And you did with a low whine, coming all over her fingers. 

Before you could even come down, Carina was moving both her hands back down to your hips. With a hard grip, she kept you going, moving your body for you and pumping her fingers up into you now. Your nails dug into Carina’s bare skin and you cried out her name as your body quaked and another orgasm hit you the second she fucked her fingers up into you harder. 

Even then, she didn’t stop. Your whole body felt tense and overly sensitive, but still Carina threw you onto the mattress and followed behind. Landing knocked the wind out of you, even if you hadn’t caught your breath just yet from the two orgasms. Your head lulled back, but Carina kept pumping her fingers into your spent pussy. 

“Carina I— it’s too much. I can’t,” you cried. You wanted to give her all she needed, like you said you would, but everything felt too sensitive. Never had she pushed you through two orgasms back to back, only to try and push you through a third. 

“You can give me another,” Carina grunted into your ear as she kept fucking you. “You will cum for me again.”

You weren’t even trying to stop your whining and desperate moans at this point. Carina took one of your legs and pulled it over her waist, allowing her fingers to hit even deeper inside you. You felt spent and filled at the same time and it was all overwhelming you.

Your eyes rolled back and you whined Carina’s name as she pulled yet another orgasm from you. Still as your body shuddered and trembled, all Carina did was slow a little.

She was lost in her control over your body. This feeling, the feeling of making you cum, was the only positive feeling she’s had in so long. It was the only thing so far that quieted all her anger and guilt. Carina didn’t want to stop, she couldn’t stop. She needed to chase this feeling for as long as possible. 

“Carina, please.” Tears pricked at your eyes as she kept fucking into you. Again, she was rocking her whole body into yours as she fucked you. She was losing speed, but each pump of her fingers was still powerful. 

“One more,” She begged. “One more… please, just one more.” She didn’t stop as she pleaded with you, but you still nodded your head weakly. As much as your body felt like it was exceeding its limit, you wanted to give her all she asked for. 

With each time her fingers pumped into you up to the knuckle, your body shuddered. You definitely felt like you were being fucked raw by her, but still you took it. Meanwhile, Carina just had her face buried into your neck, placing kisses now where she once was biting.  

Finally, you came for a fourth time with a silent cry. Your chest was heaving and your body went totally limp under Carina and this time she actually slowed to a stop. Yet, her body remained on top of yours. 

It was after a moment of trying to collect yourself that you finally noticed the way Carina shook on top of you. You realized very quickly she was crying and you instinctively wrapped your arms around her waist. 

In all of that, as Carina was fucking you, she forgot just how good you felt. She missed you, she realized that as she had her lips on you and her arms around you. It wasn’t even that you went anywhere. No, you were by her side this whole time as she grieved. It was just that she was so lost in her grief that she might have been next to you physically, but emotionally she was just… gone. 

Now though, as she laid on top of you and shed tears she thought she was done shedding, she felt comfortable. Finally, she had felt an ounce of control. Maybe it was over you and it was given willingly, but it still helped bring back a part of her. If anything, it just helped her to stop spiraling in her inner turmoil at least for the night. 

After a moment, Carina pulled away and you immediately felt guilty. “Too soft,” you whispered. “I know, I know… I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Carina shook her head and cupped your cheek again. Tears glimmered in her eyes as her thumb rubbed gently against your skin. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into her touch that you missed so much. “No, bambina, it’s okay. I think I could use softness now.” 

You looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes and in that very moment, Carina understood how much you were hurting for her too. “Will you hold me?” Carina’s question surprised you, but you didn’t miss a beat and eagerly nodded your agreement.

She rolled off you and you rolled your side, opening your arms for her. She turned into you and both of you wrapped around the other. Her hands held you tight and yours traced gentle circles along her bare skin. That night, she finally let you hold her as she cried. But this time she didn’t cry out of grief. No, instead she cried in relief as she felt some of the pieces inside her that had been broken since the loss of her brother finally start to come back together.

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[ann1-wr1tes]

You Came?...You called.

Synopsis: You find yourself falling into the horrors of your job, but come to find out that you don't have to be alone.

Warnings: Slight angst, crying, hurt and comfort

Word Count: 2,642

A/N: Okay, so if you've seen this fic before, it's because I posted this on my previous account. I didn't plagiarize or steal anyone's work. I just have all of this saved and I plan on posting the other fics I have. Anyways hope ya'll enjoy!

Part two

------

You felt pathetic as your quivering voice spoke into the phone. You couldn't stop the steady shaking in your hands as you try your best to sound normal. You didn't want him of all people to hear you like this. In fact you weren't even sure why you had called. Not that it mattered. The call went to voicemail anyways so it's not like he'd even show up.

"I..I don't know what I'm doing right now, honestly. I shouldn't have called so uhhh sorry for....for bothering you." you rasp out. Then quickly, with a shaky finger you hang up the phone and drop it in your lap.

You cover your face in your hands as you try to take deep breaths. For some reason though, taking in air seemed harder than it once was. It almost felt like your lungs were being crushed by some invisible force as you felt your heart beat speed up to a million miles a minute. You were having a panic attack and for good reason too.

Everyone had told you that being an agent was far from easy. The D.S.O was an agency that was dedicated to stopping bio-terrorism. The people working under the agency were always seen as intimidating, competent, and effective in whatever their job was. The agents were also a force to be reckoned with. After all you had to go through hell just to be considered a candidate for becoming a D.S.O agent. Little did you know that actually being an agent was a whole new type of hell.

The job was a test to not just your physical health, but also your mental health. It was stressful and draining. You always had to be on alert and sometimes on the run during missions. It felt like it never ended. But the last mission you went on was a disaster. Actually describing it as a disaster was an understatement. It could better be described as a tragedy.

You were thrown into Russia. You and your partner were tasked with investigating a certain lab that was suspected to have some sort of vaccine that was turning people into B.O.W's so of course it was dangerous and risky.

Your partner that you went with was actually a good friend of yours. Maybe that was the first mistake. You can still remember the look of horror that played out on your partners face as she got shot with an injection of some sort. You took out the person who injected her with the infectious syringe, but it was too late. The injection had already started to wreak havoc on her body and there was no cure.

You still remember how she pleaded and begged you to kill her before whatever she got infected with could run its course. But you wanted to believe that you could save her. That was your second mistake.

In the end she shifted into this mutated, horrific, B.O.W and you almost died. At the last second you finally killed her but not before you hesitated and tried to convince yourself that there was still some way that you could save her. You eventually learned that it was over though and you had to stop her before she could infect you.

When you returned to the D.S.O, you came back with no partner, many injuries, and a few samples of the vaccine that you were supposed to get. The mission was successful but now you were starting to wonder at what cost? Was it really worth it?

You remember the first day back. You felt like a zombie. Your body was numb, you couldn't feel the numerous injuries you had gotten but you could feel how heavy everything felt. It felt like there was lead in your shoes as you walked down the bright hallways and you felt like you could collapse at any moment. Then you saw him.

Leon Kennedy.

Looking handsome as ever. Right when he saw you he was already on his feet, bounding towards you in a few wide strides and he had a hand on your cheek. You numbly watched as his bright blue eyes darted back and forth across your face.

You did look like hell to be fair.

Then when he asked if you were okay, you pushed him away and kept walking. In the moment you just wanted to leave and go home. You felt like if you told Leon about what happened right then and there you'd either pass out, cry, or scream but now looking back on it you felt like an asshole. You remembered the softness in Leon's eyes as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted as he took in your disheveled appearance. You even remembered how gently he grazed his hand against your cheek.

Why were you such an asshole?

After that you went home, took a shower and slept. You actually were quite sure that you had slept for a few days straight. The only time you went out was when you attended your friends funeral and that was horrific in itself. Then the nightmares began and it became impossible to close your eyes for more than a minute. You'd immediately have flashes of images and memories in your head from the mission. It was like torture.

So now you sat there. One in the morning. Your body heavy and slumped over as your phone sat in your lap and you looked down at it. When the screen turned black you could see your reflection looking back at you.

Your face was paler than usual, your eyebags had eyebags and your eyes were slightly glazed over as you looked at someone who you didn't seem to recognize. You seemed to be a shell of yourself as you sat there on the edge of your bed in the dark. Your legs limply dangled off the edge and you could feel tears start to build in your eyes. You didn't even notice until a tear slipped down your cheek.

So this was what it was to be an agent. Fun stuff.

Maybe you should've listened to all those who warned you. You were stubborn, determined, you always knew what you wanted. So when everyone warned you about the dangers of being an agent you shrugged it all off.

Even when Leon was your mentor and he took the time to train you, he too was one person who tried to warn you about the dangers of being an agent. At first you were offended. You thought that he was telling you all this because he thought you were incapable or weren't fit to be an agent. It turns out that wasn't true at all.

Leon was endeared by you from the moment he laid his eyes on you. You were bright and full of life. You were always willing to do whatever it took to please him, whether that be in training or missions and then he got to watch you evolve into your own person.

But now as you sit in the dark by yourself, tears streaming down your cheeks in a silent show of the pain going on inside, you were starting to wonder how you'd ever be able to live like this.

Knock knock knock

You practically jump out of your skin with a soft cry. Almost on instinct your hands fly to your bedside table and you pull out your gun that you keep handy. You've been far too paranoid lately not to have it around so you grip the gun in your hands as you walk through your apartment.

You turn on a lamp for some much needed light and with a deep breath you open the door a crack and peek through the small opening.

"Who is it?" you hiss through the door.

Suddenly you catch the sight of a leather jacket and bright blue eyes.

"Mind opening the door?"

Your heart speeds up and you can feel your cheeks grow warm as you hear the husky voice of Leon. His voice sounded like honey and god did it send chills down your spine sometimes but right now you were shocked that he was even here.

You open the door fully this time and stare for a moment. God why was he so beautiful. Sure he looked a little aged and a tad bit on the tired side but he was still beautiful. It was just the way his hair perfectly fell over his face and how he had a chiseled jaw that was paired with some light stubble and his eyes. Oh, you wouldn't even get started on his eyes.

Though you soon realize that right now isn't the time to be staring at Leon. He gives you a look and you sigh and rub your eyes tiredly.

"You came?" you say, almost as if you were in disbelief.

"You called." Leon responds simply.

He watches as you stare at him for a moment more. This time you just look tired. You look him up and down. A small pout in your lips as your tired eyes practically drooped. With that a sigh you step aside and you let him walk into your wreck of an apartment. You shut the door behind you and carelessly plop your gun down on your counter.

"Ignore the mess. It's been a long week." you mutter as you sit down on your couch. Leon's gaze follows you as you stumble onto the couch and you almost seem to collapse into yourself.

He sits down next to you and you can still feel his eyes on you. You almost love it and hate it at the same time. You loved it because his attention was on you, as pathetic as that sounded you always knew that you seek out validation and attention from Leon. Even if you didn't want to admit the fact to yourself. But you also despised that he was looking at you right now. You knew how pathetic you must've seemed to him. You sat next to him, you hadn't showered in a day or two, your hair was a straggly, stringy mess, the sweatpants and tank top you had on were wrinkled and probably needed a good wash. It almost made you want to beg him to not look at you at all.

"So do you want to talk about it?" Leon asks, his voice came out soft. Almost like a whisper but loud enough to be heard out in the air. It was unlike his usual sarcastic tone that he always responded to you with when you both were together on a normal day.

"Talk about what?" you asked simply. You knew what he was alluding to. The day you came back to the report on the mission. The moment he saw how miserable you looked, in fact you looked more than miserable. Leon was all too familiar with that look. It was a look of fatigue and loss. Like all the innocence and naivety that you once possessed was drained out of you by the time your mission was done. It was a deep look within your eyes that showed all the horrible things you had seen, that you did, that you had to deal with and survive through. Leon knew about it all. He had gone through it all and he remembers the exact moment that it all came crashing down on him like it had on you now. It was Spain. Spain had always haunted him. It was almost like he never left that hellish place since he always seemed to be trapped there in his dreams and it was always something in the back of his mind.

"You called me for a reason." Leon says, trying to look you in the eye. You refused to look at him though. You turned your head downwards to look at your hands. You watched as you fidgeted with your fingernails and still felt Leon's stone gaze on you.

"I don't know why I called you. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have." You utter.

There's a moment of silence and suddenly Leon's hand comes into view as he reaches out and grabs one of your own. It effectively grabs your attention and you look up at him as he grips your hand in his. He starts to softly rub circles into the back of your hand as you look at him, being slightly startled.

"It wasn't a mistake. You can talk to me, sweetheart." he coos.

Fuck. You almost want to melt with how the pet name rolls off his tongue or how he looks at you with all his undivided attention.

Your mouth opens and closes. You go to speak but no words come out. Your mouth goes dry and a choked sound leaves your throat.

"There's...nothing to talk about." you meekly say.

That's when the first tear fell from your eye. Then another and another. Then suddenly you were shaking. Your lungs were burning, your chest ached, your lips trembled. In a pathetic attempt to stop Leon from seeing this sudden emotional display, your free hand goes to cover your face as a sob leaves your throat.

Before you knew it a pair of arms lifts you up and you are pulled into Leon's lap. Your face buried in his neck and his one hand softly combed through your tangled hair as the other hand was tracing circles in your back.

"I know...I know it hurts. Let it out sweetheart." Leon mutters into your hair.

Its like the world crashes around you as you let out sobs and cries. You clutch onto Leon like he's a life line, like he's the only thing grounding you right now. Which may actually be the case as he continues to stroke your hair, rub your back. You even feel a few kisses being pressed to the crown of your head as he talks you through it all.

Even when your breathing starts to become more shallow and it feels like you're suffocating Leon is still there, being calm and grounding you.

"I know it's hard but just breathe for me baby. You can do that can't you?" he softly asks as both hands cup your cheeks so he can fully look at you.

You weakly nod as ragged, choked breaths come in and out of your mouth. You start to feel dizzy but Leon keeps his hands on your cheeks and continues to talk.

"Okay take a deep breath in..." Leon deeply inhales, waiting for you to do the same. You deeply inhale and then watch as Leon slowly exhales. You slowly exhale. He deeply inhales again and you do the same. Then you both exhale and repeat.

"Good girl, that's it. Just breathe." Leon encourages you, still rubbing your cheeks gently. Soon enough your breaths begin to even out as Leon continues to run his thumbs along your cheek bones, soothing you in the process. He especially makes sure to wipe the tears that are still streaming down your cheeks.

As you continue to cry you notice him lean closer and press his forehead against yours and his hands slowly leave your cheeks until they rest on either side of your head.

"I know its hard. Trust me. But I promise you i'll be here, if you allow me to be." Leon whispers as he stares into your eyes.The silence hangs between the both of you, thick and tense, heavy with emotions. Leon pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as tight as possible.

You almost feel like a child as you grasp onto him. You're still a little teary eyed and weary.

"Will you stay with me...please..." you mutter.

His arms tighten around you a bit more and a slight smile comes to his face. "Of course sweetheart."

[fortheloveofwonderland]

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him. 

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them. 

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment. 

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone. 

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things. 

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact. 

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff. 

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal. 

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC. 

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later. 

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends. 

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace. 

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter. 

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium. 

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole. 

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her. 

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did. 

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you. 

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love. 

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour. 

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit. 

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer. 

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page. 

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply. 

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective. 

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark. 

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them. 

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk. 

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me. 

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes. 

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters. 

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting. 

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse. 

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all.��

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done. 

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from. 

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now. 

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time. 

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss. 

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you. 

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived. 

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that. 

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain. 

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. 

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse. 

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him. 

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know. 

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him. 

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real. 

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness. 

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared. 

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins. 

Spencer, 

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life. 

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” 

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him. 

But then one of his best friends died. 

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table. 

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this. 

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away. 

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean. 

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders. 

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did. 

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them. 

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.” 

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply. 

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand. 

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were. 

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive. 

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man. 

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive. 

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop. 

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic. 

But that’s not why I’m writing. 

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to. 

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t. 

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places. 

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore. 

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you. 

But you couldn’t. And so you replied. 

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to. 

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore. 

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street. 

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page. 

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go. 

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre. 

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now. 

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him. 

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home. 

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being. 

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page. 

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul. 

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.” 

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any. 

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply. 

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that. 

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with. 

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years. 

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him. 

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that. 

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” 

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud. 

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.” 

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.” 

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged. 

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years. 

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?” 

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.” 

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!” 

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.” 

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?” 

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?” 

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence. 

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand. 

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence. 

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive. 

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation. 

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life. 

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible. 

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist - 

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands. 

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up. 

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence. 

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.” 

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it. 

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you  propose to ever meet me? 

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again. 

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right. 

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response. 

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it. 

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother. 

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily. 

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you. 

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply. 

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess. 

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it. 

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home. 

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline. 

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him. 

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out. 

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant. 

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips. 

“Let what go?” His frown deepened. 

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop. 

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open. 

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back. 

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor. 

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart. 

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours. 

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you. 

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes. 

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy. 

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears. 

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey. 

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart. 

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely. 

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating. 

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach. 

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk. 

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm. 

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.” 

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away. 

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe. 

“Spence?” 

“Yes Y/N?” 

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?” 

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place. 

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper. 

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives. 

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth. 

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given. 

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

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End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[another-lost-mc]

hey so im not the anon who requested the guys going to see barbie but i had legit just watched the movie today and it will mess you up emotionally like i am not kidding i almost started crying at the end some of the guys would be in LITERAL tears and then (maybe) laugh at the last moment quip they pulled at the end

A/N: I really want to see that movie, I’ve heard so many good things. 🥺 I will say, it was whiplash going to the movies with the Oppenheimer crowd and Barbie crowd mingling together. I would’ve preferred to see Barbie, but it wasn't my turn to pick the film. lol

When Movies Make Them Cry

THE DEMON BROTHERS & THE DATEABLES

0.5k words | SFW | gn!Reader

Content: Luke is mentioned in a platonic sense only, the other relationships can be read as platonic or romantic. Mostly emotional hurt/comfort.

Lucifer will cry watching movies but he hides it well. The giveaway will be his wet lashes and the slightly red, puffy skin around his eyes. Most of the tear tracks are wiped away before the lights come back on. He’s more likely to cry in private with you but not in a public crowd.

Mammon screams at horror movies, belly laughs at comedies, and sobs at tear-jerker moments—especially anything involving romance or tragedy. He often pictures you and him together as the romantic leads in the film, and that can be good or bad depending on the film.

Levi gets a little choked up but doesn’t usually cry. If he does cry, it’s in the privacy of his room when he thinks about the movie later on.

Satan and Asmo will both cry at touching romance or gut-wrenching tragedy. Satan comes prepared with tissues and Asmo dabs his face as delicately as he can so he can attempt to salvage his eye makeup (it doesn’t always work).

Beel might get choked up, but emotional movies linger in his thoughts for a while. He reflects on what he can learn from it to avoid more heartbreak in his life (he thinks they’ve all suffered enough).

Belphie might cry, but he cuddles into your shoulder so he can wipe the evidence on your shirt. He chuckles and pokes fun at his brothers for being so whiny but it doesn’t sound very convincing when his own voice sounds a little thick. (He won’t make fun of Beel if he cries.)

Diavolo’s the type that will cry at happy or sad endings. He doesn’t feel ashamed by it either, and he compliments movies that can draw out that type of reaction in him. He’s one of the first to offer you a comforting hug if you look like you need one. He also offers you tissues (he seems to have an endless supply).

Barbatos rarely cries at movies but similar to Beel, the emotional weight can linger with him for a while after. He has several packs of tissues to pass to the others should they need some (aka Diavolo’s endless supply of tissues).

Simeon is more likely to cry at happy endings than sad endings. He’s experienced so much heartache that it’s like a familiar friend rather than a shocking event. It’s the overwhelming love or joy characters share that touch him the most because he desperately wants to feel that for himself.

Luke cries but tries not to. He naturally gravitates to you or Simeon for comfort but tries not to be obvious about it—he doesn’t want the others to think he’s a baby.

Solomon is a mix of solemn contemplation after sad endings and joyful tears after happy endings. It’s difficult to find things that can touch those deep emotions in him after so much of his long life has passed by in a blur.

m.list | Related reading:

When They Go to the Movies [fluff] When Lucifer Watches Hachiko [emotional hurt/comfort] When Mammon Watches a Tragic Romance [angst]