#BECAUSE WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME HE WAS HELD LIKE THIS??? BEING COMFORTED LIKE THIS???

[4zahara]

## | Rocket Science

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Word count: 1.7k

A/N: English is not my first language. Shorter chapter because it was a last minute thing. I thought it'll be more interesting showing how things will be going in the future(present)—since the serie is basically Jason and reader's past. I'll be back sooner this time, I promise♡

Few times has Tim Drake felt like he was being played with like when it came down to family.

Actually, scratch that.

More people he cared to count had tried playing him for a fool and failed as to say this is the worse he's felt. This time around was different just to emphasize the absurdity his life was sliding into.

Yes, he was benched until recovering.

No, he couldn't refuse it.

No, he wasn't sulking.

"So bed rest for how long now? Alfred 's gonna breath over your shoulder for a while. Believe me. Been there, done that." Dick Grayson has been here, allegedly, trying to cheer him up. But personally, the acrobat should reconsider his chances as a cheerleader if he thought Tim could laugh off a concussion, bruises all over and his tingling ribs.

"You've been beaten by a 6 ft something dude on bright yellow leggins?" It was only half sardonic. His brother's had an extravagant life.

"The answer will surprise you."

Dick's presence wasn't very comforting under the particular self deprecating light of asking himself 'who he was really here for?'. However, the man actually managed to pull at the corners of his brother's lips to get a scoff. It was better than nothing.

"Well..." Tim said, leaning further back into tiny wall of pillows with a smirk, "We could always just call (Name) and have her deal with The Red Hood," His voice carried a teasing edge with a grin that lingered for a second longer, hanging in the air like a fading echo.

Dick didn’t laugh. Tim hadn't expected him to. But not even a chuckle or eye-roll at the idea of this rather skinny, 5 ft something woman going up to a Crime Lord to whoop his ass?

No sarcastic comeback, no snort of agreement, just that small, almost imperceptible shift: the stiffening of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows, and the way he suddenly became very interested in side eyeing the floor.

Nothing to match the usual rhythm of their banter.

Something wasn't right already and Tim couldn't catch a break from one drama to the other.

Fuck the weighted, hollow kind of silence that didn’t fit but always followed him.

He could have brushed it off really, chalking it up to stress or whatever. That just wasn't like him though.

Replaying his own words in his head could only do so much, and the kick of the joke got stuck on the tip of his tongue, but was like stone in water regardless.

Eyes drifted to Dick’s hunched shoulders, noticing how his movements were precise but mechanical, like he was trying too hard to stay focused. It wasn’t just annoyance. It wasn’t about the mess. It wasn't about his strained relationship with you—where chats were exchanged probably once every few months.

"Did (Name) block you again or why are you sulking?"

"I'm not sulking." The grin Tim shot back was more habit than genuine amusement, his brain already shifting gears beneath the surface.

Dick’s response was quick, too quick, the kind that snaps out like muscle memory instead of actual thought. His voice had that tight edge to it, the kind that tries to masquerade as casual but doesn’t quite land right.

Okay, Tim thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. Not just weird. This is “something’s definitely up” weird.

"I should be the only one sulking,"

"Who are you? Bruce?"

Dick wasn’t looking at him. Still staring at the floor like it held all the answers to the universe. His fingers drummed absently against his knee, a restless little rhythm that had no business being there if everything was fine.

Tim let the silence stretch, just a little, leaning into it like he was daring Dick to fill it. But when nothing came, he cocked his head.

"Wait," Tim said slowly, voice softer now, like he was testing the shape of the thought forming in real-time. "This isn’t about her blocking you—"

"I wasn't blocked."

"—This is… something else."

Dick shifted then, barely noticeable if Tim hadn’t been watching like a hawk. A quick inhale through the nose, shoulders straightening.

"Don’t overthink it, Tim."

Wrong move. Dick should've known better. Telling Tim not to overthink was like telling water not to be wet.

Fair enough, everyone surrounding him was an overthinker, but that was more his environment's fault than his own. Then, the nagging feeling of a wider picture he was not privy to, creeped in. It was on. There was nothing better to do.

Tim sat up straighter, the teasing grin completely gone now. His mind raced, connecting dots that hadn’t even looked like dots before.

"It’s not about me. It’s about her." His eyes narrowed. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Dick’s jaw clenched. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for Tim to catch it. His gaze flicked to the window, like the skyline outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

And that’s when it hit Tim.

It wasn’t the joke itself—it was who he’d joked about. The Red Hood. Jason.

Tim’s breath hitched slightly. Like acknowledging a fact that had always been then, yet pushed aside, the realization creeped in like cold fingers wrapping around his ribs.

"She doesn’t know, does she?" Tim whispered, not a question, more like a statement dragged out of him.

No answer.

Tim’s chest tightened, equal parts disbelief and frustration rising like a tide. "She doesn’t know Jason Da Vinci is alive."

Dick finally looked at him then, and not-quite-guilt-but-almost etched into the lines around his eyes, buried in the tense set of his mouth.

"It’s complicated, Tim."

"Complicated?" Tim’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Dick. This changed everything."

"I know that!" Dick snapped but not really. Just raised his voice louder than intended, his own frustration bleeding through now. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Of course I know. But it’s not that simple. It's the whole problem, in fact. Jason… he’s not the same. And I didn’t—" He stopped himself, words hitting a wall.

Tim stared at him, heart pounding.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "That much s'obvious." The youngest focused alone on the last word.

Tim let out a slow breath, trying to push past the initial frustration, but it was like trying to wade through knee-deep mud. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

Had he known this a while back he probably wouldn't be struggling right now.

Maybe.

"How—" He stopped, rethinking his words. "How does that even happen, Dick? And, what about Bruce? Shouldn't he have been the one to tell her?"

Dick's lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head. Something closer to exhaustion, was probably gnawing at him and probably had been long before Tim stumbled into it.

"Bruce has regrets, but he had already made up his mind by the time I heard about it. And Jason was already supposedly death, again. What was I supposed to tell her?" Dick’s gaze was heavy now, meeting Tim’s.

“Clearly he's alive.”

“Yeah, but what were the chances?” Another deep breath to calm down. "Listen. B only saw so little of how it impacted (Name) back then," Dick muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And yet he still thought—hell, I agreed—it is for the best not to call across the world if we were just where we started but worse." His voice trailed off, but Tim didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Tim had only seen glimpses of it, filtered through the distance between them when he took on the mantle of Robin, but even that had been enough. The grief had hollowed you out, twisted something inside your in a way that felt eerily familiar. You lost an anchor in a world that already demanded too much from them.

"We don't want her to spiral. To relapse and cut everyone off again."

"‘Cause that worked so well so far. And mind you, she never cut me off."

And it wasn't completely true. At the time he had had to adapt fast into being Gotham's newest Robin and didn't notice the months in which he heard nothing from you when communication was already low.

"It would break (Name)," Dick admitted, quieter now, like saying it out loud made it harder to carry. "Looking at you and knowing."

There was a sour taste at the back of Tim's throat. "So the plan is just… never telling her while Jason is out there playing vigilante roulette with Gotham’s criminals?"

"She trusted you because you weren’t us. You weren’t tangled in that mess. Not like me. Not like Bruce." He let out a hollow laugh, devoid of any real humor.

Tim saw that statement for what it was. His brother could be very persuasive with undertones alone when he wanted to push.

Jason wasn’t ready.

You weren't ready.

If you hadn't met already, then the only one who search hadn't gone looking for his family ties.

There was more—the truth under all the excuses Tim hadn't asked for. It surprised him if anything how much of a word vomit had a simple joke divulged into.

Just his luck.

Just his family.

Chest tight, fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to rest, for once, sleep it off. But instead, he exhaled sharply, leaning back against the pillows, feeling even more drained. Feeling less like the original problem mattered anymore.

"I’m not going to tell her," Tim said quietly, and Dick’s head snapped up, relief flashing in his eyes before Tim added, "But we're so dead if she ever finds out."

Dick swallowed hard, nodding slowly like his neck was made of rusted hinges.

Minutes passed in strained silence before Dick finally pulled out his phone, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade. His thumb hovered over the contact name for far too long before he muttered, "You rest, I'll go for something to eat."

Tim didn’t argue. He knew Dick needed an excuse to leave. He was probably gonna call her and this was the best he came up with.

One could only wonder how long has Dick been holding everything related to you to himself.

As Dick exited the room, Tim had already pulled out his own phone, fingers moving almost without thought. He hits sand before second-guessing it.

You may be strained from the family, but not Tim.

Somewhere across the world, a phone buzzed to life in the middle of a starred night.

A message, a call and fifteen after, a flight was booked.

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 7 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

After the Gathering, Morningpaw and Talonpaw look at the stars together. Morningpaw feels comforted by this, but Talonpaw can't help but remember Shiverkit's - now Shiverpaw's - omnious statement from moons ago - "I'm worried about the hungry eye." He finds comfort in gently resting his tail on top of Morningpaw's.

(Talonpaw, apprentice, male, 11 moons) (Morningpaw, apprentice, female, 9 moons)

Windfur bosses Cloudthunder around, asking her to carry his stuff and help him reapply herbs for Olive. Cloud snaps back at him after one too many orders, and after seieng that Olive wasn't happy being handled right now. Windfur bristles in anger and leaves the nursery. Olive is thankful that Cloudthunder noticed she was at her limit. She's happy to have a clanmate like her.

(Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 40 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 21 moons) (Olive, mediator, female, 63 moons)

---

Cloudthunder usually didn't mind spending time with Windfur. She knew he was saddled with the role of cleric early in his life, and became the sole medicine cat of ForestClan at far too young of an age. Out of a sense of compassion, she made sure that someone was looking out for him and helping him out, if he needed it.

But today, he clearly woke up on the wrong side of his bedding. She had asked if he needed any help, and he immediately set her to work without so much as a "good morning". She didn't want to complain, but she started feeling less like his friend, and more like his apprentice.

"Carry these for me. Thanks," he said as he dropped a pouch of herbs wrapped in large oak leaves in front of her. "I need to check on Olive."

Cloudthunder watched him grab sticks and moss before pushing past her and padding towards the nursery. Her tail twitched in annoyance, but she picked up the pouch of herbs and trotted after him. Her ears twitched as she started catching the conversation between Windfur and his patient.

"Can this wait?"

"No."

"I was just waking up. At least let me eat first."

Cloudthunder entered the nursery and saw Windfur hovering over Olive with fresh moss. The cleric was already untying the ropes that were securing her brace.

"Windfur." Olive's eyes narrowed, clearly unhappy.

"Give me a moment. And don't try to thrash your tail - I can see your muscle spasms. I told you that will have to be the last thing that heals," Windfur chided. The tom was disregarding Olive's frustration, which was very unlike him.

The last straw was when Windfur held out his paw to Cloudthunder. "Pass me the comfrey please."

"You know what?" Cloudthunder meowed as she put down the bundle of herbs. "Nope. You're gonna go to the cooking fire or the dry food rack."

Windfur looked at Cloudthunder with bewilderment.

"Why?"

His sincerity almost made Cloudthunder feel bad for him. Almost.

"Because you either didn't get enough sleep last night, or you didn't eat anything since yesterday. You've been bossy all morning and you haven't been paying attention to the way you speak to people." Cloudthunder's tail twitched with annoyance.

Windfur's fur bristled in anger. "I'm doing my job," he hissed.

"Yeah, and you're being as prickly as a porcupine about it," Cloudthunder retorted. "So yeah, you're going to go eat something and bask in the morning sun for twenty minutes. Then you can refresh Olive's poultice and make her a new brace."

Windfur looked like he was going to retort, his tail twitching in anger. Instead, he stormed out of the nursery and out into the camp.

There was a long moment of silence in the nursery.

"...Thank you," Olive meowed.

Cloudthunder's ear twitched in response. She watched Windfur across camp reluctantly picking at jerky from the food rack. "It's no problem. He's been bossy since this morning. It's out of character for him, honestly."

Olive huffed. "I've been dealing with him daily. I'm aware."

"Does he always shove you around in the morning like this?"

"No, he's amenable. Normally I can eat something before he'll refresh my bandages."

"I'll get you something now, then," Cloudthunder decided. She beamed at the brown molly. "Do you have any favorites?"

"I quite liked that roasted vole Barleywave made yesterday, if there's still some preserved," Olive replied. She gave her a look of gratitude.

"Can do." Cloudthunder bowed and padded towards their preserved food pile. She saw Windfur eating in a patch of sunshine, still appearing disgruntled, but taking large bites out of his food. Her whiskers twitched in amusement.

Yeah, he wasn't himself when he was hungry.

---

Shiverpaw is nervous while taking care of Olive, and the older cat notices. Olive offers to teach Shiverpaw a helpful skill - one that helps her feel more secure in her own paws. Olive feels like perhaps she still has a place in this world, and promises herself to stay - to teach cats like Shiverpaw...and her children, too.

(Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 7 moons) (Olive, mediator apprentice, female, 63 moons)

Morningpaw and Clouthunder meet a loner at the border. Morningpaw recognizes them, and is happy to see them! Their name is Tree. After spending some time speaking with them, Cloudthunder likes Tree's calming presence, and their knowledge on Nature's Mockery. She invites them into the clan, and they tentatively accept. It wouldn't hurt to have a home to stay in.

(Morningpaw, apprentice, female, 9 moons) (Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 40 moons) (Tree, warrior, non-binary, 38 moons)

---

Cloudthunder was eager to stretch her legs that morning. The day was warm for the middle of leaf-fall, and the trees still had their colorful leaves. When Redstar asked if she could check the border alongside Morningpaw, she had no complaints whatsoever. Morningpaw seemed rather nervous, but then again, when wasn't she nervous?

As the two cats made their way towards the riverside border, Cloudthunder would glance behind her every now and again to make sure the apprentice was keeping pace, only to see Morningpaw staring at her feet as she padded behind her.

"How you doin', Morningpaw?" Cloudthunder asked.

"Huh?" Morningpaw lifted her head, her eyes wide. "Oh, I'm good."

"Glad to hear it! You enjoying your first leaf-fall?"

"Oh, yeah," Morningpaw's tail twitched. "I really like the pretty colors on the leaves. It's too bad that the pines don't change color, though."

"The conifers staying the same are what make them reliable, though," Cloudthunder said with a twitch of her whiskers. "Good ol' evergreens! Trees are neat, honestly. You wouldn't believe how many shapes and sizes they come in!"

Morningpaw let out a polite laugh in response.

Their conversation came to a close as they approached one of their borders by a small river. Cloudthunder appreciated it while it was still here - it normally froze or dried up entirely by leafbare. She considered taking a sip from it, until she remembered her mentor's chiding when she was a young apprentice. "Did you want to get violent stomach ills? Because drinking pond water is how you get stomach ills!" Cloudthunder wanted to swat at her mentor at the time, but now she couldn't help but remember the memory fondly.

As the two cats re-marked the border, Cloudthunder noticed that Morningpaw was acting odd. She kept scanning over the bushes on the other side of the stream, as though she was waiting for something to dart out of them. The warrior knew that Morningpaw was always a nervous cat, but this was getting a bit silly.

"Whatcha looking for, Morningpaw?"

Morningpaw bristled and looked away. "Nothing."

Cloudthunder raised and eyebrow. "You look like you're expecting something."

"I'm not."

"Well, okay. But remember that your nose will likely - " Cloudthunder cut her sentence short as the wind carried an unfamiliar scent. Her eyes narrowed and she started tasting the air.

"What? What is it?" Morningpaw asked as she started to mimic Cloudthunder.

The grey and white molly wasn't quite sure, actually. It definitely wasn't something immediately dangerous. Deep Root entities had a very distinct scent that she could pick up from at least twenty fox-lengths away. Wet, slightly acidic, and smelled like blood. This wasn't it.

After a few moments, she picked up that this had to be a cat. She looked at the other side of the river and her eyes narrowed as she could see a faint shadow hiding in the bushes.

Cloudthunder frowned and her muscles tensed. "Alright, outsider. I can both see and smell you. It's fine, you can come on out. We have no quarrel."

Nothing moved at first. Cloudthunder opened her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a head of long, pale brown fur springing its head out of the bush like a gopher. The cat's emerald green eyes twinkled with a quiet mirth.

Morningpaw gasped. “Tree!” Her amber eyes were filled with relief as she started forward closer to the stream. "You're okay!"

Cloudthunder was genuinely surprised - Morningpaw knew this loner? Morningpaw, the young cat who jumped at shadows? Cloudthunder decided for the time being to be amicable, chosing to sit down. She tilted her head at the newcomer. “Who is this, Morningpaw?"

The cat calmly strolled out of their hiding spot, shaking themselves free of the stray twigs in their fur. Cloudthunder couldn't help but admire the golden tabby patches that dappled their coat and tail like autumn leaves. This one definitely took care of their coat.

"Hello again, Morningpaw," the cat meowed. They took their green eyes to Cloudthunder, and bowed their head. "And hello, warrior. My name is Tree." They sat down across the stream and wrapped their tail around their paws. "Happy to be acquainted."

Cloudthunder bowed back politely. "Cloudthunder. Likewise. Pardon me for asking, but I can't tell - do you have prefered honorifics?"

"Oh, good to know the lemonweed still works." Tree beamed and their eyes twinkled with joy. "I have been having a spot of trouble finding it this season. They and them pronouns are just fine."

Cloudthunder was impressed. Her ears twitched. Usually loners and rogues had basic knowledge of medicinal herbs, but more complex remedies and chemical changes were only known by Clan cats. This one must've had a good teacher. "Do you mind if I ask how you know Morningpaw?"

"O-Oh, it's nothing bad, honest!" Morningpaw sputtered out first. "I, um, I was out hunting with Iciclepool and Talonpaw. I was separated for a little bit chasing after a squirrel, and I ran into Tree. They let me keep the squirrel!"

"Well, that, and allegedly I should not be anywhere near these woods," Tree said with a smile.

"Well, sure, if you're just passing through," Cloudthunder meowed, her tail twitching. "There's...unsavory things out here."

"Oh, I'm aware. I'm unfortunately acquainted with them," Tree said as they liked their paw absentmindedly.

Cloudthunder's eyes went wide. "You are?"

"B-But you see, Tree says that they come from a place where there aren't any trees, but really huge fields!" Morningpaw interjected again. Suddenly, Cloudthunder noticed a spark of something in the apprentice's eyes. She couldn't decipher what it was. "Far away from here. Right?" Morningpaw turned to look at Tree for approval.

Tree stopped grooming themselves for a brief moment, looking at Morningpaw with an unreadable expression. Tree blinked slowly. "Yes. I have walked many miles and slept in many different places."

"Then..." Morningpaw padded closer, as though she wanted to leap across the river. There was a quiet pleading in her eyes. "Tree, I...I didn't get a chance to ask at the time. But, I thought, um..."

Now both Tree and Cloudthunder were focused on Morningpaw with anticipation.

Morningpaw stammered a few more times, failing to begin her sentence. She forced herself to stop, take a deep breath, then finally said, "I...I thought you might know about...about other territories."

Cloudthunder froze. Dread filled her veins. But she couldn't figure out why.

One part of her was curious, and excited. Yes. She, too, would like to know about territories Tree had seen - especially if they were from so far away.

But it was like a cold, harrowing seed was buried in her and finally sprouted. And she didn't know why.

"I just thought...maybe, if the monsters were maybe...not..."

A wave of understanding passed through Cloudthunder and Tree as they realized what the poor young cat was asking. Cloudthunder found where her dread came from. She stared at the floor as she remembered hearing about the very last patrols sent out by Lakestar to search for new territory. She remembered being just a kit, stumbling out of the nursery at night after waking up cold, and seeing her mother sitting on the camp gates, staring out into the woods. She remembered seeing her father climb up to her and beckon her to return to the den. She remembered hearing her mother cry in her sleep - "Mama, come back, come back," - but Cloudthunder never had the courage to shake her awake.

Tree must've felt Cloudthunder's sorrow, as they started purring quietly. "While I cannot tell you whether or not they're more plentiful here or elsewhere, I can confirm that I've seen them outside of these woods." Tree's ear flicked. "I find that whatever they are...they are attracted to Twoleg activity. And Twolegs span across vast territories, just like cats do."

Morningpaw's expression faltered, and the glint of hope that rested within her eyes were dashed. She looked devastated.

Cloudthunder instinctively placed her tail on Morningpaw's shoulder. While Cloudthunder couldn't muster the idea of leaving the territory, deep down, she understood Morningpaw's vision. She was always the quietest and most nervous cat in the clan. She abhorred violence and had frequent nightmares as a kit about Deep Root entities. If anyone wished to escape the Woodcrawlers - she couldn't blame a child for dreaming of a world without danger.

For a brief moment, she wondered if maybe she should take Morningpaw across the border during one of their excursions...maybe they could find Ferncreek, maybe he could offer Morningpaw the life of a kittypet...?

"But, I will offer you some hope," Tree added. "Namely...they are not invincible."

Morningpaw looked up from her paws, her eyes were watering. "...They aren't?" Morningpaw's voice was strained and small.

"Of course they aren't." Tree let out a small smile and blinked slowly at the apprentice. "They're just animals. Some animals are dangerous, like foxes...badgers...dogs, what have you. But animals still bleed, and make decisions. A dog can be chased off with enough intimidation and claws. The giant spiders are much the same."

"Giant spiders?" Morningpaw echoed, looking bewildered.

"Woodcrawlers," Cloudthunder reassured her. She understood what Tree meant; cats outside the clans had different names for the monsters. "They have very long legs, so some cats say they're spider-like."

"Ah, true, you would have a different word for it. What do you call the black effigies?" Tree asked.

"Black effigies...oh, do you mean the Nature's Mockery? The sort of...triangular plants?"

"Yes, those. And the floating lights?"

"Close, for us. Luring lights."

"Well, they are near their dens often, I suppose that makes sense."

"You've seen Fake Beings too, then?"

Tree's expression fell. "...Once. I thought I imagined it. A Zombified Twoleg."

"Unfortunately not." Cloudthunder's copper eyes filled with sympathy. "Ever heard a cat calling for help in an unusual manner?"

Tree gave Cloudthunder a horrified look, their ears slowly folding back. "...No."

"I...suppose a loner might avoid trouble where possible," Cloudthunder admitted. "Fake Cats exist too. They don't last very long, thankfully. The Twolegs seem to have the worst outcome. Cats are affected for about a week or two." Cloudthunder stood up from her spot. "I'm...surprised that you know this much about Deep Root entities, all things considered."

Tree paused for a while, processing this information. They took a deep breath before bringing their ears back to the side of their head. They gave their head a shake, as though forcibly flattening their fur."One meets strange things during their travels. A...Fake Cat is not one of them, but that may be a blessing." Tree followed Cloudthunder's lead. "Thankfully, I've learned the spiders - Woodcrawlers, I supposed you call them - don't do well without a hide to retreat to. They're ambush predators. Any bold enough to chase, tend to flee if you can tear out the tendons of one of their legs. I wouldn't recommend it for the same reason I don't recommend fighting a fox. But it does know how to flee, with enough persuasion."

Cloudthunder's pupils dilated at the idea of raking her claws across one of the bastards and watching it squirm. She knew that would be great hubris, but still - she could keep it in her reverie. With how much information Tree had about Woodcrawlers... "Redstar's gonna want to hear this," she mused out loud.

"Who?" Tree asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Redstar," Morningpaw mumbled. "She's our leader."

"Hey, Tree, I know this is a very bold request to make, from one stranger to another. But..." Cloudthunder offered a gentle purr. "Would you like to join ForestClan?"

Tree seemed caught off guard by this. "A cat colony, being welcoming to outsiders? That's a first. Morningpaw made it seem like I'd be chased off," they meowed, failing to suppress the amusement in their tone.

"ForestClan is...different," Cloudthunder admitted with a shrug. "Our methods would be considered advanced for some."

"More advanced than a cat using lemonweed to hide their chemical scent?" Tree asked with a twitch of the whiskers, their green eyes filled with amusement.

Morningpaw had remained quiet for much of their exchange, still chagrined. But upon hearing this comment, she said nonchalantly, "We can start fires."

"...You can what now?"

"Don't get the wrong idea - we don't really start them easily, per se, more like maintain the cinders," Cloudthunder laughed. "But yes - we do know how to start them, if necessary. It's hard, but it preserves food quite well."

"And we have dry bedding. And defenses. You wouldn't have to be alone," Morningpaw added quietly. Despite her mood, she sounded hopeful at the idea that Tree would stay. Tree seemed unsure about the prospect, but after looking between Cloudthunder and Morningpaw for a while, they sighed and began crossing over the stepping stones laid out on the stream.

"Oh, I may as well see, at least. A story to tell other travellers, if nothing else." Despite Tree's noncommittal statement, the way their golden tail flicked with interest as they padded in between the two cats told them otherwise. "Well, shall we?"

Cloudthunder suppressed a mrrow of amusement.

Something told her she was going to like them.

---

< PREVIOUS | NEXT>

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.3)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 8.9k (this actually might be the shortest i've written to date)

summary: satoru has been naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, not sure if it's suicidal ideation or what since suguru wants to die for what he did to reader, definitely probably some unhealthy codependency because everyone here is a teenager going through traumatic shit, uhhhh let me know if there's anything else but I think those are the big ones, hurt/like minimal amounts of comfort, gojo is disgustingly in love please help my boy he's struggling with his depressed s/o's

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary, @ziggy0stardust

author note: really wanted to write the fallout of the last chapter in satoru's pov, like how it goes in canon. not sure if it's my own depression on some fuck shit or a genuine struggle, but i got stuck in the middle of the chapter. i really hope it has the emotional impact that i was going for. i was channeling my depression here since my annual seasonal big sad is coming up. brains are great (:

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART THREE]

No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. No, that’s mean and unfair. You don’t deserve that. Satoru is the stupid one. Him and his traitorous heart that had fluttered like some blushing maiden when you completely dismissed his identity up until that point, ignored his immense strength that anyone with a shred of cursed energy could feel, and treated him like an actual human. Do you even know how much time he spent hunting down an exact replica of those cheap sunglasses you offered up to him during that first meeting? After Suguru broke them when he was punching Satoru in the face?

Yeah, Satoru is a moron. Because he’s happy that he hadn’t learned Reverse Cursed Technique yet and that Shoko had been away long enough that his nose would never sit totally right ever again after it was broken. Just like your sunglasses, his crooked nose is another reminder that two country bumpkins have rocked his shit so wholly that it’s kind of insane.

That night had been embarrassing and confusing. He hadn’t been able to stop pressing against the tender bridge of his nose, making pain shoot across his face. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Suguru standing over him with sharp, furious eyes and bloody fists. All he could feel were the phantom touches of your soft yet unflinchingly steady fingers on his cheeks and chin. Never an ounce of hesitation from either of you when it came to Satoru. He’d rocked against his mattress, coming way too many times for him to ever admit. The second time that he’d touched himself to the thoughts of you two.

People have always been terrified of Gojo Satoru and his unfathomable strength. Little do they know that he’s no longer the strongest sorcerer in the world. He hasn’t been since the morning after his seventeenth birthday when he woke up in the early dawn, your head weighing down his chest, Suguru’s breath warm against the skin of his neck, and Satoru thought, I love you. Because he worships the ground that you and Suguru stand on. If either of you came to him and asked him to burn the world down, he’d do it. The only thing that held him back from blowing up a room full of batshit crazy cult followers is because Suguru told him there’d be no meaning in it.

But Satoru is still the same boy god as he’s always been. Thinking that his strength alone will be enough to protect himself and everyone else from problems. Pretending that plastering a smile on his face and never taking anything seriously will be enough to infect everyone else. Forgetting that his childhood of being raised as a weapon has dulled his sense of what’s horrifying and what’s not.

Naively thinking that his world hasn’t been on the edge of collapse for a long time.

No. That’s not totally true, either. Because he’s noticed. He sees everything, right? He’s been with Suguru on his trips to buy cigarette packs, becoming increasingly frequent. Satoru’s wondered, more than once, if Suguru is smoking more than eating these days. The bags under Suguru’s eyes and yours are getting darker. The windows and doors of your rooms have been locked more than ever before, a silent warning that you’re not up for spending the night with anyone. Both your tempers are shorter, especially with each other. He doesn’t think you’ve ever shrugged off the touch of others as much as you are now.

In the back of his mind, Satoru has known for a long time that you and Suguru are not okay, but he looked away. That’s his biggest sin. Because he’s been afraid that if he accepts that, he’ll have to accept that it’s because you and Suguru are not cut out for the lives of sorcerers, and that would mean you’d have to walk away from this world.

You’d both have to walk away from him.

This has been his blue spring. That’s what the adults call it, isn’t it? At some point, his spring turned to autumn without his realizing it. Now, he faces the daunting reality of his love turning into a brutal, deadly winter.

“…huh?”

It’s the middle of the night and Satoru has literally just walked into his dorm room when Suguru calls.

He doesn’t understand, at first. It’s hard to when the connection is in and out. There’s so much static. And between all that, Suguru isn’t making any fucking sense. He’s incoherently babbling. And Satoru prays that he’s wrong, but it sounds like Suguru is crying. Satoru thinks that he hears your name in there somewhere, making his stomach twist. There aren’t many reasons why Suguru would be this upset, but Satoru is trying to make Suguru calm down enough to explain.

“…hurt…so much…blood…blood everywhere…sorry, so sorry…”

“Please…need you…Shoko…get here…”

“…Squid…dying…”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Satoru remembers the prefecture that Suguru mentioned he was going with you to. Sensei would have more specific information on the village in his office, right? A primal panic, one that he’s not felt since last year, fuels him to flicker across campus. If he can get near the village, he’ll be able to sense someone’s cursed energy. He tears Sensei’s office apart, trying to find where he keeps mission details.

As soon as he’s got the location, he’s honing on Shoko’s energy, and then he’s there. Next to her bed. She’s still awake, hunched over some medical textbook. She yelps when he snatches her by the upper arm. He’ll apologize later for the rough treatment, but all he can think is Sketch is dying, Sketch is dying, Sketch is fucking dying.

“Run Reverse Cursed Technique,” Satoru demands as he physically prepares himself for this trip.

“What? Why? Where did you even come from? Why are you in my room—”

“I haven’t teleported with anyone.” He’ll also apologize later for making her his first guinea pig. If it’s going to be someone, though, it’s good that it’s the person who can heal herself. “I haven’t even taken myself more than a prefecture away.” This is going to hurt.

Shoko’s voice pitches higher with panic. “What the fuck is going on, Gojo?!”

“Sketch is dying. Start healing yourself.”

Satoru doesn’t even give her the chance to start running it.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

Wrong. That’s wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

For the first time in the course of the Gojo clan’s history, the Six Eyes are wrong.

Those are Suguru’s residuals.

They have to be wrong.

Or…Satoru is overthinking it.

There has to be another explanation for why, buried deep in the gash across your torso that’s almost a mirror image of Satoru’s own scar, Suguru’s residuals linger. Suguru is crying and drenched in your blood because he wasn’t able to help you in time. The cursed spirit that did that to you was absorbed by Suguru after the damage was done.

That’s not how that works.

“What happened?” Shoko asks in a tone that Satoru has never heard out of her before. He tries to find his voice, tell her to shut the fuck up, because he knows what she’s thinking. The way that she’s curled over Sketch’s body, body tense, cursed energy flaring with emotion gives her away. “Suguru!” Shoko shouts, trying to reach him through his tears. “Tell me what happened to her!”

“I’m sorry.” Suguru hunches over. Digs bloody fingers in the dirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Why are you sorry?”

Satoru knows the truth. He does. It’s the reason why it feels like the world is about to slip out from under his feet. He wants to shut Shoko up because he doesn’t want to hear the truth. When Suguru, through his tears, manages, “I didn’t mean to,” Satoru wants to cry with him. There’s no stopping it now.

“What didn’t you mean to do?”

Suguru’s next cry is gut-wrenching. Satoru is trembling, more terrified than he’d been staring down the sharp edge of Zen’in Toji’s blade. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please, believe me. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Shoko, the stone-faced judge, has no mercy for either of them. She demands the truth, no matter what hell it’ll bring. She says your name, knowing Suguru can’t deny you your justice. “Did you hurt her?”

Satoru, the unintentional jury, has to witness Suguru become his own executioner when he chokes out, “Yes.”

A crack splits Shoko’s indifferent mask. Twisting her body around, she stares at Satoru with wet and shining eyes. “Goddamn you, Gojo,” she curses before quickly turning back around toward you. She ducks her head, but he catches the stray tear roll down her cheek before her hair fully hides her face. “You didn’t even give me time to get my smokes.”

The more time that passes where Satoru is forced to stand there, unable to do a goddamn thing for you or anyone else here, the more that he has to wonder what the worth of his strength even is.

Because, right now, it’s nothing.

His eyes have never left you after Suguru’s confession. He doesn’t think that he can face the implications of that yet. It’s so slow, the rise and fall of your chest, but he can see how rapid your pulse is under the delicate skin of your throat. Even from his vantage point and in the low light, he knows your skin is clammy. And the gore. It’s not like he hasn’t ever seen the result of a cursed spirit attack. He thought he was desensitized to that. But…things are different when it’s like this.

Guess this is what people mean when they talk about things hitting close to home. Seeing you there, your skin all torn open, blood so red…it makes him sick. His stomach has never rolled quite like this, not even when he was blearily watching his own skin stitch itself back together after getting shredded apart himself. He’d been…detached before he was totally healed and then the overwhelming euphoria poured in.

There won’t be any of that for you, he realizes. If Satoru is on the end of the emotional spectrum where he struggles to pinpoint feelings—even in himself—then you’re on the other side where you get it all. Your heart is too big. Always bleeding. Sitting there on your fucking sleeve, getting stabbed at by everyone and everything. Is this what you feel like all the time? Satoru’s brain is struggling to comprehend it all.

Aah, this is what it feels like to be weak, he suddenly understands. And he remembers how he’d felt it when that spear pierced his Infinity, right before metal sunk into flesh and he had to focus on survival. There was nothing he could do then and there’s nothing he can do now. This sucks, he thinks with the corners of his eyes stinging. No wonder you’re always undermining yourself and saying you’re weak.

How can you think you’re strong when your heart is always bleeding?

Nails digging into the skin of his palms, blood trickling through his fingers, he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t want to cry. He never wants to feel like this ever again. He never wants anyone to feel this way again, actually. If he could go another day without ever having to hear your gut-wrenching cries when you were in the morgue with Haibara’s body or hear Suguru tonight, then he’d trade his soul away. He’d give his strength away. He’d pluck his eyeballs out and throw them to the highest bidder.

How can he do that, though? Satoru could throw his Infinity around your bodies, but it won’t protect your hearts. The two of you would never let him whisk you away to Kyoto and hide you away from the world forever, as much as he desperately wants to do that right now. Part of the reason that Satoru and every-fucking-one else loves you idiots so much is because of how fucking kind you are.

For some reason, Satoru thinks about that day near the start of the term, under the cherry blossom tree. This just isn’t a sustainable system, you’d said. I wonder how many Special Grade sorcerers there have actually been, but they just couldn’t reach their full potential because old men sent them off to die.

If he can’t make your hearts stronger, then he has to make everyone else stronger.

Satoru knows what he needs to do now.

The settling of Shoko’s cursed energy has Satoru lifting his head. It’s taken a lot of strength out of her. The healthier you look, the worse Shoko does. “We need to get back to campus.” Her hands are trembling, and she drops back on her ass, trying to catch her breath before she’s forced to move. “She’s stable now and I can take care of those kids back at school. I need to eat before I do, get my calories up,” she adds. “You didn’t hurt me on the trip here. Do you think you will hurt us if we go as a group?”

Right. The kids. They were hidden in the bush when Satoru and Shoko got here, but seeing Shoko healing and Satoru’s inaction must’ve been enough to coax them back out. They’ve been beaten. Satoru wondered, briefly, if they were the catalyst for what set Suguru off.

One of them, the one with dark hair, whispers your name. “She’s gonna be okay now?”

“Yes,” Shoko answers softly. “And so will you when we get back to Tokyo.”

“You’re…you’re Miss Shoko…right?”

“That’s right. I guess she told you about us?” The girls nod. “You know our names. What are yours?”

“Mimiko,” the brunette answers.

The other, the blonde, steps beside her sister and takes her hand before introducing herself as, “Nanako.”

Shoko nods in acknowledgement, slowly rising to her feet. “Okay. Well, Satoru over there knows how to move between places,” she explains while pointing over at Satoru. “He’s going to take us back to the school we go to. For people like us.” The girls nod again, eyes alight with understanding. “Don’t be scared. You’re safe now.”

“We’re not,” Nanako mumbles. “She told us we didn’t have to be scared with Mister Suguru around.”

Suguru had calmed down, his sobs quieting to silent tears, but hearing the kid say that has him hunching back over and covering his face in shame.

Shoko watches him, lips pressing into a thin line. “Take those kids first, Gojo,” she orders lowly. A complete turnaround from her earlier decision for them all to go at once. “It’ll be less of a strain on your body and ours. Do it in batches.” It’s a bullshit excuse. Right now, he’s scared of her. Those healing hands of hers can so easily become weapons. He’s seen it before. And, sure, she normally wouldn’t be a threat to Suguru, but there’s no fight left in him. “Now.”

In the end, though, she’s still right. There was no strain on her on the trip here, but he sure as fuck felt it. While future trips tonight will be easier in the fact that he has the two landing points in his mind, adding more people would ramp up what reprieve that gives. It’s more cursed energy, more brain power, more finely tuned control to keep the other bodies all in one piece.

What other choice does he have?

Satoru leaves the kids in his room. It’s comfortable, you’ve told him as much. He marches to Nanami’s room, but he’s already opening the door of his room when Satoru gets there. Apparently, the sudden absence then reappearance of Satoru’s massive amount of cursed energy woke Nanamin up. Satoru is in a rush, so all he can do is demand Nanamin watch the girls while he goes to get you because you got hurt.

Then, between one blink and the next, he’s back with you, Suguru, and Shoko.

The only hint that something happened between Shoko and Suguru is a dark mark on Suguru’s cheek and his split lip. Also, she’s got a lit cigarette in hand—probably stolen from Suguru. Satoru has never given thought to smoking. He’s never really seen the appeal, but he thinks he does now. Especially when Shoko beckons him over and he knows that he’s going to have to carry you on the second trip back to campus.

Bile rises to the back of his throat when he carefully lifts you up in his arms. He’s never been squeamish until he’s had to touch your blood-soaked clothes before. It’s disgusting and now, it’s sinking into his clothes. Satoru hates that. He knows you hate it, too. Wet clothes. You hate being sticky even more. It’s why you’re always so careful when you eat desserts with him. He hopes you blacked out as soon as you were hurt. He doesn’t want to think about you having to lay there, pained by more than the gashes themselves.

“Gojo will be back, Geto,” Shoko explains as she grabs Satoru’s upper arm since he can’t hold on to her right now. “Don’t you dare try to run. If I found out you tried, I’ll do a lot worse than punching you in the face.” To Satoru, she says, “Drop us off at my room.”

When they land and Satoru has gently placed you on Shoko’s bed, he collapses next to it, needing to catch his breath and run his own Reverse Cursed Technique. Not only has he gone the furthest he’s ever warped, but he’s done more trips than ever before, too. There’s still one more round-trip that he’s got to make. There’s a strain on his muscles that he’s never felt before. There’s a blossoming pain behind one of his eyes.

Shoko starts rummaging around in her pantry for something to eat. “I have some protein bars. You should eat one, too.” She throws one over her shoulder when she finds the box and he catches it without looking and pockets it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the stomach for much right now. “Clean him up when you get back. Burn his clothes. We need to hide the evidence.”

Satoru bristles. “Stop treating him like a criminal.”

“Take off the rose-colored glasses and stop being naïve,” she snaps back. “You heard him.”

“Yeah, and he said he didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”

“Hurting her? Yeah, I believe that. It’s what led up to it that’s the problem.”

He stumbles to his feet, still glaring at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geto just doesn’t lose control like that,” Shoko hisses before pointing at you. “She wouldn’t be hurt by one of his spirits unless he wanted it. He has to give them specific orders, you know that as well as I do. Maybe he didn’t intentionally have it attack him, but if he was pissed off enough, if he wasn’t careful enough with his order, then a spirit would consider her a threat.”

“Shut up.” Satoru wants to put his hands over his ears like a child. He’s in denial. She’s making sense, but he doesn’t want to admit that because it feels like acceptance. If what she’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter if he accidentally hurt you or not. If he was acting out of anger towards someone else, he’d be branded a curse user and there’s only one person strong enough to kill Suguru. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking about? The guy always riding on his moral high horse?”

“Stop pretending you’re both the same people after last year.” She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Just leave me alone. I can’t deal with you right now. I’m saying that we don’t know, but you need to be a fucking adult and think about all the possibilities here. Also, you’re such a selfish asshole. Do you think I want to think about this? No. That’s why we’re hiding the evidence from Yaga.” She whispers your name. “If we had Suguru declared a curse user before she’s awake, it’d push her over the edge.”

Satoru feels less…panicky than before. He backs down. Glances at you while he asks Shoko, “What’s the story?”

“My residuals have covered up evidence of his on her,” she whispers. “Suguru got there too late. It’s why he keeps blaming himself. Any idiot at headquarters knows how close they are, so it won’t be hard to convince them that their relationship is what’s got him so hysterical.”

“Okay,” Satoru answers as quietly. “What—” his voice cracks. “What do we do if she wakes up blaming him?”

“That’s not something we can answer for each other, Gojo.”

“Explain yourself, Suguru.”

Just like Shoko said, Gojo Satoru is a selfish asshole. Somewhere between Shoko’s room and here, with Suguru, rage overcame Satoru. Because Suguru ruined everything. Instead of trusting Satoru or even you enough to talk about the things bothering him, Suguru let everything fester.

(But you didn’t, either, a nastier part of his brain reminds him.

Is there something wrong with Satoru?)

Suguru hasn’t moved. He’s still there, on his knees, staring blankly at your blood left behind in the grass. It’s like Satoru doesn’t even exist. It pisses him off more. What? Does Suguru think he can give up? He thinks he can sit around, crying over what he did to you, while everyone else has to clean up his mess? No way. Fuck that.

“Why?”

“Huh?!”

Suguru still hasn’t looked away from the place your body had been. “Why does it matter? I hurt a fellow sorcerer. That’s all you need to know, isn’t it?”

Satoru grits his teeth. “Why the hell are you being so vague now? Ten minutes ago, you were apologizing for hurting her!”

While saying your name hoarsely, Suguru reaches out to dig his fingers in the bloody grass. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. But those…those goddamn monkeys…that’s who I wanted to hurt.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears falling no matter how hard he tries to keep them from doing it. “I hate them, Satoru. All our suffering is because of them. They create curses. We exorcise them. Over and over until sorcerers die. First, it was Riko. Then, Haibara. When will it be you? When’s it going to be her on a metal slab?”

Under the weight of all this suffering, the anger quickly rushes out of Satoru. No, it’s still there, but he’s so stupid mad at himself for not seeing how bad things have gotten. He pretended that everyone else could separate themselves from their pain like Satoru has always done. He loves you. He loves Suguru. Why couldn’t he just see how much you two have been hurting?

Satoru doesn’t know what to do with all this sadness. He sprints forward, dropping and sliding in on his knees right in front of Suguru. He throws his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and Suguru seems to almost resist. He clenches his fists around the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. Then, he ducks his head down, pressing his head against Satoru’s sternum, trembling and giving another one of those sobs that’s just a gut punch.

“I wanted them dead. It was all I could think. I want them all dead. I want us to have a better world. I would start here. But I made the order too vague when I summoned them. I wanted to kill all the monkeys in this goddamned village and anyone that tried to stop me. She wasn’t even in the way. She said my name. She said, ‘Suguru, stop,’ and that was enough. They knew her because I know her, but I was so blinded by my rage. It was like nothing else existed but that.”

“It was an accident.” Satoru cups Suguru’s face with his hands, trying to get Suguru to look at him, but Suguru won’t budge. “It was an accident, Suguru. It’s okay. Look at me. Just look at me. It’s gonna be okay. We’re already figuring out how we can cover it up.”

Suguru just cries harder. “I can’t live like this, Satoru. Exorcise. Absorb. Exorcise. Absorb. Swallowing their shit. I want a better world, but I can’t do that, either. Because the people at the end of that road, standing in my way…it’s gonna be you and her.” He gives one sharp, hysterical laugh. “The people that I’d be doing it for, the only two fucking people that I love enough to make the world better for are the people that I’d need to hurt to get that utopia. How fucked up is that?”

“We’ll fix it,” Satoru whispers desperately. “It’s okay. We’ll figure out a way to fix it. The three of us, we can make this world better together.”

“Kill me, Satoru. Put me down. I’m begging you. I can’t live in this cycle anymore.”

“Stop! Stop it. Don’t you fucking ask me to do that.” Suguru finally loses the strength to fight Satoru’s hands. When Satoru lifts his face up, he goes. “Just listen to me. We’ll come up with a plan. We can make this world better together the right way. But you can’t give up on us. Me and Sketch, we can’t lose you. We can’t.”

“You don’t need me.” Satoru’s heart skitters in his chest when Suguru reaches out himself, hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m not good for either of you anymore. I can’t go back to being the person I was before.” Satoru shakes his head. He refuses to accept that. Suguru is the one holding Satoru’s face in his hands now, trying to make Satoru see his light. “You’re the best for her. I know you love her as much as I do. Take care of her. You can forget me and live a happy life together.”

“I can’t. I’d never be able to forget you. The only future I can see is one with Sketch and Suguru.”

“I don’t have a future anymore. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t accept that and neither will she.”

Suguru laughs bitterly, pulling away from Satoru completely. “Even now, after everything that’s happened, you’re still so damn arrogant, Satoru. What are you going to do if she wakes up condemning me? What will you do, then? Is the strongest sorcerer going to impose his will on her, too?”

“No! I’d never do that!”

“So, if she asked you to, will you kill me?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“I betrayed her,” Suguru whispers. “Weren’t you listening to those girls? I heard her say it myself. You never have to be afraid when Suguru’s around. Suguru is going to protect us all. She’s always trusted me. She wanted to leave all this pain behind, and I asked her to stay. I’ve been actively drowning her, but she couldn’t see it.” There’s a defeated slump in Suguru’s shoulders. “And neither can you, Satoru.”

Satoru doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good with words. Not like you. But he does know that when you wake up, you’ll understand what Satoru does. You’ll say something along the same line as Satoru when he tells Suguru, “You’re hurting.”

“My pain doesn’t matter. I did what I did, and I need to be punished for it. I still believe in that. Justice.” Suguru stares Satoru dead in the eye before declaring, “I’m going to confess.” His features soften. “I know you’ve got a gentle heart, Satoru. You don’t need to worry. I’ll stick my neck out willingly so that you’ll never have to choose between me and her.”

When Suguru leans forward to press a chaste kiss against Satoru’s forehead, right over that tiny scar left behind last year, Satoru realizes that, yeah, maybe he is a little gentle. Because that gesture alone is enough to break him.

Satoru didn’t know what else to do with himself after everyone kicked him out—Shoko, so she could wipe away the blood and re-dress you, and Sensei, who needed to talk with Suguru about the details of what happened. He showered, desperate to be clean, but it’s like your blood left a stain on him even when he’d rubbed his skin raw. He put on one of Suguru’s hoodies because he’s broader than Satoru and the sleeves will cover his hands. He can’t look at them right now.

The sun is rising when Sensei tracks him down where he’s sprawled out on a staircase. He’s got a lit cigarette in one hand. Sensei has always been pretty good on keeping his habit on the low, wanting to be an excellent role model for his students, but even he has his limits, Satoru guesses.

“Suguru asked to be put in one of the cells.”

Figures, Satoru thinks bitterly.

“Should I?”

“You’re actually asking me that?” Satoru mumbles, no energy left to put any heat behind it.

Sensei sighs, as mentally exhausted as Satoru is. “My bad.”

Satoru straightens from where he’s been hunched over. After everything tonight—last night…something opened up in him. He’s got to stretch himself beyond the little world he’s cultivated. It shouldn’t have come to this, but he’s got a really shitty personality. He’ll always have one, probably. But he’s willing to learn now. It can’t be about him anymore.

“Sensei, I’m strong, right?”

“Yeah, brazenly so.”

“But apparently, it’s not good enough for just me to be strong.” Sensei’s a good dude. He listens. Doesn’t tell Satoru that he’s a dipshit for not realizing this sooner. Satoru throws Sensei a bone and says it for him. “Sorry, old man, for being a dumbass and not listening sooner.”

Sensei takes a drag of his smoke. “Don’t apologize to me for being a teenager. If anyone’s at fault, it’s us. The adults. The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders.”

“Not only on mine, though, is it?”

“No,” Sensei admits quietly. “Adults are forgetful. Not only do our days pile up, but so do our regrets and fears. With all that, it’s hard to remember that there was a time when we weren’t used to the weight of others’ lives on our shoulders. It’s just another one of those burdens that we carry.” He finally stoops down to sit next to Satoru. “At the end of the day, you’re all children. And to a child, it really is like having the world on your shoulders.”

“I know my shoulders can handle it, but…that’s only those of us that are born into it. Most of the school’s enrollment comes from scouting, doesn’t it?” It’s not only your face and Suguru’s that flash across his mind. It’s Nanami, too. Haibara. “We’re not giving anyone else the time to strengthen their shoulders, y’know? There’s not much fostering going on here. And that’s not a diss on you. No offense or anything, but you just don’t have the strength to keep us all safe enough to get that thick skin.”

Sensei exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know I don’t.”

“It’s not like we can add more teachers, though. Not enough out in the field to spare. But…hey, you ever read Fullmetal Alchemist? Nah, probably not. What about an ouroboros? Heard of that? It’s like this snake that eats its own tail. That’s us right now. Kids enlist and get thrown to the wolves before they can fend for themselves. Most of them die, so there’s few to go out in the world. Even fewer to stick around and teach. And that cycle goes on and on.”

“I agree.”

“We gotta break it.”

“I know we do, but how?” Satoru turns to stare at Sensei who is, in turn, studying Satoru in the same way. There’s this familiar spark in his eyes. Satoru thinks he’s seen it before. “You said it yourself. There’s not enough of us.” Oh. Wait. Yeah, Sensei is asking these pointed questions because he knows the answer already. He’s waiting on Satoru to figure it out himself. “How do we change things?”

Satoru knows what he needs to do. Last night, he knew that he needed to change things. But he understands how he’s going to do that now. “Make someone like me a teacher.”

A large hand suddenly drops on top of his head. “You’re going to be terrible at it,” Sensei whispers. He’s no longer looking over at Satoru, but he ruffles Satoru’s hair. “I look forward to working with you in the future, Satoru.”

***

Shoko crashes when everyone’s healed. Took those kids with her to bed.

Suguru…he’s holed up in his room when Sensei refused to put him in a cell, no matter how bad Suguru wanted it. The old man said that until you, the victim, corroborate Suguru’s story, there’ll be no imprisonment. Satoru asked Nanami to keep an eye on Suguru. Not that Satoru thinks he’s going anywhere. It’s like the fight left Suguru as soon as Sensei denied his request.

Nothing else for Satoru to do but keep vigil at your side. He’s seated on the floor next to your bed, cheek pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t do anything else. He doesn’t think he could focus on a game or manga or anime right now. Shoko’s always told him that Reverse Cursed Technique can do a lot, but it can’t wipe away the emotional weight of an experience. He can refresh his brain all he wants, but not his memories.

Before she went to bed herself, Shoko warned Satoru that this could break you in a way that you can never come back from. If they thought it was bad after Haibara’s death, this’ll be worse. Because it’s piled on for you. The incident with the Zen’in, the death that you blame yourself for, and even if Suguru didn’t hurt you, this is the closest you’ve come to death.

You can’t do what Satoru does—disassociate from the trauma. There’s no Infinity for you to keep people at bay when they start to close in on him the way all those fly heads had. If you’re scared the things that haunt your dreams, you’ll have to face it because you can’t wipe away the need to sleep with a technique. For the last two weeks, he’s watched you try to train yourself to smile, to try and distract yourself away from the thought constantly pressing in, but you’re not built for that like he is.

With every passing second, it gets harder and harder for Satoru to resist the urge to grab you and Suguru and flee to Kyoto. All he wants to do is protect you both. More than anything, he wants you to be happy. Neither of you have to be sorcerers anymore, he’d make sure of it. It doesn’t wear him down like it does you and Suguru. Or…maybe it does, but you two make it better.

It doesn’t take much for Satoru to be happy. For him, it’s as simple as the scratching of your pencil against paper. It’s the slide of Suguru’s fingers against the pages of his books before he flips them. It’s a gentle breeze that floats through your room when you open the window to get better lighting, carrying away the smoke of Suguru’s cigarettes. It’s the sunlight on his face and the press of your shoulders against his as you all lay on a blanket in the park.

Satoru doesn’t want to be lonely anymore.

As if between one blink and the next, the press of a hand on his cheek is pulling him from his doze. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes, and your thumb is wiping away one of his stray tears.

You’ve rolled on your side to face him. There’s nothing on your face. Nothing in your eyes. It’s like your body is moving on autopilot. And none of that changes when he reaches up to return your gesture except that the breath in your chest shudders before tears roll down your own cheeks.

Satoru sees it for what it is. A war inside yourself—one side desperately trying to flee from the memories and emotions that come with them. Your body betrays you, though. Tear after tear slips from your eyes and soon, your bottom lip wobbles. You squeeze your eyes shut. Wordlessly, your hand moves down, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and you start tugging while shifting back on the bed to make more room.

“In the bed?” Satoru checks quietly.

You nod fervently in answer.

Satoru crawls up into bed with you. Your hands are greedier than they’ve ever been. He tries to be careful to not overwhelm you with touch, but you yank his arm to drape it over your waist so you can press yourself fully against him. You tremble in his arms, on the edge of collapse.

Right before you bite his shirt to muffle your gasps, you confirm what he’s known all along.

“Suguru hurt me.”

***

“Come again?”

You don’t repeat yourself, instead staring at Sensei with those lifeless eyes.

Sensei stares you down, waiting for words that aren’t going to come. He glances over at Shoko and, when she looks away, he then moves to Satoru. All Satoru can do is shrug helplessly. It’s not like either of them can make you talk. Satoru wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s shocked you’re talking at all. This is the most you’ve spoken since you woke up two days ago. You haven’t had the energy for it…

Or anything else, for that matter. It’s been keeping Satoru up at night, stealing what little sleep he was getting before. It’s worse than it was after Haibara. You’d been a shell of yourself, but…you ate. A little. Once a day. Now…it’s like you’re a ghost. Shoko had threatened to pour some toxic sludge posing as a protein shake down your throat. She’d been so frustrated with you that she grabbed your chin, and you just gave her the same look as now. Not defiant. Not upset. Just…nothingness.

There’s not supposed to be smoking in the dorms, but Sensei lights one, anyway. “Explain what happened, then.”

“I wasn’t ready.” Your voice cracks from disuse. “The Grade 1 hurt me.”

“Suguru said it was under his control.”

“Not before it hurt me.”

Sensei presses a hand against his forehead, sighing. “Why would Suguru confess to something so serious?”

“Because it’s who he is. He’s upset he didn’t get there fast enough.”

For a long time, Sensei stares at you. “I need you to understand that our laws aren’t like normal ones. There’s no decision on whether or not to press charges against someone for a crime against you. If he hurt you, jujutsu law requires you to report that. If the official investigation results find that you lied to cover for him, you’d be charged as an accomplice and sentenced to death alongside him,” he explains carefully.

“I understand.”

“Good. So, knowing that, do you want to change your answer?”

“No,” you reply with no hesitation whatsoever. “Suguru didn’t hurt me.”

“There’s most likely going to be an official investigation.” Sensei is trying to get you to change your mind because he thinks it’s going to save your life. He knows you’re lying. Everyone that knows you and knows Suguru knows you’re lying. Suguru would never confess to something like this unless he actually did it. “I won’t be allowed to interfere.”

“Suguru didn’t hurt me,” you declare with an air of finality.

***

It’s a few days after you told Sensei your side of the story. Privately, Sensei confirms to Satoru what they all knew would happen. There’s going to be an official investigation. There’s no way they’d let something like this slide. The higher-ups are terrified of Suguru. Maybe more than Satoru. Satoru is a familiar threat. He’s a one-man army. But Suguru…as long as he’s alive, there’s no limit to how many strong his army can be. So, if there’s a chance that he’s gone off the rails, they’ll put him down. And you’ll just be collateral damage. You were always replaceable. A pet project. Nothing more.

“For the time being, you’re off assignments,” Sensei says to Satoru when he’s on his way out the door. Satoru glances over his shoulder at Sensei. He’s looking away. “You’re to keep your eyes on Suguru until the investigation is over.”

Satoru scoffs bitterly before leaving Sensei’s office without another word.

Shockingly, you’re not in your room when Satoru goes looking for you. You’re at the edge of the forest that they use for the Goodwill Event. Just sitting down in the grass, legs crossed, staring intently at some low-level cursed spirits who’d been lured to the tree line by your presence. He plops down next to you, ready to do the same thing he’s done since you woke up which is to be a steady presence.

“What do you see when I use my technique?”

Satoru is so startled by the sound of your voice that it makes him jump in place a little. His head snaps in your direction, but you never look away from the forest. “Uh…what?”

“Last year, when I influenced that old man…you said it was like there were two of me. It was like it was something you’d never seen me do before. But how was that different than what I do with a cursed spirit?”

It’s a weird thing for you to ask, but he’s desperate to hear more of your voice, so he tries to explain it. “Oh. It’s…normally, it’s kinda like…eh, a blanket? Yeah. When you pacify spirits, it’s like a blanket getting put over them. More than Suguru’s contract that looks like chains on them. With that geezer…” He hums. It was close to the blanket, is the thing. “It was like an infection, I guess. It was like there was this shot of your energy through his brain and it seeped through everything else. Does that make any sense?”

Your brows are knitted together in thought. “Yes,” you whisper after digesting all that. “Why is it different, though? What is my pacification but just another way to order a spirit around?”

“Maybe because the pathways are all different?” He crosses his arms over his chest, thinking about this harder now. “Spirits are just huge lumps of cursed energy. Cursed energy in sorcerers has a whole network to go through. Yeah, if you think about the shape of it, that might actually be why. Blanket for the lumps, an infection of sorts for sorcerers.”

You nod slowly. “Why do you think I didn’t have a brain bleed when I influenced Zen’in Ogi?”

“It could be a few different reasons, but the main one is probably time. The point behind this school is to hone your technique, y’know. They don’t really have a Sorcerer Biology 101 class, but our power grows as we do. You kind of peak after your body is done growing. Everyone, though, has this explosive burst of power when they hit puberty that lasts through the rest of your body’s development.”

“I’m still in sorcerer puberty?”

Satoru laughs a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s the best way to put it. It’s like your body is in the home stretch. C’mon, Sketch, I know you’re not dumb. You’ve noticed that your technique has developed over time, right? Why’re you asking such an obvious question?”

“But you said there were other reasons,” you remind him.

“It’s not obvious? C’mon, think about the basics here. How emotional were you? You were the angriest I’d ever seen you when you broke that geezer’s hip. How were you with Zen’in? Also, Zen’in Ogi loves to act like he’s hot shit, but he’s nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is. That guy never would’ve cut it as the head of the Zen’in. That higher-up is the stronger of the two.”

“But…you’re stronger than all the higher-ups combined, right?”

“Duh.”

“Do you think the action itself can cause more strain on me?”

“Huh?”

“Does it expend more energy for me to force an action than force a thought?”

“Oh. Probably, yeah. The Inumaki clan are like that. The more damage they cause to their opponent with their cursed speech, the bigger the blowback on the sorcerer themselves. It’s all about balance in sorcery.”

“Right.” You sigh softly. “I wish I had as much cursed energy as you.”

He rubs his ear absentmindedly. “You’re already halfway there. Once you pierce that barrier inside them, it’s really just a waiting game from there. You just need to finish letting your cursed energy flow through them.”

“Easier said than done. That’s probably where most of my energy is burnt up. If only there was a way to infect them faster…”

“Too bad you’re not like a snake or a spider and can just inject yourself in their veins, huh?” You don’t respond to that. You duck your head, staring down at your hands in your lap. Satoru doesn’t want you getting lost inside your head, so he tries to redirect the conversation. “How’d you like my explanations? Good? I’m gonna be a teacher, so I have to start working on that kinda stuff, right?”

You raise your head, turning to him with raised brows. “A teacher?”

“I’m gonna change things,” he swears. “Last year, when you said this system isn’t working, you were right. But there’s never been anyone strong enough to shake things up, not until me. What if that’s because of what you said? They were never allowed to grow before they died. The future needs someone strong enough to protect them, to let them grow. I’m gonna be that person.” He nods to himself. “I’m never letting anything like this happen ever again.”

For the first time in a really long time, you smile. It’s that small, genuine one that does what it’s always done—make his heart skip a beat. “You won’t be alone.” The back of his neck is getting warm. Why didn’t he bring his stupid sunglasses so he can obviously look away from you? Why can’t he stop blushing, damn it? “Let me be your spy on the inside. They’ll probably ask me to work at headquarters. I want to help you, too.”

As much as you hate dealing with people, that’d be the best course of action for you. It keeps you in this world, but you’re out of the line of fire. And…he doesn’t think you could cut it as a teacher. Kids are still going to die. Not as many as now, he hopes, but he knows the higher-ups won’t be happy with him. They’ll work to keep things the way they are. He can try his hardest, but he can’t be everywhere at once. You’d get too attached to the students. It’d break you.

“I’m going to make things right, Satoru,” you insist.

“You make it sound like it’s your fault.” Satoru leans sideways, his head butting against the top of yours. “Besides, the one in charge of fixing everything is me, isn’t it? It’s alright, Sketch. You don’t have to worry about things right now. I’m gonna figure something out. I promise that nothing else happens to either of you anymore, okay?”

***

The evening before the unofficial trial, when the sun is setting, you ask Satoru and Suguru to meet up with you. It’s at your favorite koi pond. The one where him, you, and Suguru named each fish. There’s a stone bench that you’re already seated at, posture straight and stiff, facing away from the pond. There’s a determination in your eyes that he’s been watching grow from an ember to an inferno over the past week. With that fire, though, is an edge.

“I know I don’t have any right, but…I’m glad you reached out,” Suguru admits softly. “I wanted to see you,” he adds again, even quieter than before. “Just one more time.”

There’s a bitter twist to your mouth. Before you rise to your feet, Satoru watches with a sinking stomach as that iciness forms in your gaze. Suguru flinches backward. Satoru resists the urge to do the same. No matter how mad you’ve been at them, you’ve always forgiven them. Were you finally pushed too far? Is what Suguru did unforgiveable to you?

“We both go, or we both stay. You remember when you said that, right?”

Suguru ducks his head. His shame never lets him keep it high anymore. “I do.”

“You’re as selfish now as you were then.” It’s not said as an accusation, no anger behind it, but it’s got Suguru hunching in on himself, anyway. “I keep finding myself here. Having to decide your future. If there’s anything I resent you for, it’s that. It’s worse now because it truly is life and death.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means nothing, but I am.”

“What about you, Suguru? Is there anything you resent me for?”

Satoru knows the answer even before Suguru confirms it with, “No. Nothing.”

“You will,” you whisper cryptically. “Do you remember the rest of that day? What happened when we made up? I told you what scared me most about coming to Tokyo. I don’t want you to leave me behind when we get there. Remember that?”

“I’m breaking that promise, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Your words sharpen. “You keep saying that, but you begged me the other night to change my mind. You keep doing that. Wasn’t it enough hearing the first time that I didn’t blame you? Do you care that little about me? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

Suguru sighs your name. “I need to be punished.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“You don’t want to punish me. That’s the problem.”

“Who says I don’t?”

The tension in Suguru’s shoulders loosens and there’s relief on his face for a moment before he straightens to his full height. He’s serious about receiving your punishment. He’s happy, too. Satoru feels stuck between you two. This…it’s your right, but…but he’s scared to lose you both.

“What is it? I’ll do anything.”

“Live.”

Suguru’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m making you do the thing that you clearly don’t want to do. I’m forcing you to live. You’re going to live with what you’ve done and you’re going to learn to live with non-sorcerers. I won’t make you stay a sorcerer, but I’m not letting you die. I’m not living in a world without you in it.”

He barks out a sharp, harsh laugh. “You can’t guarantee that, Squid.”

“I already have.” You raise a hand. Satoru had noticed a bandage wrapped around your palm last night, but you’d brushed him off like it was no big deal. That bandage is gone, showing a jagged gash. “I’ve already influenced them.”

Satoru’s stomach drops. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He should’ve asked more questions when you came back so exhausted from headquarters after they called you in to give your official statement. You’d told him that you wanted to study some cursed spirits, clear your head doing something you like. “What did you do?”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” you start slowly. “All it took was a cup of tea. They trusted me too much. They trust us all too much, honestly. They left the kettle unattended. They didn’t look at the water before they let their tea steep. None of them noticed my blood in the water.”

“Blood?” Suguru repeats incredulously. “What?”

“I needed a quicker way to get my cursed energy flowing through them. I’d already tested it on the pencil pusher that drove me to headquarters. Coffee hides the taste better. It was harder with him than it was the higher-ups. Orders require more energy. It was just suggestions with the higher-ups. It took, though. They agreed.”

“Agreed to what?” Suguru asks hoarsely.

“You and I are going to make a binding vow. If a non-sorcerer should ever die by your hand, I die with them.” That look of horror on Suguru’s face is mirrored on Satoru’s own, he knows. “Even if they eventually realize that I influenced them, I doubt they’ll do anything. It’s a perfect deal. I’m a hostage. Neither of you would risk my life.” You pause. “That’s if you agree to the deal, of course.”

“I won’t,” Suguru spits.

“You will. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell them what I did. I’m an accomplice now. Binding vow or not, if you die then I die. You forced my hand.”

Suguru’s hands slowly ball up into fists. They’re clenched so hard that he shakes. You’ve trapped him. You’ve saved his life and he’s furious about it. This was the best possible outcome and Suguru has never looked so betrayed. “I will never wear a heartfelt smile in this world.”

“And I can never live in a world without you in it,” you state just as bluntly.

Tears well up in Suguru’s eyes. “For as long as we both live, I won’t forgive you.”

“I know. I’m doing what you wanted me to. I’m deciding what to do with your life. But I understand. I’ve accepted the risk. I’d rather you resent me for the rest of our lives than watch you die.”

“You’re cruel.”

“No crueler than you.”

[noxturnalmoth]

Literary Service

Summary: Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Warnings: sensual content, violence, spit play

Word Count: 9, 629

Masterlist: here

Chapter 7 - Nicotine destresser

You can't thank Silco enough for doing what he's done.

Thanks to his exposure therapy you've been able to take your friends in your arms, eyes wet with tears raining down on the plains of your cheeks as you confessed how much you loved each and every one of them, Alex, June and Eric.

They had teased you, but with the beaming smiles on their faces and the sheen in their eyes you knew that they simply tried to deflect so that they didn't cry.

You've also been able to walk in campus and in town without the all consuming fear of hurting someone eating away at you from the inside. Now able to spend more time outside, experiencing the greatness of a calm day at a park while you sat in the grass, getting your groceries became a task you quite liked other than the painful standing up.

Through Silco, you had bettered your life so much.

He had erased your loneliness, stoked the flames of your passion for the literary arts, shared his life with you as a close friend whether it was the good or the bad, and he had cured you of some parts of your violence. Your confidence slowly easing itself in your life as everything fell into place.

You never hesitated to remind him how much you cared about him in small ways before, but now all the admiration and care you held towards him grew tenfold.

As a friend yes. Because of course you valued your friendship above all else.

But your feelings grew steadily too. Terrifying you in the strength they gained over time.

Silco could have recommended a psychiatrist, a physical therapist. But he knew better than that, he knew that your healing could only begin with comfort.

And he knew himself to be your biggest source of it.

Which warmed your heart because it meant that he knew just how much he mattered to you.

Yet that also terrified you too because…

..did he know to which extent you cared about him?

The thought of it was, no, is dizzying because of how true it is due to his proclivity to observating all that surrounds him with a keen eye. After everything that happened you know that he wouldn't judge you, that if he knows he's keeping it to himself not to embarrass you because he knows just how unused to love you are that it'd be easy for you to fall for just anybody. He just so happened to be the first. First to treat you like you mattered after your benefactors, the one to teach you about the world you were suddenly dropped in and a man who felt so fundamentally similar to you that you couldn't help but lean on him due to his confidence and experience.

He would never mock you or berate you for your feelings if he knew, which you are almost entirely sure of. Even if he would never feel that way.

But after last time, that last thought seems…outdated? No, perhaps it simply seem like you don't know the truth. His stares have always been soft when turned to you, but the adoration permeating every atom in his being was simply too much for you to ignore. Because no matter how close a friendship is, you know that the stare he gave you then was way too close to the one you have been giving him for the past handful of months.

And you don't don't know whether to be happy or scared.

Happy to know that your affection is quite probably reciprocated. Scared of what could happen anyways. Would he ask to spend less time together to regroup himself and cut down his feelings? Would he ask you to leave his class? Would you two remain the same indefinitely? That seems like the most plausible answer, yet your fear of losing him made it the last option of them all.

And in the point one percent chance that he would consider you or maybe make a move, would you even deserve it? Did you even deserve that man? You deserved his friendship, that much you knew from your place in his life, and you knew he wouldn't just keep someone in his life without meaning it. But what about your place as a lover? Would you be deserving of such a thing in his eyes if what you saw in his eyes was true?

How would the relationship between you two change? Would it be drastic, would it be soft? Would he hold you like you have been hoping him to, just like last time? With abandon, with a devotion so strong you could allow yourself to describe it to be akin to the one a believer has towards their god. How would he kiss you? What would his lips feel like? What would he taste like? How would he feel? What would his skin feel like?

What would he sound like, whispering confessions to you, against your lips? Against your skin, kissing all over, kissing down, his eyes trained on you as his touch worshiped you like Piltovans worship progress. You knew that even if he didn't do that, you know you would. Even if just to hear gasps, heavy breaths and sighs, perhaps even groans. To see his face scrunch up, his eyes darken, his jaw clench. An expression akin to the one he gave you while revealing his name and past to you.

You've already gotten a taste of this through the fantasies plaguing you, forcing you to relieve yourself of the molten hot pressure burning in your loins at the simple thought of your friend, of Silco, desiring you that way. Each time making you wonder more and more what his mouth, what his fingers, what…..all of him would feel like.

Gods, all of this from just a passing look in his eyes while he showed how proud he was of you for overcoming your fears. How pathetic were you? How idealistic? The simple thought of Silco loving you feels nearly preposterous, but of him actually expressing it?

It's nearly as impossible as him sharing his expensive cigars with you. Preferring the cheaper cigarettes in your presence, enjoying the simplicity of your presence with simple indulgences, as if returning to a more peaceful life when around you.

"Hellooooooo? Runeterra to the nerd, nerd to Runeterra."

Your face is shaken up and down by familiar hands, a scarred face coming into view as your sight rids itself of its thoughtful blur, blood and fear covering it before you blink heavily and the image disappears.

"What? What's up?" You furrow your brows, looking at your two other friends while you come back down from your reverie.

"You've just been staring blankly at the wall for the past ten to twenty minutes. Are you sure you've been getting any rest?" June's sweet voice echoes, worried as she wraps an arm around you from your left, the library soon registered in your mind as the place you're currently in.

Right, we were working on a project.

"You've been less attentive and more tired lately. Wanna talk about it?"

"Eric's right, you've been kinda declining for a week here, we're not at the finals yet so we can't really say it's exam stress either." Alex explains, leaning back on his chair from where he was holding your face, looking concerned.

You have been…tired, yes.

The anniversary of the day your peaceful life was burnt to the ground and dragged away by Noxus, the day that you would be shackled to a life of war bound to kill and to serve people that do, was quickly coming.

It's a time that brings you the same feeling each year, a growing sense of unrest, paranoia, difficulties to focus, nightmares growing more vicious and violent, making your already small amount of rest shorter, hunger leaving your body as it prepares for yet another tragedy. That alone in the days preceding the main part of it.

Each year for the same amount of days, exactly five, you grow more and more miserable until it ends. Each day that passes signifying a week you've spent walking from your destroyed village to the Immortal Bastion, Noxus' capital.

And this year is no exception.

You hadn't slept the night before, and now on Monday, on the first day of your trip down the path to hell, you can already feel the effects, sounds muffling to leave place for screams, eyes flashing to unbearable sights and nose smelling death once more.

"Yeah sorry, guys. I guess I caught like, a little cold or something. I just feel a bit sick is all, you don't gotta worry."

They exchange worried glances.

"I mean we're pretty much done with this, so if you want to go back home instead of heading to Mr. Marlowe's class we'll tell him you're sick." June reassures.

On one hand you've never missed any of Silco's classes, on the other hand the first day is mentally the worst. And you can feel it as you look at your friends, their faces, healthy and expressive, flash to visions of your childhood friends whose pale faces are now forever struck with agony. Visions of your parents, your cousins, your teachers, your neighbors, all burning and bloody.

Corpses pile up in the room as your mind slips away from reality.

You see it all again, the burning buildings, the bodies slashed and tossed aside or crushed under destroyed homes, children and parents running away only to get caught or killed. You smell the thick smoke made of wood fire and cooking flesh. You taste the metal of blood, and you feel it too, sticking to you like it's trying to taint your skin forever.

In your mind, you know it succeeded. And that Noxus made sure to tattoo the dark red shade into the very fabric of your soul, never to be cleansed.

You feel them, hands gripping at you, dragging you with them to hell. It hurts, their touch scalding, leaving boiling, blackened marks wherever they gripped your flesh. Your body shakes, not of its own volition, not of its own making even, but something else shakes you. The specters gripping you tighter, shaking you harder, faster, their cacophonic wails turning more human the more you tremble.

"Ah!"

You groan in surprise as your head snaps to one side, a sting overtaking the cheek that has been hit.

Hit?

You blink, finding your friends surrounding you, hands gripping you tight while Eric's right hand finishes to settle back to his side.

"Yeah we're not letting you go back to class after this. You're going home, ASAP. I don't wanna hear any complains."

"Alex."

"No, shush." The scarred man shoves the straw of your half drunk coffee in your mouth. "You're not staying in class."

"Little man's right, you're very clearly out of it and you need rest. Take as much time as you need but do take it."

"Pinkie promise we'll tell Mr. Marlowe so he doesn't worry." June interlocks her pinkie finger around yours and pulls your little group in a hug.

Something she's been more than happy to do as often as possible since about two weeks ago when you've graduated from your exposure therapy with Silco.

You sigh. "Thanks guys, I'm sorry to be such a hassle."

"Oh bullshit, ya ain't. You may have not told us what happened but we know your life was far from good. You're just trying to live a good life with the remains of the previous one still kicking you in the ass, we can't fault you for that. Only support you." Eric's tone is gentle when he addresses you, overflowing with care.

You melt into the embrace, eyes tearing up and arms wrapping tighter around your friends as you try to convey just how much you care for them before you all pull away, your hands taking your coffee from Alex's.

"Thanks guys. I'll be better soon I hope."

"Don't rush it, just rest." Your cheek is kissed by June who sends you away, your bag packed and gently placed on your shoulder while they accompany you to the intersection between the campus and the dorms.

"Take care, we'll send you the notes on whichever class you miss!"

You smile as much as you can in your state, waving them off before you turn away, slowly making your way back home, your body heavier and your pains more prominent through the power of exhaustion and reminiscence.

Your bag is thrown away, clothes discarded haphazardly before you throw your pajamas on and crawl in bed. Your back is screaming at you, foot mocking the tears running down your cheeks and dripping down your jaw as you stare at the ceiling to find more visions taunting you.

Your parents, holding you close before their heads roll in front of you, their bodies suddenly freezing and burning as you stare in their lifeless eyes, reflecting you like a morbid mirror as you see a Noxian soldier approach you from behind through them. But is there anything you can do? No, and you know it. You know that people capable of burning down villages this way, of killing people this way, would not hesitate to do terrible things to you should you try to escape.

Now you know you probably should have anyways, and that death would have been kinder than whatever you have been put through.

Death would have been kinder than feeling your body melt only to be reshaped into a weapon through years upon years of torturous training. Death would have been kinder than feeling your humanity escape you like sand from a broken hourglass. Death would have been kinder than all the blood you've been forced to spill. Death would have been kinder than the faces of all of those whom you've killed haunting you everyday for the rest of your life.

The same faces that look at you now from the darkness of your room as you blink the visions away, only the smell of burning flesh and the very distant choir of screams. And as they stare at you time feels both like it's flowing too fast and too slow, a strange limbo made to torture you further.

Sinner.

Murderer.

Monster.

You're unworthy of all you have now.

You're unworthy of death.

All you deserve is to suffer.

The figures chant.

And you do. You feel the pain of your shackled ankles as your feet burn, walking miles upon miles a day, your soles bleeding and raw. Your eyes burning as your sobs yield no more tears. Lungs whistling with each baited breath.

Your eyes widen as you notice the figures getting closer and closer. Their disfigured bodies growing more terrifying the shorter the distance separating them from you is.

Ring, Ring.

Ring, Ring.

You blink and the figures are gone, your chest heaving painfully, back and leg shooting white hot pain through your trembling body.

In the dark your hand searches for the source of the noise, also making your bed sheet softly vibrate. And when your hand grasps your phone you don't check who calls before unlocking, a cough racking through you while you try to settle down to answer the call, body still tense in fear and from the sudden interruption in your waking nightmare.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Your body immediately relaxes with a soft sigh.

"Hey Silco. Sorry I couldn't come to class today."

"It's okay, your friends told me you're sick. Do you need anything?" His tone is gentle, soft and worried yet from behind his you can hear giggles and young voices albeit muffled.

"I…I just need time. I don't think much can do me good right now but thanks anyways, I'll be better soon."

"Darling." His voice is low, inquisitive, as if he's scolding you for lying.

As perceptive as always.

"I just need time, it's true. Really."

"Are you okay, then?"

You put your phone on speaker and lay back down, head sinking in the sweaty pillow.

"I mean, I will be yeah."

He sighs on the other side of the line and you know just what expression he arbors. One hand holding him up through a few fingers placed on his temple, head slightly tilted, one brow arched up, his lips softly pulling downwards and his eyes representing heaven and hell themselves trained on you with soft concern and gentle exasperation.

"That's not what I asked, darling. Are you okay now?"

Your breath catches itself in your throat and you nearly choke on it, your eyes glossing over and tears gathering at your lashes, sniffles escaping you as you try to stop sobs from escaping you. It's always painful when someone asks you this question, because no one deserves to be given your burdens. No matter who they are. Especially him.

Your demons are your own to fight, no matter how much people try to help, because you are not worth the hassle. You are not worth much in honesty.

Maybe even nothing at all.

"I'm coming over."

"What?" Your answer is immediate, your thoughts flushed down by a bucket of ice cold water. "No no, I promise I'm fine. You just woke me up, stay home. I promise I'm fine."

He deserves to stay home with his family.

He hums pensively, but when he doesn't seem to be able to find what he seeks in his thoughts you hear his hand thump back down on the table.

"Alright. Don't rush yourself, stay home if you need to, for as long as you need to. We can postpone Friday's meeting if you are not up for it that day, you know it's no problem."

Too kind. Too patient. Too gentle. Too good to you. Too-

"Thank you, but I wouldn't miss our meetings for anything in the world."

He chuckles, warm and low, and you taste tobacco and brandy permeating your mouth at the sound alone.

"So would I."

And through a tensed and terror stricken face, you manage to smile. Silco's reassurance always enough to calm some of the maelstrom wreaking havoc within you.

"Night, Silco."

"Goodnight, darling. Take care, yes?"

"I'll try."

"For me then."

You let out a shaky chuckle.

"I'd always do it for you."

And you close the call, realizing all too soon what you said, hoping to all that exists that he didn't catch it.

Before you turn your phone off for the night you send a quick message to your group chat with Eric, June and Alex, apologizing for today but that you'd also miss the rest of the week due to being too sick. They, of course, told you not to worry and that they'd have your notes ready every day.

And with that you just sink into your bed. Drifting in and out of sleep for the next three days you toss and turn, cold sweat staining your sheets more and more in a deformed humanoid shape. Taunting you with its form creeping in your shadow, like it eats away at you the more you remain within its limits. The cadavers of all of those whom you've killed observing you from the shadows, the feeling of burning hands marking your skin in your sleep along with the feeling of heaviness on your chest, or the way cold overtakes you and your throat chokes up whenever awake.

You are followed, like a prey surrounded by predators. Nightmares eating at your sanity through exhaustion and visions so real that the waking world feels like a fantasy; the day merging with the world of dreams taunting you. Your demons devour you as you are reminded each day of the five weeks you've spent dragging your body away from the ruins of your village sixteen years ago.

You see everything like in a messed up cinema screening compiling your greatest hits, bodies littering battlefields as you deliver death as a harbinger. The screen burning itself in your retinas to appear even when your eyes are open.

Thirst and hunger escape you and exhaustion takes its toll leaving you but a shell of yourself by Friday.

That day you turn in your bed, cracking your eyes open as you curl to your side, your phone shows you the hour.

And it's way too fucking close to your meeting with Silco.

Your lungs rush to inhale air as you crawl out of bed and barely miss falling face first in panic. Your floor is a mess with Monday's clothes strewn about, so you pick them up to throw them in the hamper, nearly snapping the wardrobe's door out of its hinges as you pick out your clothes and make your way to the bathroom. Only to stare in disgust at your appearance.

Greasy hair, puffy red eyes, purple eye bags, dry lips and skin glowing in a pale sickly way at the sheen of sweat covering it. A scoff slips past your lips as you begin the shower, setting it to the hottest you can and covering the mirror with a towel to hide the terrifying sight of your form away. While entering the shower you focus on scrubbing away, all the blood covering you in flashes that come in and out of your sight, all the sweat making you sticky with discomfort, to wash away the feeling of hands gripping you. Your hair is next, thoroughly cleaned as you pull out handfuls of it with each passage of your hands, stress killing your hair follicles.

There is no way you can look alright for Silco, not in this situation. And you wouldn't want to even if you could, you just need to be in his embrace.

Just need him.

Your mind clear enough of the nightmarish haze you realize the one thing you crave is his presence, his reassurance. You don't know if words will escape you, but the more articles of clothing you put on, the more you advance towards the building housing his office, the more you want to throw yourself in his arms and sob. The exhaustion of the four previous days finally taking their toll on you, and while the first day is always the more mentally taxing, the last day is the one harboring the most physical exhaustion effectively making it as bad as the beginning.

You struggle to make your way to your sanctuary, to this place of comfort that opens its arms for you every week. Your back cracks and your leg feels like it's twisting, days of not moving and staying in uncomfortable positions without your braces finally taking what is due and leaving your body in more pain than you have been for months.

So when you knock and the familiar voice answers you, you slam the door open and close as fast as you can, nearly crawling your way to Silco who looks at you in shock and concern before rising to his feet and taking you in his arms.

"What happened to you?" He mutters, slowly guiding you to the couch while sobs begin to escape you once more.

"I'm sorry Sil- I'm so sorry." Hiccups and chokes stop your words from being said louder than broken whispers.

"For what? What's going on, darling?"

"I lied." Your eyes, wet and stormy find his like magnets, like a lost soul finding its way back home. "I'm not okay, I'm not fine. I'm sorry Silco."

He shushes you, sitting next to you before turning you around so his arms surround you and your head fits in the crook of his shoulder.

"I know you did. But it's okay, I know how hard it is to ask for help. What matters is that you trust me enough to come to me. Do you want my help?"

You nod, his black shirt soaked with your tears yet his behavior as unbothered as always while he caresses your back comfortingly.

"I don't know what you could do, every year it's always the same. I don't think it'll ever pass."

"Do you wish to tell me what it is?" His cheek rests on top of your head as you feel the rumble of his voice traveling from his chest to his throat.

"The anniversary of the day…the one…I- The day my life changed. It's been like this every year for the past sixteen years." You chuckle in self deprecation, scolding yourself from being so pathetic, for being unable to pick yourself up by the bootstraps.

"Oh darling." His voice dips and his arms tighten. "You can always come to me, you know that? It's what friends are for."

Friends.

You can usually stomach the word when it comes to him, although bitter on your tongue you remind yourself that it is all you are and quite probably all you'll ever be.

Though today it seems to be taunting you.

"Just wanna forget." You mumble in his neck and he nods in understanding.

"What would you want me to do, then?" His voice is soft, sincere and you can imagine his expression as he utters these words.

"I just…I need to relax, my pain flared up and nothing helps at the moment because I'm so tense. I need to be held, I need to be loved, I just don't want to feel like this anymore Silco. It's already hard enough on the daily, right now it's just impossible to do this on my own anymore."

His arms leave you and your head tilts up so you can look at him in question, lips trembling and body shaking as sudden thoughts of him leaving you rush through your foggy mind.

"I'm not going to leave, darling. I'm just going to my desk, I'll be back very quickly. Do you think you can hold out for me?" You let go and he cradles your face for a second before walking to his desk, opening a drawer and pulling two objects from it, picking up the ashtray on his way back.

As he approaches you notice just what it is.

His cigar.

He notices your confusion and chuckles softly as he sets the ashtray on the coffee table, quickly snipping the tip of the cigar.

"I always smoke cigarettes when around you because that's all I need, I feel relaxed, I feel safe. The nicotine is just a habit and since you share it, I prefer simple cigarettes when I'm by your side. But when you're not here and I have to grade hundreds upon hundreds of copies and review so many projects and papers, cigars are what I go for. They're stronger, last longer."

The thick stick of tobacco is held between his fingers, the smell strong even when unlit.

"And you want to share it with me?" He nods. "Aren't they expensive? I shouldn't-"

He raises his hand, thin and veiny yet strong and calloused. "Nonsense, you deserve as much. Plus, I already share my brandy with you, I think it's just right to share this too, darling."

Gods, the small smile pulling at his lips his hand currently brushing through your hair, the gentleness of his tone and the nickname he reserved solely for you.

This man will be the death of me.

But your heart melts when you notice just how much your mood has improved already from being in his care. Held and loved in the way only he seems to be able to do. And for all of that you have half a mind to grab him by the collar and kiss him, your hands twitching upwards to Silco's collar as your fragile state allows you to be more true to yourself, for your thoughts to be express without much of a filter. To your greatest fear.

"How do we do this?" You begin, hoping that Silco's eyes will stop eyeing you in such a way, a knowing way that makes your stomach drop at the implication.

"Cigars aren't meant to be smoked like cigarettes." He begins, lighting the cigar with a flick of his fingers while holding a beautifully carved vintage lighter, placing it back in his pocket after the flame licked the butt of the tobacco stick. "They're meant to be savored, you hold the smoke in your mouth, not your lungs. The smoke is too strong and dense to be inhaled."

He demonstrates, licking his lips before placing them around the cigar. His cheeks puffing before he pulls the stick away, holding the smoke for a second before tilting his head up and blowing rings of smoke. Each of them perfect, practiced, before returning his gaze to you.

He wipes the last of your tears before holding your chin up with one of his hands, his thumb resting on your lower lip and caressing it slowly as his eyes trail all over your face, settling on what he is currently rubbing back and forth. The soft pink flesh suddenly shining with spit as you lick your lips, tasting the salt of your tears that his thumb wiped away.

"Don't take too big of a mouthful, I wouldn't want you to choke." His eyes darken before his thumb pulls your mouth open and the cigar is placed there.

You take a small mouthful of smoke, careful to hold it in your mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sudden taste of tobacco and black chocolate, but also at the feeling of your lips touching the damp spot Silco's have left behind. When the cigar is pulled away from you, you place your head on his shoulder, eyes making their way to his before you release your breath, heavier than it should be even from the smoke.

You notice just how tense he is, your exhausted mind too strained to realize when your hand cradles his cheek, caressing his skin before trailing to his lips, your thumb catching onto them like his is on yours.

"Did I do well, Silco?"

The hand at your chin grips a bit harder, as if to pull Silco back down to Runeterra.

"Gods. You always do." Your breath rattles your lungs at the confirmation, breathy and strained, your tongue darting out to moisten your dry lips, also lathering Silco's thumb in your saliva. The man taking a sharp intake of breath, willing himself to remain strong as he places the cigar in the ashtray.

But it seems that whatever resolve he has crumbles at the sight of you so undone in his arms, in his space, so trusting of him doing the right thing for you when you can't think for yourself, when you don't want to think for yourself.

His hand leaves your chin before he brings it to his own mouth, a blush overtaking your features when he kisses it, a sigh making its way out of his lungs as he softly trembles. A hunger mixing with the softness in his eyes, the look of devotion making the rise and fall of your chest heavier. A familiar heat boiling within your loins, the flames licking at your core while your hands grip Silco's collar.

He drinks in the sight of you by his side, clinging to him, with your face flushed, eyes glazed over and lips wet with spit and a groan escapes him.

Grasping your chin as if it were the most delicate china he gazes into your eyes, the tumultuous teal and raging orange burning you and drowning you in their saltwater and embers. The crows feet decorating the outer sides of his eyes softening like silk linen draped over a soft bed, his eyebrows creasing just enough to show his concern as his thumb caresses your jaw.

"Do you wish to taste again?"

Your body trembles at the low rumbling of his voice, at his touch, at the stifling yet entrancing closeness. His breath, lavishing your skin with tobacco and coffee scents while his cologne takes over the rest of your senses as you pant. Your senses of taste, smell, touch, sight, and hearing permeated and full of him and only him. You worry your lip between your teeth.

The realization of your feelings for the man in front of you was jarring, it flipped your world upside down as if you walked off the edge of the Runeterra, but the most terrifying thing of all was how no matter if you thought you couldn't fall any further, you did.

And this closeness, this question, felt like more than you could handle but also like it wasn't nearly enough. Like you feed off of his attention and affection, the ever growing feelings burning like an inferno as his care stokes the flames. As you lose yourself in thoughts of him, his jaw clenches, his eyes plead, his touch grips you just a bit harder to bring you back down to Earth, to him.

"Silco."

His touch weakens as he trembles, your panting voice and glazed eyes melting his fear and replacing it by something different. Hotter, more stifling, as he takes deeper breaths to hide the fact that the composure he prides himself with was cracking, flowing away like sand between his fingers. You could see it in his eyes, the more you waited, the easier they were to read even if he wasn't. And you would be a fool to refuse to breathe him in as much as you'd be a fool to do exactly just that.

So you close your eyes, take a deep breath and pull yourself up and over him in a movement that straddles you to his lap and placates your soft chest to his. And once your eyes open again you don't suppress the shivers raking through you, and neither does he.

"Indulge yourself."

And he does, the hand cradling your hip leaving it to pick the burning cigar from the ashtray as he goes to breathe it in, disposing it back afterwards. His face approaches yours as your face is gently held between both of his warm, rough hands and your eyes can't help but trail from the fire and ice of his gaze to his mouth. And as your tongue wets your lips in apprehension he does the same, cutting the last of the distance as he tilts your head up and to the side, his mouth opening a bit as he inhales from the cigar. Then he pours the delicate smoke from his lungs to yours, your hands reaching at his nape and marred cheek to hold onto him. Desperate for more, of him, of this, of the moment you share. You know you shouldn't, all of this is wrong. He is your friend, the only one to see past your facade, past everything that you were.

But do friends desire each other as much as you desire him?

In this moment, in the moment this question rang through you again, you knew. That you didn't care anymore.

He grips you tighter and your thighs squeeze his, a whimper escaping you while you inhale. The smoke thin enough that you can let it trickle in your lungs, let the nicotine flow through your veins and melt away the tension in your body, you don't even realize that from hovering over Silco's lap, you are now sitting with your full weight.

The feeling spurring your friend to let the cigar hang from his lip to cradle your hip with his hand. You hold the tobacco stick up, prompting Silco to take another mouthful of smoke before you take the cigar away, the digits holding it draping over the back of the couch as you bring your face closer to his and tilt your face.

"Can I have more? Please Silco, I need it." It's low, needy, desperate, barely hidden behind the last of your sadness, but you know he's seen it.

The way in which you need him.

With abandon. With all you have.

And with darkened eyes, the fingers grasping your chin slide behind your head, gripping your hair, making you lean backwards while he blows some more smoke in your awaiting mouth. A groan escaping you at the feeling of your hair being pulled, at the hot tobacco fog blown in your mouth.

"What do you need? What are you begging for?" He sounds breathless, rough, half fearful and half about to throw away the last of his resolve.

He's making sure that you want what he wants.

What he wants.

He's making sure that you want what he wants.

The realization crashes down on you.

The one that he wants the same as you. That he has been holding back as much as you have.

The look in his eyes, devoted and adoring, the tremble in his body, the restraint in his voice…

Those little things you picked up on over time. And all of them were clear signs you only ignored because of your own deprecating views of yourself. Of questions of deserving and earning.

But not of the simplest thing of them all: wanting, giving without asking anything in return.

No matter if it had been your dynamic from the beginning.

Do you deserve him? No. Have you earned him? You can't say but one thing's for sure.

You want, no, need him.

And fuck whatever else and whoever else, because you will not keep yourself from the one thing making you happy anymore.

"You." You pant, gaze locking on his which is as troubled as yours, filled with a storm of unbridled passion and yearning. The last thing keeping it from lashing out at the world being your explicit concent, the answer that you crave him as much as he craves you.

"I need you Silco."

You don't have the time to blink or breathe before his lips are on yours, urgent, impatient yes but above all, loving. As if he is worshipping you, and with the reverent yet fervent passion in which his touch travels from your hips to your waist, then back up your ribs, clavicle and shoulder; you'd say he is.

Gone are the visions of war and horrors beyond comprehension, gone are the smells of burnt flesh and gunpowder, gone are the tastes of blood and bile.

All that's left is him.

His taste of tobacco, brandy and dark chocolate. His smell of old books, cigars and that amber, sandalwood and cardamom cologne he loves to wear. His sight, his hair dischevelled under your hands, salt and pepper strands falling from their usual slick back to frame his sculpted face. His black shirt, open just enough to see the dip at the bottom of his elegant neck.

A gulp of air escapes you when he separates from you, heavy and hot, baited and gone as soon as it came when you drag Silco back to you. A grunt escapes him in shock before he melts back into you, bringing you even closer as your breasts press against his chest. His tongue licks at your lips and your mouth instinctively and obediantly opens, leaving you no time to think before your two tongues intertwine in a passionate dance.

You absorb everything he gives you, taking each touch, each taste, each smell and engraving them to your memory. You feel spit dribbling from the corner of your mouth at the messy kisses, but you don't care, your mouth sliding against his sensually, teeth nipping, tongues crossing, is all you focus on.

Your core is molten, needy with a growing flame that he stokes with every movement of his tongue against yours. With everything he ever does for you and to you.

"Do you know how long I've wanted this, darling?" He pants, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours while he pants.

You don't trust your voice, shaking your head from side to side before Silco licks away at the trail of saliva by your lips only to peck them at the end.

"Ever since you offered me that Nightwood for Snowdown."

That was five months ago. Silco has liked you since before you even realized you did too.

"When you spent all your time caring for me after I fell…I couldn't help but look back on how good you had been to me and realize I had already fallen for you."

You whisper back, hands grasping him like a lifeline in fear. Of what you don't know. Falling further is the most plausible answer, especially as your eyes leave your lap to find his, cool teal and burning orange lavishing you in what you now know to be love. He stares intensely, mapping your every features while he breathes shakily as his hands try to take in as much of you as possible, as if to keep you from flying away. As if you are the most precious thing in the world.

"I was just afraid you'd dismiss me because you were the first person that stayed for me."

His head shakes from side to side and the hand in your hair massages your scalp gently.

"It would be foolish of me to dismiss you when you might be the first person I ever felt so strongly for."

His lips come down on yours again, heavy and hot, like a hammer clashing against hot metal. He tugs at your hair, a moan escaping your throat at the ministration and your hips rolling down against his.

"Fuck."

He huffs and the sound of him cursing bring another roll of your hips. Everything about him spurring you further into the lustful haze overtaking you, and by the way his hand at your hip flexes as it brings you down on him again, you know it's very much the same for him. His hand tugs at your hear, a groan leaving you while he forces your head away from his, kissing down your jaw, licking and nipping as he maps his way around the column of your neck. Chipping away at you like a master would to sculpt marble.

"Sing for me, darling. Indulge me once more."

He helps you grind on him, his hand guiding you expertly as you feel him grow harder beneath you, dreams slipping to reality once more but instead of nightmarish visions you realize that your fantasies are coming to fruition. Your clit feels swollen against his straining erection, every touch making white hot pleasure erupt from it to every nerve in your body. And as Silco tugs your hair, nearly growling in your ear as he marks you, you know it's the same for him. Soft moans and whines escape you at the ministrations, everything too much and not enough at the same time and rendering you effectively useless as you tremble and melt in pleasure in Silco's arms.

"Good girl. That's it, lose yourself, take all the pleasure you want."

Tears fill your eyes at his words and you drag his lips back on yours

"Silco please." You pant, biting and licling at him desperately, your tongue using his mouth as it wishes, your hips setting a punishing pace as the bliss takes you over. "Please sir. Need you. Need you so bad, please."

He growls at the title, his hands gripping you tighter as you bounce on him and his huffs and groans grow more frequent, louder.

"Fuck. You like calling me that don't you, pretty thing?"

You nod, whining as the pressure in your lower stomach grows.

"I need a verbal answer, darling."

Your eyes roll back as he grinds up into you at the same pace you've set.

"Yes sir. Love calling you sir so much when I-" A moan cuts you off and Silco tugs at your hair.

"When what, pet?"

You pant, whining dejectedly as his strong hand holds you in place, cutting your movements.

"When I touch myself while thinking about you. Please don't stop, please sir, I need it. I need you. I'll be good, just please don't stop."

He trusts up harder, his noises growing a bit louder, his touch more frantic. More hairs coming down from his updo, silver and ink black reflecting in the golden, late afternoon light. He tilts your head up some more, thumb parting your lips and hooking behind your teeth as you keep your mouth open obediently, your tongue lolling out.

"Look at you. So perfect for me. So willing, so pretty. And all mine, aren't you darling?"

"All yours." You manage to mutter against the thumb pressing down on your tongue, the digit caressing the wet muscle with great interest before you close your mouth around it. Suckling and licking at the thumb with your eyes trained of Silco's, the man grunting as he pressed more of his erection against your slit, fabric rubbing on fabric and bringing forth toe curling pleasure.

"Do you want to taste more of me?"

You whine, nodding as your hips continue their pattern on his, your core dripping with desire, hot, tangible, unsatiable while Silco hooks his thumb above your teeth again. Effectively opening your mouth with one downward movement before pulling the digit away, licking the remnants of your spit on it and groaning at the taste, eyes rolling back.

"Then keep your mouth open, darling." He nearly sings the words, a siren tempting you to the fall like pride called for Icarus in the sky only to let him burn as he fell.

You obey, mouth open wide as Silco takes another inhale of the cigar, placing it on the ashtray afterwards. Your flutter in elation as you feel smoke fill your mouth, but you keep them on Silco's who have darkened. A somber idea brewing behind them as a smirk stretches his lips, cutting through his face like a cook's knife would.

Then you feel it, the trickle of saliva from his mouth to yours, the strong taste of tobacco concentrated in the spit as it slowly slides on your tongue and down your throat. Your body's reactions escape you, a whimper making its way through you before you shiver. Eyes rolling back and hands gripping Silco tighter, his body and presence your lifeline while you experience ecstasy.

It seems like an eternity before he stops but when he does you keep your mouth open for a little while longer, showing how full and glistening with him it is, to keep on feeling it this way. But the groan he lets out while you close your lips, your throat bobbing as you swallow, is worth any impatience he might have had. When you open your mouth back up, you nearly fall backwards from the look in his eyes at your empty mouth, the proof that you indeed could swallow all that he gives you like a good girl.

Animalistic and predatorial. As if he's going to eat, no, devour me.

Your face falls in the crook of his neck to avoid the intense stare, licking and kissing at the lithe yet strong muscle there before biting, sucking, leaving your mark in Silco's flesh while your hips stutter, clit grinding and pulsing against Silco's strained pants.

"That's a good fucking girl. But that's what you always were for me, how can I be so fucking surprised. I want you to cum on me like the sweet little darling I know you are, can you do that for me?"

"Yes, yes sir. Please, please let me cum, please."

His hand leaves your hair to join its twin on your hips, dragging you back and forth on his lap as he rolls upwards to meet your warmth. More tears wet his neck, yet those are from the overwhelming pleasure you feel, taking over every cell in your body and making them throb with need.

"Then go on, let go for me, pet."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me cum. Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

You bite his neck, muffling the loudness of the moan leaving your lips as he utters those words, your body responding by obeying his order like it's what it was made for. You shake as he rocks you through your orgasm, dragging it out so you can feel all the pleasure of it. It's gentle, like the waves licking at the shore, ebbing and flowing, yet it's not cool. No, what you feel is pure warmth, comfortable heat burning through you and leaving nothing but fertile land. Ready to let life grow and thrive. It's soft, yet violent, the way he rips the pleasure away from you like it's nothing, like he knows your body and how to strum every single one of its strings to create a beautiful symphony.

"That's it, let it pass. Good girl"

His voice reassures as your whines come to a slow, devolving to pathetic and meek little mewls when your orgasm has passed through you and all that remains is overstimulating pleasure. One that you'd have half a mind to pursue if it isn't for the fact that the exhaustion from the past few days is finally reering it's ugly head and making you melt into Silco's lap like wax licked by the fire eating away at the candle's wick.

But you are not tired like you were, no, contentment, bliss and love soothed the biting pain of grief into something manageable and soft. Something nearly bittersweet, painful yet uncapable of physically hurting you anymore. A mere bad dream.

No words are exchanged as Silco lays you two down on the couch, pulling one of your legs over his hip and resting your face in his chest. His hands caress you, kisses delivered on the crown of your head helping you settle further into the embrace.

"You did so well for me, darling. You always do." You nod, you would always do your best for him after all.

"Did you …Did you cum too?" Your voice comes out, meek and muffled by his chest.

"No darling." He chuckles. "This was about you. My pleasure came from you taking yours, so don't worry about me. I enjoyed this as much as you."

His chest rumbles as his velvety tone caresses your ears, the vibrations rattling through your soul in the most delicious of ways.

Your eyes grow wet once more at the care he shows. Your mind mushy and incapable of letting you filter or block anything unwanted.

You had cried thrice for him that day.

Once out of pain.

Once out of pleasure.

And once out of love.

All for him, only for him, always for him.

And now that you know that he feels the same, now that you are in his arms as more than a friend, you can't help but want to know more. More about him, about what his home life is like, what his children are like.

So without fear, you ask.

"Silco?" He hums, letting you know he's listening. "What's it like for you at home?"

He thinks for a moment, his cheek laying on the top of your head.

"It's animated." He begins. "You know that I don't live alone. Home is never truly clean, there's always somewhat of a mess, but one that makes the place feel lived in. Always at least one cup in the sink, shoes at the entrance, a notebook and art supplies, toys, or a sock or two laying on the ground."

You smile, imagining what his home is like and his head leaves yours, leaning back on a cushion as he takes a deep breath in.

"I'm rather old style when it comes to decoration and to behavior. My home before them was always empty, it felt nearly clinical and sterile at times I won't lie. So, adapting to this took some time, but I wouldn't go back for anything in the world. I rather like the mess."

His voice is fond as he talks more and more, your ears wide open as he discloses this part of his life to you.

"What are your children like?"

He tenses from what you believe to be surprise before he holds you tighter. Loving warmth and weight wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

"They're amazing. None of them are mine by blood, but they really do see me as their father, and although it was hard at first I believe it's the thing I am the proudest of. Before even the liberation of Zaun, because what is Zaun if not its children? Those just so happened to become mine and I couldn't be more proud."

You hear the smile in his voice and kiss his chest to show you're listening and to spurr him on.

"Violet and Powder are sisters, they were Felicia's daughters. Violet is the leader, the spitfire. She's strong and strong willed, always willing to help others. Powder is creative, a truly intelligent and inquisitive girl with a talent for puzzles and mechanical games. Claggor and Mylo were adopted by Vander first, and to keep them from going back into the foster system I decided to take them in as well. Claggor is more muted, he's logical and thoughtful, a gentle giant that holds nothing but love and admiration for those around him. Mylo is another spitfire, butts heads a lot with Violet for it although he mainly does it for her attention. He's very admirative of his siblings and seeks their attention, so he strives to be the best in all he does, but most of all to be reliable."

You lift your head, staring up at Silco. He's smiling at you, hands caressing you mindlessly as his eyes observe you with a peace you've never truly observed in him. As if the reveals of the day and the current conversation were fulfilling him more than anything else ever had.

"You sound like a great father. Many children would beg for someone as loving as you as their guardian."

"I try my best, darling."

"I know. And you're great at it, being a father is hard and being a single father is harder. For all it's worth, you're amazing."

His eyes grow wet, the teal and orange suddenly glossy, the light catching on them and seemingly transforming the irises into stained glass. He cradles your face with one hand and brings your head up, catching your lips with his.

"When it comes from you, it always means the world for me."

You chuckle, pecking him once more, enjoying the feel of his lips against yours before pulling away.

"And what is Sevika up to?"

His smile grows larger at the question, as if pleasingly surprised by the fact you remember her but also knowing you would have.

"She is a mechanic. She swings by often to take care of the children, or they stay with her at the shop. It's adorable to see them help around with tools and such."

He pulls a hand away from you, picking his phone from his pocket to show his phone's background. Silco with the four children you recognize from his Snowdown picture and a woman standing behind him.

In it Silco is sitting on a chair not unlike the one at his office desk, smiling softly while a girl with blue hair sits on his lap.

"This is Powder." He point out to the girl.

He points to another, her sister Violet from what you remember, who leans her hips against her sister's back, giving the younger one bunny ears with her fingers.

"I take it that's Violet then." He nods at your words, his smile growing warmer.

"Indeed, darling. This is Mylo." He shows a thin boy with wild hair, smiling with his arm around a taller boy's neck.

"And this is Claggor?"

"You've got it right, pet." Silco kisses your cheek as you look to the strong looking boy, the height and couple of extra pounds making him look like a beast next to his siblings. But his soft, gentle, rounded face make up for his size and show him to be far from threatening.

The last person on the picture is a woman with short dark brown hair, deeper tanned skin, scars littering her face and uncovered arm. Her most prominent feature being the metallic prosthesis replaving her left arm.

"So that's Sevika. She looks cool."

Silco chuckles.

"She is. She's strong, loyal, intelligent, a great friend. I see her as my sister even if she isn't my sister in arms anymore. I thank the world everyday that I have her. Parenting would be much harder without her by my side. She'd like you a lot, and you'd like her too. That is a guarantee."

In his arms you shift, delivering another kiss on his lips that he takes in stride, his own molding around yours. Your mouth travelling all over his face to deliver pecks before you settle back down, Silco's arms wrapping tighter around you after he tucks his phone back in the safety of his pocket.

"I'd like your entire family, Silco. They're the people you love, and if they're anything like you, they are one of a kind in the best of ways."

You mutter, Morpheus trickling sand in your eyes as your body grows earlier.

"I'm glad you think that way sweet girl, but go and rest now. You had a long week and you deserve to rest."

"Thank you…for everything." Your voice is meek, heavy with slumber soon to come.

"I'd do this and so much more for you, darling." Is what you hear before sleep overtakes you.

The pain of reminiscence that destroyed your psyche and body fades away to leave nothing but adoring bliss as his arms protect you, hiding you from the world.

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[thanossssss]

Hiii!!! I recently found your blog and I LOVE your writing, I was wondering if you could do regressor nam-gyu and caregiver Thanos.

Where nam-gyu regressed while he was at work, but Thanos who was performing there saw and comforted him!

It would be awesome if you could, take your time!

Regressor! Nam-gyu w/ Caregiver! Thanos

Summary: Nam-gyu is tired and stressed at work, which leads to him regressing. Thanos notices during his show, and comforts him once his performance is over.

Contains: Age regression, small mentions of a bar, small mention/implication of alcohol, crying, pacifiers, cuddling.

Not proofread.

Nam-gyu always loved when Thanos would perform at Club Pentagon and enjoyed watching his performance, but tonight he wasn’t paying any attention to what was happening on stage. Nam-gyu felt so exhausted and his mind felt very fuzzy. He knew he was regressing, and fast too, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He couldn’t just run over to Thanos and tell him what was happening while he was performing, he had to just wait for him to be.

For a few minutes now, Nam-gyu had been sitting on one of the stools at the bar. He had his head down and was listening to Thanos perform his last song of the night. Though, listening to Thanos sing and rap, only made him miss and want him more. Nam-gyu just wanted to be held by Thanos until he fell asleep in his arms. He could feel tears slowly forming in his eyes, becoming upset over the fact that Thanos wasn’t with him at this very second.

While Thanos was performing, he kept his eyes locked on Nam-gyu as soon as he noticed him at the bar. He couldn’t tell what exactly was wrong, but he was thinking that Nam-gyu might’ve had too much to drink and now felt sick. Whatever it was, Thanos couldn’t help but be a bit worried about him.

Once the song was over, Thanos got off the stage and went over to Nam-gyu. He sat at the bar and on the stool beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

“You weren’t watching me perform like you always do? Was I not as good as I usually am?” Thanos joked, but he only got a small whine in response as Nam-gyu slowly lifted up his head. Thanos’s smile dropped when he noticed Nam-gyu’s teary eyes and sad expression.

“Hey, what’s going on? Why are you crying?” Thanos questioned while being to slowly move his hand towards Nam-gyu’s face and wiped away his tears. Nam-gyu attempted to speak, but all he managed to get out was small, incoherent mutters and whines. Because of this, Nam-gyu began to cry out of frustration, due to not being able to properly communicate with Thanos.

“It’s okay, buddy. Calm down.” Thanos stood up and hugged Nam-gyu while rubbing his back a little. “Your shift is over right? If not, I can tell your boss you’re not feeling well and you need to go home.” Thanos spoke to him. Nam-gyu nodded slightly, his face hidden in Thanos’s shirt.

“Yeah your shift is over?” Nam-gyu nodded once more. “Alright good, let’s get you home then. You shouldn’t be here when you’re so little.” Thanos said. Nam-gyu sniffled and looked up at Thanos with his teary eyes. Thanos gave him a comforting smile while running his fingers through his hair.

“You’re alright, baby. I’m going to get you home and take care of you. I know you’re tired and stressed.” Thanos told Nam-gyu while helping him stand up. Nam-gyu whined softly when Thanos pulled him up to his feet. “Hold my hand, buddy. I got you.” Nam-gyu did as Thanos said and held a very tight grip onto his hand.

Thanos slowly walked with Nam-gyu out of the club and to the car. He would’ve rushed out with Nam-gyu, but due to him being so little, Nam-gyu had a hard time keeping his balance and kept stumbling. So, Thanos walked with him at a slow pace, in order to keep Nam-gyu from falling and possibly getting hurt.

Thanos smiled at Nam-gyu as he buckled him into the car. Nam-gyu quietly stared at him with a sleepy expression. Once he got the seatbelt over Nam-gyu, Thanos closed the passenger side door and went over to the driver’s side. Though, while he did that, Nam-gyu immediately started to whimper as his lip quivered and his eyes quickly became teary again.

He was in such a small headspace that he couldn’t understand where Thanos had gone to and why he had left. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be alone and he only wanted Thanos. It only took a few seconds for Thanos to get in the car, but when he did, he saw Nam-gyu crying while covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, what happened, baby? I was only gone for a couple seconds..” Thanos frowned. Nam-gyu hiccuped a few times, before he wiped the tears from his face and looked over at Thanos. He grabbed onto his shirt, sniffling as he stared down at his lap.

The car ride home was quiet. Thanos did try to talk to Nam-gyu a couple times, but he never got a response. Nam-gyu was too little to be able to properly talk to Thanos, and he also just felt too sleepy to make any sort of noises. Though, Thanos understood. He knew Nam-gyu was sleepy and needed to get home.

Once they arrived home, Thanos was quick to get Nam-gyu out of the car and carried him into the house and to the bedroom. While Thanos carried him, Nam-gyu clung to him tightly as small, sleepy whines left him. When they got to the bedroom, Thanos laid Nam-gyu down on the bed, causing the man to immediately start whimpering as he reached for him.

“I’ll pick you up in a moment. I’m just going to change you into your pajamas, okay?” Thanos told him, before going over to the closet. As he got the pajamas, all Thanos could hear was Nam-gyu’s little cries and whines, obviously wanting Thanos back. Thanos rushed to get his pajamas, as well as grabbing his blanket, a pacifier, and a pacifier clip.

“You’re okay, baby. I’m right here.” Thanos said to him while beginning to help him change out of his work clothes. Thanos had a bit of trouble with getting Nam-gyu dressed, since Nam-gyu kept trying to grab and hold onto his hands for comfort, but Thanos did eventually manage to get him dressed. Once he did, he clipped the pacifier to Nam-gyu’s shirt, so he wouldn’t lose it, then put it in his mouth and gave him his blanket.

“Come here, little man.” Thanos spoke softly as he picked up Nam-gyu and held him in his arms. Nam-gyu laid his head down on Thanos’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Thanos carried him over to the rocking chair they had and sat down, slowly rocking Nam-gyu to sleep.

Thanos hummed to Nam-gyu and played with his hair, only making him even sleepier. It didn’t take long at all for Nam-gyu to fall asleep. Thanos smiled when he knew Nam-gyu had fallen asleep, due to hearing his quiet, little snores as well as feeling a tiny wet patch on his shoulder, from Nam-gyu drooling in his sleep. Thanos turned to Nam-gyu and gave him a small kiss on his head, before whispering to him.

“Goodnight, baby boy.”

[bbuzz28]

this thought immediately came to mind when I read this idea (and it maybe gets away from the point a lil bit, ((apologies)) ):

For his first thunderstorm at the Shack, Stan Pines slept in the bathtub.

He's experienced all kinds of weather over the years- the sticky humidity of a Tijuanna winter, ice storms that could freeze rats solid on a New York City fire escape, fog banks that cover the road so thick that you can barely see a foot in front of you (or whatever the hell an elk was) in Washington State.

Technically speaking, a thunderstorm should have been comforting-he remembered many a summer night running home from the beach in the rain with Ford- and yet...

He can hear every pane of glass in every single window in the house shake. He runs around and taped them in place just like they used to do during hurricane season, and yet the noise still follows him wherever he goes in the Shack. Why did Ford have to build a house with so many fucking windows? The noise is overwhelming and there unfortunately isn't anything else he can do but wait the storm out.

He considers going underground to the lab-he wouldn't be able to hear anything there. He still hadn't worked out how the electricity worked in the lab (though it luckily didn't seem to be attached to the electric bill)-he was pretty sure it had its own generator, but this would be a hell of a day to test that theory if he ended up without power and stuck in that dreary place.

Instead, he turns off the lights and draws back the flimsy shower curtain around the tub-shoving a pillow on the opposite side from the spigot. He'd rather face the opposite way to keep an eye on the door even if it was locked, but the last time he slept in here he ended up cracking his head on the damn thing. He had enough going on in his life without giving himself a concussion.

As he lay in the dark, he tried to remember the last time he felt this unnerved by a storm and his mind took a walk back to Glass Shard Beach, 1960-something. His father was away for the weekend with the fellas from The Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel and Shermie was staying overnight at a friend's house- leaving just Ford, his mother and the cat at home.

They laid three to a bed in his parent's big bed, listening to the windows shake and the wind howl. As his mother's cat clung to her head, Stan considered joining it as another thunderclap shook the upstairs apartment. What if the storm blew all the windows in? What if the bay flooded? What would happen if water got into his father's shop? He remembered his mother pulled him and Ford closer to her in the bed, Stan flush against her and his brother against him, shushing any worries. She told them she knew exactly how far away the storm really was-and not just because she was a psychic.

Now in the slightly damp tub, too many years later, Stan tried to count how many seconds fell between the flash of light and the sound of thunder just as his mother taught them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven-CRACK! He turned to face the rim of the tub, gently placing Ford's glasses from his pocket along the edge and stared at them. He shouldn't have them, but at the last second he had grabbed them off his brother's old chest of drawers-as if the inanimate object could provide any sense of company.

The curve of the tub, though colder than his mother ever was, held him as comfortably as the El Diablo ever had. He had spent more nights than not in her worn leather seats, blocking out the outside world with the pieces of cardboard he had perfectly traced to fit each of her windows. The tub was like that; he felt better being enclosed, waiting for the next flash of lightning.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten- CRACK! Okay, the storm was moving at least-was it two miles away now? Isn't that how the math worked? He remembered vaguely how his brother exclaimed that his mother's trick was just math at the end of the day. At least if Stan was distracted by the numbers bouncing around in his head, he couldn't concentrate on anything else. Like how he wished Ford was here, since it wouldn't take him half as long to count or do fourth grade math in his head- he would just know.

He stretched a leg out and kicked the faucet, wincing as he went over the numbers one more time, certain he was right. He felt a little silly-he was a grown man. A grown man with a bed. That's where men were supposed to sleep, not cars or park benches and certainly not bathtubs. His father surely never slept in a bathtub. He wonders if Ford ever did-maybe after a drunken college night with that blonde guy in the photos he had found the other week.

One, two, three, four, five- CRACK! It didn't matter-no one was here to judge him. Now that the storm was certainly overhead it didn't feel quite as lonely as it normally felt in that big open bed. It was nothing like his car, nor his (at this point if it still existed, much too tiny) bunk bed back in New Jersey. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to the open space-but he supposed as long as he lived here he could always just set up an unofficial camp.

Stan concentrated on the curve of the tub and how it held him, imagining he was far, far away. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep; hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't dream, but if he did it would be of home.

Stanley having trouble sleeping in an actual bed so he sleeps in a tub because it's cramped...like his car.

[princesscrystal-hyperfixations]

I need Venti to cry his eyes out you HAVE to understand-

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[soleilapproves]

Boxer!Sukuna who makes you kiss his gloves before his match for good luck.

masterlist

His team had left the locker room and it was just the two of you now. You were sitting on a bench while he organized his bag. “I didn’t know you got so many freebies from your sponsorships.” In your hand, was a brand new boxing shoe that he received from UnderArmor for a sports shoot campaign.

“Eh, they’re not really what I need in the actual matches but I use them during training cause I don’t wanna waste ‘em,” he mumbled. He seemed to be more on edge than usual. During his last match, he lost by a landslide, having a sour taste in his mouth from the experience. He blamed you because you weren’t there to kiss his glove prior to the match.

You turn to look at him staring down at his gloves.

“Sukuna.”

“Yeah?” He turned to look at you. No smiles, just a deadpan expression. You walked towards him and held his face in your hands. You could tell he was nervous about the fight even though he had won so many before.

“Honey, what’s on your mind?” Your voice was sincere and comforting for him. “What if I’m in a slump? My last match was so bad. I’ve never lost like that. What if I’m on a losing streak now?”

You get on your tippy toes and kiss his cheek. “Sukuna, you’ve worked hard have you not?” He nods. “And you feel like you’ve trained well this time.” He nods again. “Then why are you so worried? Is it because you were distracted last time?”

He sighs and wraps his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck in the process. “Look, I don’t know if you think it’s weird but when I see you outside the ring, I feel like I have a reason to win. It drives me to fight better. I had a really shitty day last time and when I didn’t see you I just didn’t feel like giving my all.”

Your heart felt like it was being torn to pieces after seeing your husband sulk. “I just felt burnt out. I was hoping that once I saw you then I’d feel better.”

You hugged him tighter and kissed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sukuna, I promise I’ll never do that again.” You start rubbing your hand up and down his back in hopes to calm him down right before his match.

“Kiss my gloves for me?” he asks as he pulls away. You nod. He takes his boxing gloves out and places them in your hands. You leave a delicate kiss on each of them, your gloss leaving a small sparkly stain. He takes them from your hand and kisses them on the same spots as you did, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. “You’re my good luck charm, you know that?” he says as he strokes your head.

You show him a teethy grin and nod.

“And you’re mine.” Your reply made him smash his lips to yours. “I’ll be sure to win now that you’re here.” He mumbled against your lips.

—

No thoughts. Just boxer!sukuna

[beef-brisket]

He wasn't used to someone showing him so much attention. If Adamnwas to have sex, he'd usually take the lead. Which he didn't mind, but this felt so different and strange. But in a good way.

Adam moaned as Lucifer's hand slipped under his lingerie and touching his sensitive skin.

In the bad of his mind, he was waiting for someone to jump out with a video camera, to laugh and point at him. But, he found his mind was melting in the best way.

Each time Lucifer touched him, he felt genuine and loving. Something Adam hadn't felt in a long time. And it scared him.

He shuddered, watching as Lucifer maneuvered himself, so he was between Adam's legs. When Lucifer started kissing down his stomach, he knew he was a lost cause. He was so hard and wanted Lucifer in ways he never thought possible.

He hasn't had feelings like this for the Devil since Eden. And look how well that went.

Lucifer will leave again. How couldn't he? If he couldn't stand him in Eden, how could he stand Adam now? He was insufferable. His body is so different, and not in a good way, and his personality was crafted to keep people away, so why is he still here? Lucifer should be leaving. Running, even.

Lucifer: Ad? Adam?

Blinking, Adam slowly looked down at Lucifer. He hated the look in his eye. It was filled with concern and pity. Of course, he'd be concerned. How couldn't he be?

Adam: Hm? Yeah?

Lucifer smiled softly and reached up to cup Adam's face: You're crying, Ad.

Eyes widening, Adam rubbed his eye, and sure enough, he was. The fuck was wrong with him? He hasn't cried in years, so why was he doing it so much today? The only two times he's cried and it had to be in front of Lucifer.

He didn't even cry when he died, and being stabbing over and over fucking hurt.

Since when did he become so pathetic?

Lucifer: Addy? Adam? Come back to me, please.

Adam tried and failed not to blush as Lucifer made himself bigger so he could comfort Adam properly. He held the back of Adam's head, and pulled him close.

Closing his eyes, Adam tried to ignore the delicious strain in his legs because of having them spread so far apart to accommodate Lucifer's bigger form. Why was this turning him on so much?

Adam: I-I'm here, sorry-.

Lucifer kissed his cheek: Don't apologise. I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable because that's the last thing I want to do, Adam. I swear. I want you to feel good, too.

Adam rested his hands on the small of Lucifer's back, feeling the skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Adam: I-I feel good.

Lucifer pulled back and looked in Adam's golden eyes: Please tell me what's wrong. If it's something I can fix, I will.

Adam: ...You can't fix me, Lu.

Lucifer smiled and kissed his nose: Maybe not... but I can give it a crack, don't you you think?

Adam: You don't need to- you shouldn't have to. I'm the first man, I'm the protector, I should be looking after you- I-I've already failed, so many times. I... I don't want you to leave, again... I-I want to keep you close, but I know if I do, it'll hurt so much more when you find someone better, or when Lilith comes back. I don't want to hurt amymore, but I don't want to be alone. I-I don't know how to-.

Lucifer: Adam, hey, take a breath.

The king gave Adam a few minutes to calm down, and even out his breathing: I can make all the promises in Hell, but really, they mean nothing. Nothing, if I don't put in the work, if I don't show you that I want you. That I won't leave you. You're so hurt, Adam, so broken. And... I've thrown my stones at you, chipping away whatever is left. But, I swear to you, I'll put in the work. To make you see and feel how much I care about you, how much I value you, how much I want you, and won't leave you. I know, this most likely sounds empty, but as king, amd your fallen angel, I'll put in the work to prove it to you.

Adam's eyes were staring up at Lucifer. He couldn't believe what he was saying. It sounded too perfect and too good to be true.

But he wanted to believe him. Adam was over his head being so negative and fucked up. He wants love, so badly. He craves it.

He just never thought it would be Lucifer. But his heart was already fluttering at the thought.

Adam nodded and hugged Lucifer tightly. He was so warm and soft whe. He was small, but not that he's bigger than Adam? He feels protected. And safe. And so, so warm.

Adam: P-Please- I want to love you. I want to try... I-I don't want to hurt anymore.

Lucifer smiled and kissed Adam's neck: Let me love you, Adam. Let me show you how much you deserve it.

Adam: S-Show me, please... my king~.

Pin Me (To Your Bed)

@beef-brisket

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone! 💖

-

Charlie was so excited to help Angel set up his idea, it was a great way to help people with their body image and self confidence.

Adam was leaning against the wall as he watched the photo shoot area be set up. Angel wanted everyone to do a pin up photo shoot for Valentine's Day to help their self-esteem and feel sexy.

Angel: Hey mister pouty pants, come help me with the outfits.

Adam sighed and made his way over, the clothing rack held many linguire outfits, short shorts, and leather pieces of clothing.

Adam: Angel, I've seen tissues bigger than this thing.

He held up what looked like a G string and Angel laughed.

Angel: Oh relax! And it's all in fun big guy, besides if you wore something sexy who's to say short, pale, and hunky won't be all over you.~

Adam flushed, he knew it was a bad idea to tell Angel about his feelings for Lucifer. But as long as the short King doesn't hear he guessed it was fine.

Adam: Shut up.

Speaking of Lucifer, he was just done hanging the lights when he floated down smiling at the pair.

Lucifer: Those are umm.... Interesting outfits Angel.

Angel: Aren't they?~ You're dressing up too aren't ya short King?

Lucifer coughed into his fist: W-Well, maybe. I have an image to maintain I can't wear anything too scandalous. You understand.

Adam tried and failed to not picture Lucifer only wearing that G string that would barely cover his dick.

Angel smirked: Oh yeah of course.~ I'll make it all very tasteful for everyone, all within a comfort zone they like. But how about you show a little skin? Like right here.~

He pointed to his stomach area and Lucifer felt warm, he looked at Adam who was looking at him maybe zoned out. Would he like that?

Lucifer: Y-yeah I guess that's fine.

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[acid-ixx]

before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)

ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.

tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.

ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;

you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.

there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—

bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.

the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.

it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.

there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.

those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.

younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.

yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.

as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.

and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.

bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.

you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.

so it was all that.

bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.

love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.

all that.

yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.

he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.

but he fell in love, either way.

with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.

every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.

a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.

he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.

and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.

he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.

the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.

the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.

just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.

the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.

every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.

he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.

his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.

and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.

when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.

you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.

and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.

and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.

in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.

soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.

there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.

unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.

he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?

god, his children love you.

after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—

all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.

it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...

if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...

bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.

and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.

after all, what is love without sacrifices?

soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.

you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.

hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.

yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.

and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.

it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.

taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.

[cherrybr4t]

ex for a reason — choi seungcheol (+18)

cheol feels a wave of possessiveness when he sees your ex-boyfriend!

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering (f rec), sl*t, degradation (f rec), daddy cheol!, spanking, tit playing, jealousy! est. relationship, a little possessiveness haha, creampie, that’s all i think! ok enjoy <3

if seungcheol could pinpoint exactly why he, too, is a creature bound to the notion of possessiveness — he would. except, at this point of time, all he feels is rage.

not at you — no, no not at all. how could he ever be angry at his princess? the poor guy falling victim to his fiery glares would be your ex-boyfriend. said ex-boyfriend — mingyu, was definitely too buzzed to notice the hard daggers thrown at him.

you however, are quick to notice the switch in tension after mingyu came over to give you a hug, gushing over how it’s been forever since you’ve last met. you return the kind smile. after all you and him did end on cordial terms.

that ticks something off in seungcheol’s head. the way mingyu’s arms seemed too familiar — too comfortable snaking around you. all while he was standing there right beside you.

he shakes hands with mingyu, squeezing a little too tight until he notices the wince on that pretty boy’s face. head’s too busy thinking about the fact that he’s held you close under his covers before.

“baby, you all right?” you squeeze the hands that are tightly wrapped around your waist.

seungcheol hums, “yeah baby, just a little tired is all,” he reassures, leaving a peck on your temple. you narrow your eyes, knowing he’s withholding words from you.

“y’sure? we can leave early — anytime you wanna,” raising your brows at him, offering an exit.

“no baby, i’m fine. it’s your friend’s birthday after all, let’s stay a while more — enjoy this bottle of whiskey she has,” he lifts up the $3000 bottle off the table top, waving it slightly.

seungcheol self soothes. he thinks he’s got it all under control, it’s not like you’ve got residual feelings attached to mingyu — its been almost two years. but with the way mingyu keeps gazing over towards you, with that fucking smirk, seungcheol thinks he’s about to lose it.

the party is in full swing — party hits back to back, loud chatting over the speakers, with people dancing around. he sees mingyu start to make his way across the room towards the both of you.

without much thought, seungcheol pulls you in closer — if even possible, grabs your hand and leads you to a room. a guest room which you recognise due to the nights spent in your friend’s house.

“cheol, baby? what’s wrong?” you catch your breath, looking up at him and furrowing your eyebrows.

cheol tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. he looks at you tenderly, before deciding to come clean. it’s not the first time he’s informed you of how jealousy tends to cloud his mind.

“i…just couldn’t stand your ex being there. standing there looking at you, as if i’m not there right beside you — was fucking pissing me off,” he sighs out, leaning his forehead against yours, body to body.

you let out a small chuckle, “baby, you know how he is… plus the only man i’ve ever looked at the whole night — is standing right in front of me right now. he’s all i wanna look at.” you nibble on your bottom lip, hoping seungcheol catches every nuance of sincerity you’re projecting.

“yeah? i know baby.. sorry it’s just, i can’t help it. want him to back off. want him to know who you belong to now,” his voice barely above a whisper.

you gaze up, giving his plump lips a kiss. a simple peck which turned into sucking, biting and licking — which was the case all of the time because who could resist and pull away from those lips?

he kisses you back with even more urgency, even more passion and love — and you feel him take charge, grabbing your nape to pull you in closer. he wants to taste all of you, every inch and spot — he wants it all. wants the reassurance that you’re now his and only his to hold, to touch, to pleasure.

“you’re all mine aren’t you,” he growls out mid kiss, grabbing you by your chin, staring so deep into your eyes you feel the need seeping into you from his gaze alone.

“always have been, cheol.”

his heart settles at your voice. knows you’re his. but hearing it makes him feel a whole ‘nother level of complete. loves when you play to his possessive selfish desires.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself before sitting himself down on the edge of the bed, pulling you down to straddle above him.

he pushes and combs your hair to the back, hands rubbing up and down your body, hands claiming what’s his. he takes in your silhouette in front of him — sitting so prettily, just waiting to be devoured by him.

“you’re too beautiful baby, hate the thought of someone else getting to see you the way i do,” he removes the strap of your top, teasing slowly as he starts to pull your top above your stomach.

you raise your hands, letting him remove your top. he hisses, sucks in a sharp breath, noticing you went braless for the night.

“braless tonight baby? thank god it was warm out there. imagine if these,” he tugs on both nipples harshly, “were to stand if it were cold,” he releases them, rubbing over your hard nipples softly in circles with his thumb. “then that ex boyfriend of yours would’ve been able to see what’s mine, wouldn’t he.”

you whimper at the hard and soft sensation on your nipples, knowing he’s going gentle on you now.

“you’d like that baby? want him to see you like that?” he slaps across your tits, tainting the soft flesh with his print. you let out a whine, “n-no…don’t want him to,”

“yeah? it’s for my eyes only, right baby?” his hand inches towards your core, completely exposed under your mini skirt by the way you’re sitting.

he rubs his fingers over your panties, smirking at the wet patch he feels on your center.

“so wet baby, thinking about me or thinking about him?”

you frown and gasped at him indignantly, “you. baby — i don’t understa—” he slaps your cunt, soothing it immediately afterwards with a few gentle rubs across your core.

he knows it’s him, knows only he can get you so dippy — likes a confirmation of it anyways.

he pulls you in for another heated kiss while his fingers continue to stay busy toying with your clothed cunt. your warm cunt that he wants to drown in all the time.

“remove your panties and go on all fours for me baby,” he grabs your hips, lifting you off him. you silently think of ways to apologise to your friend before getting comfortable on the bed, just clad in your mini skirt.

seungcheol groans at the supple flesh of your ass spilling out of the short fabric. pulling you closer to the edge, he grips onto the flesh. fingers tense, possessiveness dripping down his fingertips. needs to feel you on every active nerve to remind himself that you’re solely his.

he dives in to give one long lick up your soaked cunt. you moan out his name, and he groans out how fucking wet you are.

“fuck baby, i think if i were to fuck you right now my cock would slide right in,” he settles for his fingers for now, feeling the way your walls immediately tighten around his finger.

“cheol…daddy, want more..” you push your hips back, wiggling your ass in his face. he slaps a harsh one down your cheeks, and you wince, whimpering slightly.

“greedy slut. think you deserve more? letting your ex boyfriend hug you like that,” he says that but inserts two fingers in this time. bottoming out to his knuckles, curling his fingers.

“d-don’t be angry daddy, you know i only want daddy… want you only…” you beg, breath hitching every time he hits the spot all the way inside.

“show me baby, tell daddy how much you want him.” he sees you look over your shoulders, eyes wide and sweat starting to form on the edge of your hairline.

the cocky look on his face has you tightening around his fingers. him fully clothed, fingers deep inside you while you lay so pliantly for him. you would do anything for this man. and so would he.

“please daddy, want you to make me cum. need your cock.” gripping onto the bedsheets tighter as you feel him sneakily insert a third finger.

“yeah baby? doesn’t seem like you want it that bad. i’ve heard you beg better.” he coos. he knows you could go louder — loud enough for him and the other guests to possibly hear. needs to set him straight.

you whine. god. frustration starting to boil and mix with the immense pleasure in your core. you know how cheol is. how he can get mean in bed.

“want—want you to fuck me daddy. please. need you so bad. please please cheol,” your voice breaks. you feel his other hand reach from behind to tug on your nipples, before reaching down to leave teasing touches to your puffy clit begging for attention.

he’s a master a multi-tasking. thinks when it comes to you, he’ll be a master at anything. anything that makes his princess feel good.

“fuck baby, making such a fucking mess. so desperate to cum aren’t you.” at this point, he’s more desperate than you to make you cum. he feels his cock growing so hard it hurts, and if he doesn’t cum inside you soon he’s going to lose it.

“fuck baby. show me why you’re my good girl yeah? cum on my fingers and i’ll think about letting you cum on my cock.” he rams his fingers so hard inside you, other hand rubbing tight and fast circles around your clit.

“cum for me baby, moan out my name nice and loud while you do yeah? let everyone know who’s making you feel good right now,”

with his urging, you snap and unravel, gushing out while cumming around his fingers. you scream out his name as you cum, hands turning white by how hard you’re holding on to the sheets.

“fuck daddy, so good… so good…” you puff out as you come down from your high. no time to register as you hear his pants drop to the floor.

“turn around baby, come sit on me.” you push yourself up, only to see him already leaning against the headboard, hand stroking his hard on. grunting. hints of pre-cum glistening in the dim room light. his gaze hard on you as he strokes himself.

you bite your lip, crawling slowly towards him before settling in front of him. he tilts his head, letting his pre-cum coat his length.

“think he heard you cumming all over my fingers?” cheol prompts. you flush, nod a little, think anyone within a few metre radius distance from the room would’ve heard you begging cheol to make you cum.

“wait til he hears how good my cock makes you feel baby,” he guides you towards him, letting you hover over his cock for a moment.

“you okay baby?” he whispers and gets a confirmation from you. “just want your cock in me,”

the tip presses against your entrance, and like what he predicted earlier, you sunk down his cock with ease, soaking wet cunt welcoming him eagerly. he groans, voice croaky. head so clouded by how snug and warm you feel.

“you feel so good princess, you feel fucking perfect around me,” he husks. his eyes unable to tear away from you — the way your mouth opens, gasps leaving you as you take him in all the way. the way your brows furrow with sweat down the middle. the blush spread on your cheeks and the moan you let out as you feel him completely.

he holds on to your hips, guiding you up and down his cock. switching between bouncing you and letting you grind on him.

“so fucking pretty, you always take me so well,” his brows stay furrowed, unable to fully process how fucking good you feel around him. feels like he could cum any moment.

“cheol.. daddy..so good daddy,” you moan out, you see and feel nothing but him and him only at this moment. and you want him to know how good he makes you feel.

“yeah baby? daddy’s cock making you feel good?” he raises his eyebrows, head hitting the back of the bed so hard yet he can’t feel the impact of it. so lost in the moment — wants you to cum around him, wants to cum inside of you.

“so so so good daddy,” you cry out, hands playing with your tits, giving him a little show as he continues to work your hips on him. his strong hands doing most of the work for you, while you focus on the feeling of his tip hitting and grinding against your gummy spot. the way he keeps creating waves of butterflies in your lower stomach.

“that’s it, let him hear how good i make you feel baby,”

“show him how you’re my needy little slut, bet he’s never gotten you like this,”

“no one can make you feel like i do right baby, no one compares to daddy right?” cheol utters out, cursing out every time he feels your walls tighten around him.

“n-no one daddy. only you can make me feel this way,” you cry out. “only you daddy, only you,” and it’s true. cheol works around your body like no other, like magic. knowing every spot of your body and how to take you there — faster than anyone ever.

his fingers make their way to your clit once again, and you jerk forward the moment he starts to rub messily on your slippery bud again.

“that’s it baby. only daddy can ever make you feel this way,” he snaps his hips up faster, feeling his incoming orgasm the more he hears you cry out.

“you’re doing so good baby, taking me so well. you belong on daddy’s cock don’t you,” he moans out. holding back on his thrusts, focusing on your clit to make you cum again. knows he won’t be able to hold back any longer if he continues fucking up into you.

“cum for daddy again? wanna see you cum around daddy’s cock. i know you can baby,” his pace quickens and he groans — knowing how it goes, knowing when you’re about to cum. needs to hear you fall apart on his cock.

“almost there baby, cum for daddy — that’s it that’s it… feels so fucking good doesn’t it baby, look at you.” his words alone bring you to a new high, cumming so hard around his cock, screaming his name so loud you think the upstairs neighbour knows who cheol is.

“fuck baby. gonna cum. gonna cum so fucking hard inside of you baby.” his hands find their way back on your hips, gripping onto dear life as he snaps his hips up into your dripping cunt.

“ah fuck, fuck i’m cumming baby, daddy’s gonna cum inside of you,” and you clench around him, watching the final string break as he whines out, and you feel his hot cum shooting inside you, painting your walls.

thick hot cum continues to spurt inside of you as he slowly fucks it in you, pushing his cum deep inside every crevice of your cunt. his moans come in sections, breaking more and more.

he lifts you up slowly before you decide to lay beside him, feeling beat. he extends an arm for you to lay on as a pillow and you smile, facing him as you use his arm comfortably.

“you were so good princess, did so well for me. as always,” cheol caresses your cheek softly.

“sorry baby, i shouldn’t have let mingyu hug me all over like that… i would’ve been upset if i were you too,” quietly, you place a kiss on his jawline. hoping he isn’t too affected by mingyu anymore.

“no baby, i’m not mad at you. just hate it when guys look at you that way…especially if it’s an ex-boyfriend.” he rubs his nose with yours.

“i know baby…let’s get out of here? i’ll find another day to bring minji out for a birthday dinner..”

giggling, cheol agrees — but not til you guys catch your breaths for a few minutes.

perm taglist 🖤: @gyuguys @black-swan-blog27 @do-you-remember-summer-127 @mrsjohnnysuh

a/n: hi luvs! sorry, i’ve been a lil caught up w life and etc so :(( missed being here n writing so here i am! managed to find some time to write a lil smth <3 hope u guys liked it, if u did — like, rb or comment ⭐️ love you, muahh ���

[hoonatic]

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.

[thejujvtsupost]

It’s Always Been You

🍎F!reader, pet names: (pip/squeak, my girl, sweetheart,) suggestive but not smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, brief miscommunication and lots of groveling but it works out.🍎

Notes: I struggle with editing. This is totally separate from canon bc I’m heartbroken. It’s also my first lads fic, I’ll ALWAYS be a Sylus girlie but Caleb broke my brain for a minute 😭

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Caleb joining the DAA wasn’t the problem at hand…No, it was the fact that you were going to be separated. Spending his last night before he leaves wrapped around each other like you always did when things were tough was the best comfort you could get.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, do you really have to go?” This was going to be the longest you’ve ever been apart since you were kids, and even worse, he wasn’t allowed to have his phone.

This wasn’t any easier on him but he couldn’t just back out. “I’ll be home before you know it, don’t worry too much.” Caleb brushed the hair from your eyes and held you closer, “plus, you get to have six months free of my constant nagging.”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, the tears you were holding back finally fell. Your hands that were originally wrapped around his waist were now at his chest, between your bodies and fisted tightly in his shirt. “But I love you and your nagging!” You inhaled like you were suffocating. Perhaps you were, under the weight of his impending absence.

“Shh I know, I love you and being a pain in your ass.” That earned him a wet chuckle. “I swear, as soon as I’m home I’ll fulfill my promise and I won’t leave your side. You’ll never have to worry again, about anything.” A soft kiss to your temple solidified his vow.

It took you a few long moments before you were able to get in a proper breath and process what he said. “You made a promise?”

“Don’t remember? Hm that won’t do. Think back to when you were 18, and that boy you had a crush on rejected you and broke your heart.”

“I’d prefer not to remember that, actually.”

“But remember after? When you still hadn’t come home by dinner and I found you alone at the park?” Large hands ran down the length of your back to help soothe you while he spoke.

You’re still lost but it’s coming back to you. Confessing to your crush in the park was supposed to be perfect— except he not only rejected you, but he made fun of you. You could respect rejection, but the way he humiliated you and made a scene wasn’t something you wanted to think about. “That day was awful.”

“You were so upset. I wanted to beat him to a pulp but you didn’t want to be alone. Remember what I told you? The pinky promise we made? It’s only been four years you know, I’d hope your memory isn’t that bad yet.”

The moment flooded you then with a gasp, ‘You’ll never be alone as long as I live sweetheart, and when it’s time, when I finally graduate and become a pilot, I swear I’ll marry you myself to prove it.’ And at the time it made you giggle, because surely he was just joking to cheer you up, right? “You meant it?”

Caleb chuckled and lifted your chin to look at you directly, “of course I did, it’s always been you and me. Don’t you know that?”

A fresh wave of tears formed as you surged forward to meet his lips with yours- and stopped out of embarrassment before you could make contact. “Sorry, I didn’t- I think I’m just being emotional—”

But the space between you closed once again and before you could overthink it, Caleb was kissing you the way he’s wanted to for years. His lips were all consuming and tender. His palm cupped your face like it was glass and you couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair. Kissing Caleb felt like home, like everything was right.

He tried to break away to bring you both air but you refused to let him, instead pulling him closer and closer until he was on top of you, spreading your legs to accommodate his size. “Slow- slow down, you still need oxygen.” You shook when he started dragging his kisses down your throat, letting out soft moans when gentle sucks were left behind.

“C-Caleb…”

He pulled back and grew tense as if he was afraid he scared you away, “what’s wrong, you tired?” He was trying to give you an out if you wanted it.

You were certain your cheeks were flushed, you shook your head. “I want… more…”

Caleb groaned and buried his face in your neck “you’re killing me, Pip.”

Had you said something wrong? “Sorry- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… I’ll just-” you loosened your arms from around him, thinking you somehow embarrassed yourself yet again.

He stopped you. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re killing me because you have no idea how badly I want you; how long I’ve wanted you.”

“Really?” Having someone like Caleb love you was the best feeling, but him being attracted to you left you wanting him even more.

Deciding to just show you, he ground his hips into yours. And god, it felt good against you. Just that little bit of contact felt better than anything you ever achieved on your own. “You’re-” hard went unsaid. He grunted when you spread your legs wider for him. “Yeah, I am. And if you want me, then you have me. But you can’t take it back, so if you’re not ready for that commitment…”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“This really isn’t the time for that—”

“Shut up, it’s important.” He sighed and let you continue. Your arms dropped from his neck to hold his face in your hands, brushing the stray hairs from his face. “That guy I had a crush on? I only liked him so much because he reminded me of you. So I’m yours, too. If you want me, then you can take me.”

Words were lost on him so actions took hold, “are you sure?” His kisses resumed their path after meeting your lips, the room grew hotter with each new brush against your skin.

“I trust you, Caleb,” you had no idea your neck was so sensitive, your gasps talking for you. “but I should let you know I’ve never done this before.”

“I’d kill anyone who ever touched you if you had”

“Isn’t that hypocritical? Should I hunt down your past lovers?” You worked his shirt over his head, the dog tag necklace you gave him mere hours ago dangled in front of your face.

He chuckled and discarded your top, your sleep shorts were next. “It’s funny how you think I’d ever want someone that isn’t you.” His revelation hit you full force: he loves you so deeply, there’s truly no doubt to have. “I’d never do this with anyone else.”

Two things happened that night: your bond was solidified, and unbeknownst to you, a life was created

The goodbye was brutal the next day, already missing him terribly before night fell again.

You managed to fall into a routine, though. You would go to work, occasionally spend time with friends— Tara spent the night with you at least once a week to keep your mind off of things; and the days she didn’t you laid in bed desperately wishing he would be by your side.

Your routine was solid, until a month into your separation when you were sick almost every single day. You were fed up by the time a week passed and the day after that you made your way to visit Zayne- who congratulated you because in his words, ‘he and his wife were expecting as well, perhaps they’ll be friends, too.’ Finding out you were pregnant without Caleb with you was difficult, there wasn’t a way to reach him and share the news.

But you weren’t alone anymore. You spent the time you felt lonely talking to your baby now, who definitely couldn’t hear you yet but that didn’t matter. You were kept company with a perfect blend of you and your Caleb.

According to the official statement released last week Caleb would be home any time today, any minute, any second.

The anticipation left butterflies in your tummy, your baby moving with your nerves. It didn’t occur to you that he might not be happy to be a father, that you might’ve been presumptuous that he’d be ready to care for another life so soon.

And when the door flew open, as much as you wanted to jump into his arms (carefully, of course,) you held your breath and waited for him to notice. And of course, because he was your Caleb, it was right away. His happiness and relief fell away to shock and— was that anger? You didn’t expect anger…

“Welcome home, I—”

“Who else has been here?”

“What? I mean Tara has been keeping me company a few times a week but that’s it.”

“What man has been in our home, pipsqueak.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, just a demand. He’s never been so terse with you…

His tone made you anxious, “No one, other than Zayne and his wife for dinner occasionally— Caleb what are you talking about?”

Caleb dropped his bag on the floor with a thud, still not moving from his spot. “I’m talking about the fact that I came home after six months and you didn’t seem to miss me at all, nothing like the way I missed you. How else would you be pregnant? So who is he? Someone from the Hunters Association?”

Oh… he thought… “Oh my god how could you think- I’d never cheat on you Caleb— EVER how could you even think—”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t have knocked you up in the time I’ve been away.”

A knife cut through you at his words, the accusation, the betrayal of thinking you’d ever be with anyone else. And how vulgar it was… Did your first time mean so little? Was it something he just wanted to get out of the way before he left? A sob escaped you, tears spilled over. “You’re an asshole, Caleb.”

His eyes went wide, “I’m the asshole here?”

“Yes! You’re a fucking asshole! I expected you to be shocked but accusing me of cheating on you? Thinking that night was nothing? That’s low. I can’t believe you!”

“That night means everything to me!”

“Ask me how far along I am! Go on, fucking ask!”

That stopped him short, “you mean?”

“SIX MONTHS!” Standing there while he dropped to his knees was barely satisfying. “God I can’t stand you right now! You must’ve lost your damn mind and all your common sense!”

His silence was angering you further, stomping off to the kitchen for a drink of water and trying to calm down was a better use of your time; crying from this much stress wasn’t good for you.

Once he gathered himself he followed you, “Sweetheart… you’re telling me that night…”

“Finally used your brain, did you?”

“I’m so, god I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” His hand reached out to bring you in for a hug but you denied him.

“Do. Not. Touch me.” His audacity made you seethe. No way were you going to give in so easily no matter how much you desired to be in his embrace and reassured.

“Sweetheart—”

“You’re sleeping on the couch. We can decide what to do later.”

His emotions began to overflow, the guilt crushing him; the ring in his pocket practically burning into his flesh. “Decide what?”

“Decide if I should even let you stay.” Your throat felt tight but you continued to hold your sobs back. “Your dinner is in the oven by the way, it’s your favorite so I suggest you don’t let it burn.”

A few hours rolled around before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore hearing your sniffles. You hadn’t eaten dinner, who knows if you had any water, and no matter how (rightfully) mad you were, you still needed to eat.

Grabbing a few of your favorite snacks with a glass of juice instead of the untouched dinner he put in the fridge was his safest option, unsure if seeing the meal would upset you further.

“Pip squeak? I know you’re awake.” Crouching by your side of the bed and setting the snacks on the nightstand, “please talk to me?”

“Go away.”

“You know I can’t do that, you have to eat something.”

You poked your head from the blanket, “oh so you care now that you know it’s yours?”

The jab was deserved but it still earned a wince. “I’d still care even if they weren’t.”

“How noble of you. Sticking around to raise a kid that’s not yours before I even have a ring.”

“Who said I didn’t have a ring?” This time you accepted the comfort of his hand brushing your hair behind your ear and gently cupping your cheek.

Curiosity was a bitch, but you weren’t ready to forgive him yet. “You were really mean.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. I can’t imagine you being with anyone else but I didn’t expect to come home to a family either— and I’m beyond happy to be a dad. It’s not an excuse though, never okay to talk to you like that.”

A few leftover sniffles came before he pulled a tissue from the box on your nightstand, opting to dry your tears himself. “Blow,” He said, holding the tissue to help you blow your nose; then offering you the straw of the juice so you could hydrate.

“I missed you so much, I thought you’d still be happy to see me.”

“I’m over the moon, actually. But I hurt my girl, gotta make things right. Think you can forgive me? I’ll earn it forever.”

“Caleb if you ever, I mean ever, speak to me like that again I won’t hesitate to let you talk to the front door. You’ll be out.”

“I’ll cut my tongue out myself.”

“So dramatic as always.” You rolled your eyes, “you mentioned a ring?”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, “there’s my girl. You sure you still want it? Or should I earn it first?” He dug into his pants pocket to show you anyway.

“It wouldn’t hurt your efforts.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle fully before presenting the velvet box to you, “I’m pretty close to the ground but if you sit up for me I’ll get on one knee.”

Sitting up to stretch was good for your back anyway, “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

The velvet box opened and your jaw dropped, “picked it out in Skyhaven. Gideon and I helped the elderly owner of a small shop with some boxes he was struggling with in front of his door. Knew it was perfect right away, gorgeous and one of a kind like you.”

“You’re ridiculous, but I love it.” He slid it on your finger and sealed it with a kiss, and you fell into his arms like you’ve wanted to for the last six months.

Pulling away after many minutes of hugs, ‘I love you’s’ and kisses wasn’t welcomed by you. “Now, how ‘bout some dinner? I don’t think snacks are enough, they were backup. Gotta keep you healthy.”

“Did you like it?”

You were pulled to your feet and carried out of the room. “Didn’t eat without you, sweetheart. Having dinner without you and the baby felt empty.”

“Good. You can reheat it then.” You waited for the perfect moment to drop your bombshell, which happened to be when he was carrying a full glass pitcher of water for the table. “We’re having a daughter, by the way.”

The pitcher fell so fast his evol barely managed to catch it before glass hit the ground. It left you feeling smug.

You couldn’t help but cackle at his shocked spluttering, “A WHAT?”

I’m so flattered, I’ve never had so many people interested or had a taglist this long: @pixelcafe-network @kentochronicles @sashisuslover @lunia-likes-pomegranet @elli4ever @mysssticc @kaemaybae @kamisatoaiko @midiplier @jamseashell @llamabois @boba14 @crimsonspring @angrychinchillanoises @ali-shiii @kazbae95 @ifistoptherain @c-I-stinnett @nephelesthoughts @etherealzi @jjoppees @keithkoganeirl

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All divider credits to me @thecutestgrotto