#Blue Skies From Pain

[cherryite]

i got you.

summary. after a near death experience on a mission, your relationship with your childhood best friend mark shifts unexpectedly

content. childhood bestfriend!reader x mark grayson, superpowered!reader, neighbor!reader, fem!reader, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them trope, hurt/comfort, happy ending, slow burn (if you squint), yearning, love confessions, mutual pining (word count. 9,6k)

warnings. MDNI!!, depictions of violence, blood and injuries, implied underage drinking, drunk harassment, vomiting/puking, eventual smut, breeding kink (again if you squint), unsafe sex

author's notes. hi pookies, so this is probably bad, i have not written in ages so please ignore anything that's ooc (probably everything lolol), i'm just having fun with writing right now and trying to get back into it! not super canon compliant either whoops

Life just couldn’t go your way. Not that being ‘blessed’ with super speed and teleportation abilities really helped with that, or being in college, or the fact that you got your ass kicked whenever you did a little bit of world saving. Bleeding out while staring up at the sky, clouds swirling above with the sounds of chaos around you was not how you wanted to leave this world. Your throat is tight, Your baby blue suit is the same color as the sky above as blood seeps out of a hole in your side. You fear not even your advanced healing will save you now as you cough blood, the warm liquid spattering over your face. Running out of your ‘power bars’ as you called them was the first sign things were about to go bad. Your extremely fast metabolism as a result of your powers is often also a hindrance, if you go too long without energy, without calories, they become much less effective; you run slower, and can’t teleport as fast or far. And you ran out. Because of course, you did.

Rubble digs into your back, normally it would be painful if it weren’t for the fact that you could barely feel your fingers. You spit up again, blood covering your chin and coating your lips with the metallic smelling liquid. Your eyes search the skies, looking for flashes of blue, yellow, and pink. ‘Mark and Eve won’t let me die’ you think, though you have no idea where they are. The comms in your ears barely register to you as sounds become muffled.

“Rex, where’s Breeze? She’s supposed to be with you.” Eve’s voice, she sounds upset as she speaks your hero name, though in your blurry mind, you can’t decide in what capacity. More words are spoken, and people are yelling; you cough again as you feel your body rapidly try to heal itself to no avail. You can hear Rex’s voice over the static explaining where he had seen you last. You can hear Mark, panic lacing his voice, as he says he’ll go look for you. You almost smile. Mark, Invincible, your friend since childhood. Whatever ghost of a smile is on your lips is gone as quickly as it came. ‘I can’t let Mark see me die, he can’t be the one to find me,’ your mind races, and bile rises in your throat, not blood this time. You are so caught up in your mind, oblivious to the passing of time, that you barely feel large hands cup at your face and neck; your name is being yelled repeatedly, distraught and panic stricken. Your vision is blurry as you focus on the sight above you. Mark’s arms slip under your body, your hair hangs limply beneath you, as he lifts you carefully, inspecting your brutalized body frantically. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me, it's Mark,” he is doing a terrible job of hiding the fear in his voice as he speaks, trying to seem comforting but it doesn’t really help because his voice shakes. He props you up with one arm, his other hand using his suit to wipe the blood from your chin and mouth. A shot of pain runs along your spine, but you barely register or react, a small whimper of pain is the only noise you make. You feel pressure on your wound, his warm hands slick with your blood, the frayed parts of your suit tickle you as he moves it to the side to get a better look. 

“I got you, I got you,” Mark says, his voice thick like he’s got something stuck in his throat, his bottom lip quivers slightly. You feel the urge to reach up and cradle his face to comfort him like you used to do as kids, but your arm feels like it weighs like a ton of bricks. 

“You got me,” you say, your voice so weak you can barely register as it tumbles from your lips, accompanied by another cough of blood. It splatters against Mark’s face, and you see him flinching as the metallic liquid touches his exposed skin. He carefully picks you up, his touch as gentle as he can be while he trembles. He says something about getting you back to the med bay, that you’ll be fine, that you have to be. Wind rushes over your body, but it just feels like your floating, your unfocused eyes trained on Mark’s face. He’s talking to you but you can’t hear it. The brown eyes you love to stare into are covered by his goggles and you wish you could see them, just once more before you die. Your body doesn’t register as your head lulls to the side limply, all you see is dark.

~

Your eyes shoot open, harsh white light blinds you instantly. You feel crushingly sluggish, your body aches, and your head pounds harshly in your skull. The light eventually stops being so bright, your eyes adjust, taking in your surroundings. The bed you're occupying is definitely a hospital bed, you’ve visited Mark in ones that look like this plenty of times before. The room is familiar too. Your brain connects that you're certainly in the med bay, your brain also realizes you're alive. As you continue to survey the area, your eyes spot two figures. Eve is curled up in a chair in the right corner, her head resting on the wall. A fuzzy blanket that you swear is from your room is slung over her and her red hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail. Mark lays to the left, slumped forward in his own chair, his head resting on the side of the hospital bed. His black hair is messy like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His back is angled terribly as he rests, you cringe to yourself at the thought of sleeping like that. Starting to regain feeling in your limbs, you feel a pressure on your hand. Mark’s hand clutches your own as he sleeps, scabs covering his knuckles. Your heart clenches in your chest, it beats against your ribcage with such force you almost think it’ll crack the bones if it continues. A machine to your right starts beeping, and you feel sick enough that you're afraid you're going to puke. The machine beeping wakes Eve and Mark, You close your eyes and scrunch up your face, you can feel Mark squeeze your hand. You try to calm your breathing. You hear Eve say she’s going to go to talk to one of the doctors, slipping out of the room. You hate hospitals, you hate the med bay, you hate this. 

When you finally reopen your eyes, they immediately connect with Mark’s brown ones. They’re staring at you like you’ve just hung the stars and defied the laws of death (which you basically had). A smile curls at your lips because he has the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen and it makes your heart race. 

“Hey you,” you manage out, your voice is hoarse and it cracks as you speak. Mark’s face has an unreadable expression on it, perhaps one of disbelief but more muted. Maybe it’s relief, you're not sure as his face scrunches slightly. His hand clutches yours tightly, his gaze never leaves your face.

“I thought you died,” he says weakly, shifting closer to you.

You scoff tiredly. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” He does not like that answer, even though you're trying to lighten the mood. His gaze doesn’t leave your face, he has light bags under his pretty brown eyes, making you frown. The idea of him not sleeping makes your stomach twist. There’s a beat of silence before his hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his fingers tenderly stroking your cheek. The air nearly leaves your lungs. Affection between them was normal, a common occurrence. It made sense with how long they had known each other. But this felt different, something was different.

You think of a fond memory of when they were younger, 6 and 7 respectively. Mark tripped and fell while chasing you around in your driveway, scraping his knees pretty badly. Your heart had dropped as you heard him plummet to the pavement with a ‘thud’. He cried as sobs racked his body, fat tears rolling down his sweet rosy cheeks. You had cradled him while he cried, resting his head on your tiny chest, stroking his hair as you spoke to him. 

“I got you, Mark,” you had said, your voice tiny, sweet as candy as he absentmindedly twisted the end of one of your braids around his finger as he calmed down. Debbie had come over to check on the two of you not long after, taking him home to fix his knees up. Though not before he gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek, tears still visible on his face as he thanked you. Debbie hugged you as well and praised you for taking good care of Mark, a smile on her face. Even after they grew out of being bright faced babies, they stayed that way. Another memory that sticks with you is when they both had just entered 8th grade. Some boys had been teasing you at school, asking you out on dates for their own amusement. As they worked on homework at his house later that day, you were well aware you weren’t as chatty, not as energetic; not yourself in the slightest. Mark noticed, of course, his brows furrowed in concern at you as you worked diligently on your worksheet.

“Okay, what's up,” he had said eventually, catching you off guard. You shrugged, not looking up from your paper. 

“Nothing's up, why,” you cringed inwardly to yourself, not being convincing in the slightest. Mark poked and prodded until he eventually got the truth out of you. The way his brown eyes softened as you had recounted the day as tears welled in your eyes, was forever ingrained in your mind. Eventually, it led to both of you laying on his bed, your hair sprawled out, covering your back as you cried into his chest. His hands carded through the silky strands, rubbing your back as you clung to him.

“Shhh, I got you,” he says, his words quiet, only for your ears. His chin rested on your head because he couldn’t stand to see you cry. Warm, salty tears soaked his shirt, your hands clinging to his sides. Eventually, both of you had fallen asleep, homework discarded and sown around the floor of Mark’s room. When your mom frantically knocked on the Grayson’s door, she and Debbie were not surprised to find them curled together in Mark’s bed. Your mom simply told Debbie to send you back over in the morning, a soft smile on her face. You could think of dozens of times when similar occurrences had happened: cuddling during movie night, comforting touches, running hands through each other's hair. Something was different. But what scared you even more was that you were starting to realize it wasn’t that different. Not as different as you had tricked yourself into believing for years.

His hand is still warm against your cheek and you have no idea how long you’ve been spiraling for. Your heart thumps painfully, as his thumb brushes against the fat of your cheek.

“You scared me,” Mark says, his voice falters and your eyes pool with tears because, albeit indirectly, you caused your best friend a great deal of pain. You start to sniffle, your face screwing up as you start to cry. You’ve barely even started to process that you almost died, gone forever, gone from the people you care so deeply for. Mark’s voice hits your ears as you close your eyes to start to bawl, gasping breaths leaving your lips as tears run down them into your mouth. He’s speaking but you're so focused on crying you can’t hear him, all you feel is him adjusting you in this stupid hospital bed and crawling in beside you. Strong arms pull you against his chest, and you bury your face in his neck, muttering against his skin, “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Mark.” You can feel him tense slightly, your hot, wet breaths heaving against his skin. He all but coos as he drags his hands through your hair, admiring the way the light glistens off the strands. His voice crackles as he speaks.

“I got you. I’m not- I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with- with me.”

The last part almost seems like he’s trying to comfort himself instead of you, his grip tightening on your shaking form. You feel him nuzzle his cheek to your forehead, his deep breathing puffing hot air against your ear. A shiver ran up your spine, suddenly glad your face was buried in his neck, glad he couldn’t see the way your cheeks flushed involuntarily. Surely it was just because you were having a nervous breakdown, nothing else. You stay like that for a while, his hands soothing down her back all while being careful of any lingering wounds. The sobs and tears start to lessen, soon you’re just sniffling as he cradles you with as much care as ever. 

“Better?” Mark’s lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice has a deeper tone to it as he questions you; not totally out of the ordinary considering he was only recently roused from sleeping. 

“Better,” you confirm, pulling your face from his neck, and wiping your eyes messily before Mark’s hand cups your cheek, gentle fingers brushing away any tears. You barely realize how close the both of you are, faces inches apart as your breaths intermingle due to proximity. Your eyes flutter open, looking up at him through your wet lashes.

“Thanks, Mark,” you say softly, your eyes unable to drag themselves from his own eyes. Your heart is in your throat, his thumb still absentmindedly brushing over your flushed skin.

“Any-Anytime,” he mumbles back, his breath hitching as he speaks, the sudden tension in the room laying over them like a weighted blanket. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a fleeting second, you would probably not have even noticed it if his face wasn’t so close. You barely register as his face inches closer, the hand that rests on your cheek trembles with adrenaline. You suck in a shaking breath. No way, no way this is happening right now. Maybe you really did die and this is what the afterlife is like. The door opening startles you so badly that you nearly smack your forehead into his as you both scamper apart, both your faces red and your lungs breathless. Eve stands half awkwardly, half coyly at the door, over her shoulders are the doctors she said she was going to get when she left earlier.

“Uh, I got the doctors,” she says, biting her lip. You aren’t sure if she's trying to keep from laughing or out of sheer embarrassment about what she just walked in on. Mark slides out of the hospital bed, the loss of his warmth makes your heart sink. Doctors file in, Mark walks to the door by Eve to leave as the doctors work. His eyes find yours before they shut the door, leaving your heart racing in your chest and your mind muddled with thoughts of ‘what the hell just happened’.

~

Recovery thankfully comes easy due to your powers, but you definitely sense a different vibe whenever your deployed for a mission. You’ve kept pretty much off field for any mission deemed more dangerous than normal. Ultimately it’s more of a blessing than a curse, it gives you more time to do schoolwork, more free time. However, this unfortunately means less Mark time as well. It still stings a bit when the rest of the team departs for a mission, leaving you behind. Things have been more or less ‘normal’ between both of you since the confusing encounter in your hospital bed, almost as if it didn’t happen at all. He’s still sweet, awkward Mark, but sometimes he smiles and your stomach flips more than normal. Last week, Mark had chattered on and on about the new Seance Dog installment, his voice on speaker, blaring from your phone as you did your nightly skincare routine. You laughed to yourself at his excitement, you could almost hear the pout in his voice as he spoke.

“Why are you laughing? I’m giving you a very in depth plot recap right now! Pay attention.” Mark’s voice has an air of humor to it, causing you to giggle to yourself.

“I am paying attention, you’re just cute when you ramble,” you say nonchalantly, not even realizing you slip up until your brain catches up with your mouth. Mark’s silent aside for the faint rustling of his bedsheets, almost like he just sat up in bed. Before he can respond, your mouth opens again, “Ah well! I gotta shower, talk to you tomorrow yeah?” 

He barely gets out a strangled ‘okay’ before you hang up the call and run your hands down your face in pure misery and embarrassment. 

Aside from your internal conflict, Eve has decided it’s time to let loose for once this Saturday, go out, and have fun like normal young adults. You find yourself desperately needing a distraction from the mess in your mind in regards to Mark, so when Rex suggests they go to a bar (he says he ‘knows a guy’ who bounces there so it will be no problem to get in), you are arguably the most excited to go. 

Saturday comes without a hitch and before you know it, you and Eve are stumbling down the sidewalk to the bar, giggling your heads off, clinging to each other as you walk in the cool night air. Rex, Mark, William, and Rae trail not far behind. Rex is already drunk off his ass from the pregame, clinging to Rae as they walk. 

“They are soooo not gonna let you in if you don’t lock in immediately,” William calls out to the girls in front of them from beside Mark, who is the ‘sober sister’ for the night as William dubbed him, but Mark is barely paying attention. His brown eyes are fixated on you skipping arm in arm with Eve around 5 meters ahead of him, squealing with excitement as the group nears the bar. He swears he almost died when you and Eve showed up to the pregame because your outfit tonight was, to put it frankly, hot as fuck. Oversized black leather jacket to protect your frame from the night air, heeled black boots that reached your mid calf, tight black mini skirt, and a strapless dark red top; he could have died right then and there. Mark was so accustomed to your normal attire, sweatpants when they hung out, even your skin tight suit you wore when they were on missions, but this was a whole new beast. He knows this outfit is going to haunt his dreams for weeks to come. William elbows him in the ribs, hard, and Mark yelps at the sudden contact while turning his head to glare at his friend. 

“Dude, what was that for?” Mark whines as they near the bar, getting in line to be let in with the rest of the group. William just rolls his eyes, a satisfied look on his face. 

“If you keep staring I think she’s gonna explode or something, control your dick Mark,” William says slyly, Mark’s hand immediately covering his mouth to prevent others from hearing his friend's words. He hears Rae and Rex snicker to themselves ahead of them in line and he feels the heat rush to his face. 

“William!” he grits out, his face nearly the color of the top your wearing, “Knock it off.”

William licks his hand, causing Mark to recoil with disgust, glaring at him as the sounds of Rex chatting with his bouncer friend drifts through the air. 

“I’ll stop when you grow some balls. It’s getting pathetic, I can’t lie.” Before Mark can even respond, Rex is waving their group into the bar. You turn from your spot beside Eve, looking back to Mark and William. Your smile is bright, your cheeks are flushed from the shots you did before they left for the bar. Mark thinks he’s dreaming, you grab his arm, tugging at it.

“Come on slowpokes!” you say in a singsong voice. A strand of your hair is stuck in your lip gloss and Mark has to actively restrain his hand from brushing his thumb against your lip to clear it. He scolds himself in his mind as you drag him into the bar, over to join the rest of their group as William follows behind you both. Things have been different lately, ever since you nearly died on the last mission you were on: your touches linger more than they used to, his breath catches more than normal when you text him, and his heart races when you smile at him. Not that any of this was super new, but for as long as Mark can remember he’s felt similar sensations when interacting with his best friend, his pretty neighbor. But these sensations, these feelings, were more intense and growing by the day. Mark used to be able to brush off the butterflies in his stomach when you would call his name, when you would pull him into an earth shattering hug after a mission, when they would cuddle during their weekly movie nights; it wasn’t as easy to ignore anymore, it invaded his thoughts for much longer than it used to. Liking her wasn’t new for him, but whatever this was, definitely was. 

They all reach the bar, two rounds of shots later, everyone, save Mark, is significantly intoxicated, their drunk minds blabbering about whatever pops into their minds. Tonight is karaoke night at the bar, four drunk guys are currently doing an awful rendition of  ‘You Belong With Me’ by Taylor Swift which has Rex and Rae singing along drunkenly. You are tucked into his side, practically leaning on him for support as you argue with William about what the funniest Tiktok brain rot is. His arm is wrapped around your back, his hand rests on your shoulder, a safety measure to make sure you don’t fall. Or that's what he tells himself at least. Mark hopes you can’t feel how fast his heart beats against his ribcage, your shoulder leaning on his chest as your head tilts back, giggling drunkenly as you hear William say some joke that is definitely not funny to any sober person. In the dark lights of the bar, he really hopes no one can see his deeply flushed face or the way he cannot tear his eyes from you. It’s totally not because he can see down your top right now from this angle or that your soft hair is tickling his neck when you move. Or that the smell of perfume clinging to your skin makes him want to bury his nose into your neck and never leave. His grip on your shoulder tightens, deciding he should actually contribute to the conversation, just before Eve pushes her way through the crowd. She dashes towards you, a drunk smile on her face as she puts her hands on the speedster’s shoulders to steady herself. 

“We’re up next in karaoke! Prepare your vocal cords!” Eve says excitedly, dragging you away towards the front, “Sorry boys! I’m stealing her for a bit!” The two of you disappear into the crowd before Mark can even utter a goodbye, he barely catches sight of you as you turn your head over your shoulder, catching his eyes before Eve pulls you away. He stares at the spot you just disappeared from, William wags his eyebrows at him suggestively. 

“You are down so tremendously it shocks me you haven’t melted into a puddle yet,” William quips, Rex and Rae, coming over to join them as you and Eve crawl onto the small stage at the front of the dance floor, picking out a song with the DJ. Mark doesn’t say anything, he just rolls his eyes in response, a small smile still curling at his lips. Rae and Rex start singing ‘Two dorks sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G’ as they make kissy faces at each other and Mark once again is thankful for the partial darkness of the bar. 

Music starts and you and Eve start your karaoke session, passionately singing ‘Juno’ by Sabrina Carpenter, dancing around the stage goofily. Mark desperately tries to ignore that the lyrics are raunchy as all hell, which proves difficult because he’s fully engaged in the words leaving your mouth. Trying not to imagine you two doing the lyrics in real life is an even harder challenge.

He especially tries to ignore the way heat runs through his body when you both sing ‘wanna try out some freaky positions?’ Eve pushes on your upper back, pushing you down from behind, bending you over at an acute angle as you both drunkenly giggle out the next line of the song ‘have you ever tried this one?’ Mark nearly combusts when he makes eye contact with you, and you smile at him before standing fully upright and continuing to drunkenly sing with Eve. William is giggling beside him because Mark has been staring unwaveringly at you nearly the whole time, practically drooling at the sight.

“Oh, he wants that cookie baddddd,” William says, his speech slightly slurred as Rex nearly dies of laughter beside him, as the music dies down and hoards of drunk people whoop and holler. You and Eve jump down from the stage as the DJ says they’re taking a quick break from karaoke and ‘No Hands’ blasts out of the speakers. Both of you disappear from view into the sea of people but Mark swears he sees the smile you flashed at him when he blinks.

~

On the dance floor post karaoke session, you and Eve giggle with each other, completely oblivious to the world around you two. Sweaty, drunk people cage you both close to each other, separating you both from the rest of the group who have set up camp at the edge of the dance floor near the bar. Rae is forcing Rex to drink water, but you can faintly hear him protesting. Eve’s lips brush against your ear so you can hear her over the blasting music.

“He wants you, bad, like bad, did you even see how he was looking at you!” Her words cause you to flush, leaning in to respond.

“Mark always looks at me like that,” you yell in Eve’s ear. The redhead rolls her eyes playfully, her hands gripping your shoulders to keep you close.

“That’s the point!” Eve starts her voice giddy, but before Eve can finish, you feel a tap on your shoulder, your heart racing as you turn. Unfortunately, it’s not Mark, who you were hoping it would be, and your smile falters a bit as you stare up at the tall man next to them. Eve glances over your shoulder to get a good look. He’s probably mid 20’s, his eyes droop drunkenly, and his voice slurs as he speaks. 

“You ladies looked good up there, real captivating performance.” Eve pops her head out from behind you, eyeing him up and down.

“Uh thanks,” Eve responds civilly, smiling cautiously at this random drunk man. The guy drunkenly leans in closer, his lips curling up wolfishly. You, even in your drunk haze, can smell the alcohol on his breath as his next words wash over them.

“It was super sexy, I totally would wanna see you guys do that pose again in my bedroom later.” Eve stiffens behind you, and the hands she has on your shoulders tighten. You use your hand to push the redhead behind you more, out of sight of the man in front of them. Suddenly you feel painfully sober as you digest his words.

“Hah, sorry no, we aren’t interested,” you try to brush him off, your stomach churns as he steps closer, and Eve’s hands grip your shoulders. 

“Oh come on ladies, ya’ gotta unwind a little, pretty girls like you shouldn’t be going home alone tonight,” he reaches forward, brushing a strand of your hair from your face. You flinch as his sweaty fingertips touch your face, your eyes wide with shock. Your eyes flicker around but you see no easy exit in the crowd of drunk people.

“Hey, she said no dickhead,” Eve pipes up behind you, her voice forceful, “We aren’t interested, did you hear her the first time?”

“Oh, feisty, I like it,” he slurs, his eyes focusing on Eve behind you. His grimy hand reaches back to try and touch her too, but before he can, your hand makes contact with his face, hard. The creep stumbles a bit, shocked at the sudden assault, people around turn to watch through the crowd, absentmindedly dancing still. 

“I said, we aren’t interested,” you say, gritting your teeth as your eyebrows pinch together angrily, your hand is gripping Eve’s now who’s trying to drag you both away as the crowd disperses a bit, creating an exit, “Don’t touch me or my friend again freak!” Eve drags you away from the drunk guy, spying your friends in the crowd, who have started to see the commotion with wide eyes as they move toward the two of you to back you both up. You and Eve turn your backs to him. You immediately make eye contact with Mark, whose eyes are trained on you, his face pinched together with concern as he quickly makes his way over to you. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight as he nears you both. 

But before you and Eve can get too far, the creep yells out after you, clutching his face, his eyes piercing as he watches Mark advance toward you. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t be such a fucking bitch if you got laid once in a while, tell your stupid boyfriend I feel sorry for him!” You see red as the words leave his mouth, whipping around in Eve’s hold as Rae abandons Rex, passing his drunk body to William so she can help hold you back. In their hold, you point a finger at him, and your voice shakes with anger.

“Talk to me or my friends like that again and I’ll do much worse than smacking you!” you shout out completely fueled by adrenaline at this point, as you’re pulled back to the group. You watch as the dude just laughs, disappearing back into the crowd. Your breathing is heavy as the adrenaline wears off, Eve and Rae release their hold on you to give you some space. Your stomach feels queasy.

“I’m gonna puke,” you manage out, walking hastily towards the exit of the bar. You hear Mark call after you, his voice dripping with concern as his footsteps follow after you. You hear William gag, “Oh good god she’s gonna blow chunks all over him.” 

The chilly night air immediately hits you, your heels clicking against the pavement as you duck around the corner into an alleyway. You bend over, effectively throwing up nearly all the alcohol you had just consumed. There’s a presence behind you and you immediately know it’s Mark, you don’t even have to look up. Continuing to throw up, you feel his hands gently brush the hair from your face, pulling it out of the way so you don’t get puke in your hair. You continue to gag, Mark’s free hand rubs small circles on your back as comfort. Eventually, your stomach stops contracting, your eyes are watery from puking your guts out. Blearily, you turn your head to look at the man beside you.

“Sorry you had to see that,” you mumble to yourself, you hear Mark huff quietly.

“It’s no problem, there was no way I was going to let you puke in this sketchy alley all alone,” Mark’s voice is soft with a hint of jest as he soothes his large palms down your arms in comfort. You both stay like that for a beat, before you lean forward, your head resting on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you as you lean on him, his heart pounds against his rib cage.

“I didn’t like how that guy talked to you, I didn’t mean to go all crazy on him,” you mumble against his chest. You do not bring up that he referred to Mark as your boyfriend, but that is hardly relevant right now.

“Seems like he deserved to get put in his place way before that,” he remarks, his hands clutching onto the back of your jacket, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Yeah, he was being all weird to me and Eve, gross and touchy,” you trail off as you feel Mark stiffen slightly.

“Hey, hey, did he touch either of you? Did he touch you?” Mark pulls you from his chest to look at you, his eyes big, worried. The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine, it’s soft but still demanding, persistent. You shake your head.

“No, not like that thankfully, I’m okay,” you assure him, your hand cupping his jaw as you look up at him, your eyes still wet from earlier. He nearly melts into your touch as he nods at your words, his cheek chasing the warmth your palm brings. The air nearly crackles with intensity, every touch of his skin sends sparks through your body. With your heart blaring in your ears, he nervously bites the inside of his cheek, his brown eyes still staring down at you, a mix of something you cannot place swirling in his irises.

“Can I, uh, can I ask you something?” His tone is hesitant, quiet, his throat bobs as he speaks. You feel like all the air has been sucked from your lungs, you feel like your heart is going to burst. 

“Anything,” you breathe out, your eyes searching his face as you wait for him to speak. No way this is happening right now, in a random alley, where you just vomited profusely. Mark’s mouth opens slightly like he's about to speak, when your ears pick up on the sound of their friends, Rex is ranting about something and Rae is telling him to shut up. Mark seems to hear it too, his eyes flickering over to the sound. He squeezes you, reluctantly pulling away and you feel your heart drop instantly.

“Uh, are we still on for movie night tomorrow?” He says, his voice tinged with anxiety, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. You blink at him, nodding silently as William turns the corner.

“Hey, vomit comet, we’re leaving, get the nerd and hurry up,” he calls out, pulling you from your Mark centric haze. You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold chill of the night settling in your bones. Neither of you two say anything as you meander back to your friends. Eve pulls you into a hug, slinging her arm over your shoulder as you walk back towards the car with the others trailing behind, similarly to how the night started. 

The drive back home is torture. Mark drives since he’s the only one not stumbling drunk out of all of you. You try to sleep through the ride, but your brain buzzes with jumbled thoughts. Mark’s eyes keep flickering back to look at you in the rear view mirror and you accidentally make awkward eye contact two or three times. Your place is one of the later drop offs and your eyes droop with a mix of drunkenness and sleepiness. You slip out of the car, bidding goodbyes to Mark and William, the only people left in the car. While unlocking the door to your home, you toss a glance over your shoulder, meeting Mark’s eyes through the car window before slinking inside, hoping sleep comes to you quickly. 

~

The Sunday scaries hit you hard when you wake up in the morning. You groan into your pillow as your head throbs painfully, your hands immediately fumbling around your bedside table to locate some painkillers. Popping two of them in your mouth, you suck down the water in your water bottle like you haven’t drank in days. Remembering the previous night's events makes your whole body shiver with anxiety. After rotting in bed for half the day, you finally open your phone to see tons of notifications. Two are from William, he's asking if you’re alive and also if you’re as violently hungover as he is, Eve messaged you once to make sure you slept okay, and your breath hitches to see you have three messages from Mark. You swipe into the messaging app, clicking on Mark’s contact.

mark!!: remember to take an advil in the morning

mark!!: also remember to eat something please

mark!!: also also, movie night @ 7 tonight? your place?

Your heart stutters in your chest. Nothing out of the ordinary, this is typical Mark behavior, but something about it sends your heart soaring. A response is quickly typed up and sent, agreeing to the time and promising to take care of yourself today. He responds almost immediately. 

mark!!: okay, excited to see you tonight :)

You simply heart the message before tossing your phone away and falling face first onto the soft pillows of your bed. A giddy scream rips from your throat, muffled by the pillow. After a moment of spiraling, you flip over, staring at your ceiling, an array of glow in the dark stars stare back, dim in the early afternoon light. The way your heart speeds up, the way you can’t get the smile off your face, makes reality come crashing down on you. You are deeply in love with your best friend and it scares you. Hangxiety takes hold of your body, your gut squeezes nervously, the air in your lungs feels thick, and your blood rushes through your veins. This revelation endangers what you hold most dear; the  relationship with Mark that you’ve been cultivating for a bit more than a decade. 

You spend the rest of the day stuck in your own head. Nothing helps calm the storm raging in your mind. The homework you planned to do sits abandoned, books are picked up just to be sat right back down when you cannot focus on a single page of words. Time passes slowly as you spend most of the rest of the afternoon too stressed to do anything before Mark is supposed to be there at seven. 

It’s five minutes to seven when you hear your window slide open. You thankfully powered through your anxious mind to change into pajamas, opting for an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft sleep shorts. You tear your gaze from your phone, watching Mark climb through the window, a borderline nervous smile on his face as he waves at you a bit. Your eyes rake over him from head to toe. He’s wearing a pair of simple blue pajama pants and a t-shirt William got him for his birthday last year that reads ‘I <3 HOT NERDS’. 

“You’re early,” you say, glancing at your phone clock, “when are you ever early to anything?” The tease in your voice drips from your words, Mark rolls his eyes and plops down beside you on your bed. His eyes shine in the lowlight of your room, only the soft glow of string lights illuminating its walls, and it makes your breath hitch. 

“I’d never be late to movie night,” he answers, staring up at you from where he lays on your bed. You raise an eyebrow at him, your face says it all. Mark runs his hands down his face, a tinge of embarrassment in his tone.

“Okay, maybe once or twice, but I was saving the planet,” he says, whining because you’ve already started to poke fun at him. You flick his ear, earning a small ‘hey!’ from Mark as you grab your laptop from the floor beside your bed, he writhes in ‘pain’, continuing to bemoan over how mean you’re being. 

“Get up dork we have a movie to watch,” you hum, pulling up a streaming service while Mark crawls up to you and rests his back against the headboard beside you. Heat radiates from how close he is, your shoulders brushing as he peers over your shoulder at the laptop screen. A shiver of delight runs down your spine as his breath wafts over your neck.

“What are we watching?” he asks curiously, as you set the laptop down in front of you both. Pulling a throw blanket over both your bodies, he scoots closer, fully invading your space now.

“Hercules,” you answer, the title credits for the movie starting. Mark just hums in agreement, snuggling up in the blanket with you. His arm tentatively slides over your shoulders, drawing you further into his orbit. 

“Good pick,” he says, his voice sending another spark down your spine. The way his voice gets raspy when he’s tired has your heart pounding in your chest, which has you praying that even with his super hearing he doesn’t notice. You curl closer hoping the movie will help distract you from the yearning feeling that settles in your lower stomach.

It does not help. You find yourself hyper aware of every movement he makes. The flex of his bicep behind you against your shoulder blades when he squeezes your shoulder. The way his chest vibrates as he hums along to the songs in the movie. The way you can feel his abs pressing against you. Just him. That distracts you. The both of you are practically entangled by a little more than three quarters of the way through the movie. Your right leg rests crossed over his right one, occasionally feeling this thigh muscle twitch underneath you. Your head rests on his chest, eyes glued to the movie, curled into his side. 

Though, if you had looked up at his face, you would find a borderline terrified look taking over Mark’s expression. His face feels red hot, the blood coursing through his body flushing his skin. He can’t focus either, your body curled into him, back arching slightly and your leg entangled with his. The smell of your shampoo in your hair is nearly intoxicating. Mark feels dizzy because this feels very different from previous cuddle sessions. Sometimes you shift, basically bumping your crotch against his hip and he starts begging to whoever's listening to keep him from popping a boner. That does not work in the slightest. Mark is barely paying any attention to the movie, his mind frantically trying to figure out a game plan on how to deal with his unwanted friend. He groans involuntarily, his eyes wide as he realizes the sound that just erupted from him. The hand on your shoulder squeezes. You catch the sound that comes from him, tilting your head up to try and get a look at him. 

“You good?” you question, adjusting again to try and position yourself in his hold better. Your blood damn near runs cold as he whimpers, turning his head away from you, but you can see the heat creeping up his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m, totally good,” he murmurs, his voice pitching as you place a hand on his chest to prop herself up better, your hips sliding against his thigh. Mark intakes a sharp breath, his free hand flying to your hip as he says your name in a pleading voice. You freeze, your heart in your throat at the feeling of his large hand gripping your hip bone.

“Please, stop… moving,” Mark says, his voice breathy, his pupils blown wide. Your brain catches up quickly as your eyes widen, positively mortified because now you can feel his hard on against your thigh from your new position. Still, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Oh fuck, Mark I didn’t even realize,” you start to apologize, you’re voice panicked. Because what if he hated you now? What if you’d made him uncomfortable and now a lifelong friendship was ruined over Mark getting a boner and your newly realized crush on him. Mark runs his tongue over his lips a deep, shaky exhale leaving his parted lips. You want to reach up and crash your lips against his, but you don’t. 

“This is so not how I wanted this to go,” he mutters to himself in solemn disappointment, his hand absentmindedly gripping your hip. You just stare at him dumbly, your brain lagging again. His eyes finally drift down to yours, his throat bobbing because he can’t believe what he’s about to do. 

“Can I kiss you?” he says softly, a nervous tremble coating his words, your faces are only inches apart, just like they were in the hospital bed about a month ago. A shaky ‘yes’ barely passes your lips before his hand on your shoulder slides to cup the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, his lips pressing against yours and your eyes flutter shut from bliss. Both of you shake, your movements hesitant as you part your lips, deepening the kiss. His hand grips your hip, tugging you swiftly into his lap as his lips move languidly against your own, a gasping breath escaping you as you feel his hard length beneath you. With a swipe to his bottom lip, he eagerly lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, sliding it against his own, drawing a blissful whine from him. Oxygen deprived and anxiety running high, you reluctantly part your lips from his. Both of you pant heavily, a thin trail of spit connecting both of your puffy lips, your breaths wavering with adrenaline and desire.

“How was that?” you question quietly, nervousness pooling in your eyes. The sight of him alone could make you faint: his muscular chest rising and falling as to catch his breath, his lips kiss bitten and red, just like his face is heavily flushed. His eyes swim with affection, gazing up at you like you’re a figment of his imagination and could vanish from his hold any second. 

“Better than I ever imagined,” Mark breathes out, his eyes raking over your face, the corners of his lips quirking upward. Your face mirrors his, your shaky hands cupping his jawline, taking in the warmth his body provides. He speaks again, “I’m not dreaming right? I won’t wake up in a few minutes to find out I imagined it all?” 

You suck in a breath, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers caressing his jawline. You barely pull away, breath fanning over his lips. 

“I’m very real Mark,” it comes out a desperate whisper, your voice sweet music to his ears as his fingers dig into the meat of your hips. His gaze is hypnotizing as he practically ogles you.

“I never- I never thought,” he trails off, at a loss for words. You could care less about talking right now, talking could come after. Pressing your lips back to his, murmuring against his lips, “Mark, shut up and kiss me again.” And oh boy does he kiss you. His lips move urgently against yours, devouring your lips into a passionate kiss, like he’s a man starved and you are the only thing he needs to keep living. His long fingers toy with the waistband of your pajama shorts, leaving your core tightening in anticipation by just his soft lingering touches. The kiss is fueled with want, both of you completely losing yourselves to each other as Mark’s lithe fingers slide up your thigh. In between kisses, he barely manages out, “can I touch you, please.” You don’t even respond, just nodding your head hurriedly, lifting your hips off his as he slides your shorts off. He’s trembling like a leaf when his fingers brush against the wet crotch of your underwear and he literally feels like he’s going to die as he moans into the kiss you two are still entangled in. Warm fingers pull your panties aside, his long fingers sliding against your slick folds. You whimper at his touch, restraining yourself from grinding down on his fingers as he traces soft figure eights against you. The kiss breaks as you both catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours as he continues to massage his fingers against you. Mark makes eye contact with you, his mouth hanging open as he rubs your clit with his thumb. The feeling of your legs trembling draws a whiney moan from his lips.

“You feel so warm,” he mutters, tentatively angling his hand so he can slide a finger into your velvety walls and your head falls to his shoulder at the sensation. Involuntarily, your hips grind down against his hand, you moan into the skin of his neck, starting to kiss messily at the skin there.

“More please,” you beg against his neck, your lips pressing heavy kisses as he slides his middle finger in to join his pointer finger, curling them against the spongy walls. His dick pulses painfully as he pulls breathless moans from your lips, the sound making his head spin and he has to bite his lips from moaning too. While pressing kisses to his skin, your hand reaches down to cup the bulge in his pants, causing his fingers to falter their pumping movements as he whimpers at the contact.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, his hips jutting upward to chase your touch. You pull your head from his neck, facing him again. Mark is enthralled by your beauty right now and it’s not because your pussy is clenching around his fingers as he curls them again. The hair on your head is ruffled, your lips rosy and full from kissing, your eyes blown wide with lust and a deep unmistakable affection. He sucks in a breath.

“Feels so good,” you babble, a breathy whine as you talk, “I- I need you, please Mark,”

His senses are on overdrive, his free hand reaching up to card his hand through your hair, his other hand still pumping his fingers into your squelching wet hole.

“Are- are you sure?” He questions, nervously bringing his brown eyes to yours. You almost laugh if he wasn’t assaulting your pussy with his fingers right now.

“Mark, if you don’t fuck me, like, right now,” you start, but don’t finish because Mark’s mouth is on yours instantly. Your body is flipped onto your back, thighs instinctually clamping around his hips. His fingers pull out of you and you whine at the loss of contact. Mark tosses his shirt over his head, tugging at yours and pulling it off. Both of you quickly shed the rest of your clothes, completely bare to each other. You suddenly feel nervous, which is silly because he was literally just finger fucking you not even a minute ago. But the sight of his dick makes your head spin because there is probably a zero percent chance that monster is going to fit in you. Mark’s broad chest rises and falls as he surveys your body, sliding his way back on top of you, his hips falling between your hips, his chest pressed against yours. Comforting fingers brush some strands from your face, and Mark looks star struck again, his brown eyes shining in the lowlight. 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice is soft but you can hear the slight shake in it. You drag your hands through his dark hair and he nearly purrs in pleasure. 

“You’re prettier,” you respond, your stomach swirls with desire, the slick between your legs hitting the cool exposed air. He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to the column of your shoulder, mumbling against your heated skin, “Not possible.”

His tip nudges your slick folds and you both moan at the contact, his leaking tip catching as he lines up, pushing his hips forward to notch the tip of his cock into your warm pussy. Pulling his face from your neck, he connects your foreheads again, gently using one of his hands to lift your leg, hooking it over his broad shoulder. 

“I got you,” he whispers comfortingly as you withe beneath him at the sensation of his thick cock starting to breach your sopping wet hole. Mark’s voice shakes with adrenaline, his jaw dropping with a small whine as he pushes through your gummy walls.

“You got me,” you respond, warmth blooming in your chest, the stretch of his cock in you making you dizzy with arousal. His movements remain slow, finally bottoming out with a breathy moan which causes your back to arch. His eyes almost appear fair away as they stare into yours, already drunk and consumed by the feel of you. The hand he stationed on your waist squeezes the fat of your hip, allowing you to adjust to him. The full feeling of the stretch of his cock buried deep within you, it makes your chest heave as you grip his bicep with your hand. 

“You feel so good,” you breath out, gripping his bicep tightly and your eyes roll back as his hips twitch reflexively. Mark whimpers at your words, slowly grinding his hips against yours, his public bone rubbing against your clit. Your walls clench and he closes his eyes in pleasure, his dick twitching inside of you.

“So wet, is’ so good,” he moans, pressing you further into the mattress, slowly dragging his cock halfway out of you, sliding it back in with ease against your slick walls. You whimper, his head falls to rest on your shoulder, muffling his own sounds of pleasure. They vibrate through your body and he shoves his cock back into you, pumping his hips back and forth, increasing the speed gradually. Your mind feels like a lust filled haze, all you see, all you smell, all you hear, is him. Wet squelches and the slapping of skin mingle with desperate moans and whines, his hip bones hitting the back of your thighs forcefully as you contract your walls around him and his movements stutter. 

“Mhm, I’m gonna cum, if you keep doing that,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice is raspy, sending a chill through your skin as the coil in your lower stomach nears its peak. 

“That's the plan,” she teases breathlessly, a whimper tumbling from her throat as your other leg bends, your foot pressing against his shoulder. His hips move erratically now, the position makes him continuously hit your spongy walls in a way that has you arching your back as his ragged moans escape him. His cock twitches again, your pussy clenches, trying to pull his release from him. He looks up at you and you can tell he's close, completely pussy drunk, lost in the way his cock drags along your slick folds and you swallow him up perfectly.

“In, finish in,” you force out, the only words you can manage out, and he moans at your words, his dick drilling into you, his hips stuttering.

“I love you, so much,” he babbles out, his hips moving wildly, sucking the air from your lungs, “gonna fill you up yeah? Fill you with my cum.” Mark whimpers at his own words, his lips crashing to yours, as you reach your peak, your walls milking him as you clench, moaning into his mouth. His release follows, a ring of white gathering at the base of his cock as he whimpers, his load hot and warm against your walls. His hips jerk a few more times, stuffing his cum deep into your pussy. You both breath heavily, clutching each other as you come down from your highs, both of you quivering. 

“Did you mean that?” you ask breathlessly, “that you love me.” Mark stares down at you, his hair disheveled, his cock still buried in deep within you.

“Yes,” he says, his cheeks flushed, his hand that held your leg up letting it drop, “I have, for a long time.” He almost looks sheepish, which you find amusing because he just fucked the shit out of you. You giggle, mind still hyper aware. 

“So have I, loved you for a while I mean,” you say as he tiredly gropes your breasts, a dopey look on his face. 

“I’m definitely dreaming,” he mumbles, lowering his body to lay on top of you. You run your hands through his hair. 

“Nope,” you muse. His head tilts to look up at you, his face still dazed with a lazy smile on his lips. He presses a sweet kiss to your jaw, murmuring softly about how gorgeous you are, how you’re incredible, how he loves you. Your heart soars, because this is real, you're here together, intertwined in bed, and nothing could be better. Your life has revolved around him, as his has revolved around you. You bask in each others presence as sleep finds you both, giggling together your eyes never leaving his brown ones, until you both drift away, off to meet again in your dreams.

[szarina]

“Caleb?”

“What is it, pipsqueak?”

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

You asked him out of the blue while munching on the snack he bought for you. Seated on the stairs at the front of the store. The wind's cold. A telltale sign of the night to come. The skies are purplish with hues of orange and red. The can of soda sweats with condensation. Leaving a imprint of it on the concrete floor.

“What about it, pipsqueak?”

Caleb brows furrow at the sudden question. You were both in high school and neither of the romance stuff were discussed except when you both watched a romance drama that aired on the evening. He didn't even know you were interested.

”No. I mean that's normal. You're popular with girls and I know you must kissed one of them right? Riiight?”

Absentmindedly crinkling a wrapper of the candy and Caleb can hear the crunch of the packaging. A amused laugh escaped Caleb's lips. Turning his body to face you and resting his jaw to his palm. His elbow leaning on his knees.

He stares at your side profile. Studying how your eyelashes flutter and the dimple surfacing on your round cheek. A small pout in your plump lips.

“I haven't kissed anyone, pipsqueak.”

“For real? Nah, you're kidding me.”

Caleb's smile grew wider when you whipped your head to see if he was really serious. Your face scrunched up while you eye him suspiciously.

It was the truth. He gets it. He was Mr. Popular among his peers and there's the endless stream of girls who tried to get on his good graces. However he can't bring himself to like the attention. Sure, it was good that he can count on them and he knows you're going to be cool about it but it feels wrong.

“I'm not interested, pipsqueak.” Caleb assures you. Patting your head in a affectionate manner like he always did. His palm hold your round cheek. Caressing the skin with his thumb and his aura gets serious all of a sudden. “What made you ask me that kind of question?”

“A classmate asked me if you have a girlfriend and then if you did the lovey-dovey stuff with a girl. I told her I don't know and....” Your eyes squint for a little bit. The gears in your head turning. “— that's why I asked you about it.” You explained.

Caleb pinched your cheek. If Caleb wants to be honest with you right now. He will say he wants to kiss you, first. His eyes landing on your lips. He fought the urge to run his thumb in your lips for he might regret what he's about to do next. It's to kiss you. Taste the sweetness of the candy in your lips and feel the softness of your lips that will linger for days to come.

Caleb wants you, needs you to be his firsts. It's the way it is most special cause he shared it with you and he knows you're inexperienced too and what's better to be each other's firsts, if you'll allow it.

“Pipsqueak, do you want to be kissed?” His voice suddenly serious. The streetlight casting a glow behind them and from the angle where you look at him. Caleb's expression grew darker. The knowledge that you're going to be kissed someone that is not him — brings a pain that he can never recover.

“Someday, Caleb. Someday.” You mutter and Caleb smiles, cause that someday is the day when he will finally get to kiss you. A real kiss. Not the indirect kisses from having to share cans of soda or tasting another one's food. You didn't even know that.

Caleb and you stayed for a bit. Watching as nightfall envelops the whole city. Contented at the peace and quiet with the conversation gone in your mind except for Caleb who burned the memory. He's contented for now.

He can be patient towards you and when the time comes, it's not only a kiss from you but the whole you, body and soul.

[fibfoolingart]

the lords in black were summoned, but if the lakeside mall was a shorter walk than the high school

i was thinking ab how the lords’ “holding court in their form” seems influenced by being summoned in a high school, and what they might look like if they were summoned in the mall instead.

so instead of jocks and theatre nerds, we get: a mall goth, a food court employee, an unattended sticky child, a mall cop, and an ancient mall walker.

further explanation (semi pete’s pov) of what role they take and the kind of feelings they evoke below the cut:

pokey is a mall goth. but not the kind built on personal freedoms or anti-establishment grit. pokey feels like a mall goth curated by the algorithm, tiktok trends and a thousand-dollar amazon cart. his hair’s professionally dyed, his boots unscuffed. but that’s not really what you notice. it’s the presence he radiates, this quiet, sharpened confidence that only comes from belonging. you’ve never worn black lipstick, never cared for goth music, but still… something about him makes you wish you did. makes you wish you could walk beside him. his blue is familiar (not like richie’s warm teal, staining your fingers in a cramped bathroom) but in a painful way. it’s the blue of dart frogs and stovetop flames. of winter skies so empty and flat they feel like a threat. and when he looks at you, really looks, you’re not just alone. you’re individual. and it hurts.

nibbly is probably the happiest food court worker you’ve ever seen. or maybe he’s just grinning. a grin that stretches too wide, showing every tooth. too wide to be safe. nibbly’s the color of intestines, of pus-pocked acne, of grease shimmering over something bloody. his uniform might’ve started as the same highlighter pink behind every counter, but now it’s muted, aged by years (or eons) of absorbing grease. it almost looks like nibbly himself has been steeped in oil: hair clumped and sticky against his face, his shirt, your food. his visor is dull pink, his eyes cloaked in shadow. he holds a tray out to you. your hands twitch to take it. it feels like you’re supposed to relieve him of it. it’s your order. even if you didn’t place one. even if you don’t know what’s on it. you just… know. and somewhere deep in your stomach, you get the sinking feeling that it’s not the food he wants to eat.

wiggly is a paragon of snotty mall kids. sticky, unsupervised, and terrifyingly confident in the way only children who've never been punished can be. he’s also unmistakably green, crusted around his nose and mouth, fossilized under his fingernails, soaked into his shirt. and he hates you. not in the vague, bratty way. this is something deeper. something personal. every unattended kid in a mall dreams of crushing you like an ant. but when this kid looks at you, you understand that he can. he holds himself with more than reckless confidence. he’s not just sure no one will stop him. he’s sure you can’t.

blinky is a mall cop whose issues with authority transcend the stereotype. he doesn’t resent power, he needs it. he deserves it. He’s compensating for it, breathing down, your neck, keeping constant vigilance. you’ve seen him before. every mall has one. maybe it’s the flickering security cameras blinking orange in the corners. maybe it’s the static whisper of the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. maybe it’s just the way you feel watched before you’ve even walked inside. his sunglasses hide his eyes, but somehow you know. he’s looking at you. you haven’t done anything wrong. not really. but he knows. he knows what you would do. and he’s waiting for it.

tinky is still walking. he’s been walking since the fountain ran. maybe since the mall opened. maybe since before that. his tracksuit used to be tan. now it’s yellow, sickly, rusted, corroded by sweat and time. his skin, his hair, his eyes, everything about him is yellowing, wilting. creased with the dusty, moldy hue of things forgotten in the dark. his walk is slow. wheezing. bones grinding under paper-thin skin. but he doesn’t stop. he never stops. he laps the fountain, again and again. when he looks at you (eyes jaundiced yellow under the cloud of curdled milk cataracts) you feel it. not fear. not pity. recognition. you wonder if this is your future. if this is all that’s left for you. just the suit. the steps. the orbit.

but also their designs might still be the same bc the summoners are still high schoolers, and the lords are just mirroring them lol

[chososdiscordkitten]

Ex-Husband Gojo

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo as ur ex-husband trying to win you back („• ᴗ •„)

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: no use of y/n nor mentions of readers appearance, THERES PLOT IN THIS ONE!! Mentions of pregnancy and getting back together again, seducing(?), fingering, spanking ONCE, reader gets folded like a chair, multiple orgasms, cream pie, aftercare(?)

(a.n) underlined text is a link incase u need a picture of the position :>

MDNI

You could never hate Gojo, even if you had been divorced for a year- pretending to barely tolerate him when you saw him. 

But you knew in your marrow- you could never hate him. The only man in your life for the past 7 years, father of your child, and provider of anything you could ask for.

The divorce didn’t even affect Gojo- even as he was signing the papers, he still looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Give my wife whatever she wants.” he directed his divorce lawyer, earning an exasperated sigh from your lips. 

Everything your own lawyer asked for, he shrugged. 

The house? “Take it.” he scoffed, looking at you with all the love in the world. 

Child support? He didn’t even blink. Satoru offered to give you money every month. As long as you didn’t work and stayed at home to care for his son.

Forget the cars or the cabin in the mountains you would go to in the winter to ski. None of that bothered Satoru. He would give you whatever you requested as long as it made you happy. 

It only made your head pulse- the way the divorce lawyers were looking at you like you were some kind of horrible villain. Divorcing a seemingly loving husband who would give you anything and everything you asked for. 

That was until you asked for sole custody of your child, knowing he barely had time when you were married; how would he find the time as a single father?

“No,” he said sternly, in a deeper tone—now taking this seriously. “50-50, or nothing.” he threatened, a dark aura looming over his figure as you caved. 

You asked for a divorce, not because he never gave you enough— that was never the problem. Gojo loved giving and had more than enough to offer, especially to his wife and child. 

The issue was, two years into marriage, he knocked you up. It wasn’t a problem though. Married, old enough, and stable enough to welcome a child into the world.

Satoru was present a lot more for those 9 months you were growing his child. Ignoring the responsibilities of his demanding job. 

Nine months of pure bliss. Moving into a house, painting your child’s nursery together. Shopping for clothes, going through Satoru’s unbelievably long list of baby names- 90% of which you said ‘no’ to. 

The two years before you were pregnant, you were aware of how demanding Gojo’s job really was. You knew he would be gone more often than he was present. 

And it didn't bother you. If it made Satoru happy and he still returned to you at the end of the day- you didn't mind. 

But during those nine months of growing his child, you thought the rest of your lives together would be the same. You thought he would be present more often than not.

And when you were pushing his big-headed child into the world, it was almost like a switch flipped in Satoru’s mind. As though he looked down to the child that was undeniably his, lily white hair—the same shade as his, and bright blue eyes, just like his father's. Gojo saw the future in the boy he held in his hands. 

Gojo never told you, but that day, he realized he had to work harder, to give you and his son the best lives you could have. 

He distanced himself, making sure to leave as much space between you and his work as he could. This led to you wondering if he just didn’t find you attractive anymore, or if the domestic cookie-cutter life wasn’t enough for him. 

Had he told you the truth- maybe the divorce would have been avoidable. But Satoru saw this divorce settlement as you throwing a fit. 

Deep down, it hurt him. It pained his heart even thinking that you would consider leaving him, but he allowed you to sign those papers. 

It only meant he would have to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

You scoffed at his demand of 50-50 custody, knowing you saw him two nights a week when you were married. Not even being able to fathom how he could handle having your son 50% of the time. 

But Satoru surprised you in that area. Always being on time to pick up his kid from your doorstep, giving you a big hug every time he would see you. Even kissing your forehead when he would leave. 

You didn’t think anything of it- he invested so much of himself in your marriage; it was instinct by now.

But when you’d be at the park with them, watching him hold the little hand of the mini Gojo that looked identical to him. Smiling with a soft warmth, Satoru may have always run out of time- constantly. But it was undeniable that he was a fantastic father. 

When he ran into an acquaintance from work, he still introduced you as his lovely wife. So often that you stopped correcting him, knowing he would only start complaining if you did.

Even if the law saw you as a single mom. Technically, divorced and with a 5-year-old toddler on your hip. 

Satoru still looked at you and saw his wife. Mother of his child, homemaker, and the only person that helped him heal- the person who gave him the privilege of being a father. 

In his eyes, you were still his. Didn’t matter if you were divorced or not; the marriage dynamic was still present between you two.

Of the two of you, Satoru was the one who was least embarrassed about the little slip-ups. Late nights after you put your toddler down to sleep, wine glasses in hand as you recalled memories from married life. 

9 out of 10 times, it always ended with Satoru’s lips crashing into yours, greedily slotting his tongue past your lips as his hands pulled you to straddle his thighs. 

Nights ending with being cuddled up together, undressed and on the bed you didn’t replace when he moved out. And mornings being awakened by the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen. 

Walking down the stairs with puffy eyes, “Your mama always sleep in this late?” you heard Satoru speak from the kitchen, followed by a little laugh your son chimed.

Nodding your head disapprovingly with a smile, watching your child pull Satoru’s ear to his lips, letting out a small ‘tsk’ at what his child whispered into his ear. 

The sight was always heartwarming, knowing things could’ve been like this all the time if things were different.

And every afternoon, when Satoru would practically be forced out of the house- came the talk of “This can’t happen again. It’s confusing for him-” Only for Satoru to kiss your cheek.

“Won’t happen again.” he would smile, knowing that declaration was a mere tool to end conversations like these. Knowing as long as you allowed it- mornings like these would keep happening. 

There was still a lot- almost too much love, between you and Satoru. You knew this couldn’t continue, branching out and thinking of ways to not be so involved. Being all too aware of the fact that, for the past 7 years, your life has only been your husband and your son. 

Ex-Husband. 

That only proved your point- Satoru slowly started embedding the idea of calling him your husband again, that even in your own mind you still referred to him as such.

You knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. To continue entertaining the potential of getting together again. You considered it at first, if he was such a changed man and all he needed was to be reminded of what he lost to change his ways, would it be so bad to get back together?

But the slip-ups and nights shared together in each other's arms were too good to be true. 

You feared that the same thing would happen if you allowed him fully into your life again. He would show you the best parts of him at first, then go back to neglecting his responsibilities to you and his child. 

So when you asked Gojo to babysit for one evening. Instead of asking you why, he asked his 5-year-old son. Who came running up to him, pulling Satoru's hair to whisper another secret into his ear- barely legible and full of amused giggles: “Mommy has a date.” 

Satoru must’ve heard wrong- it almost sounded like his son said you- his wife, had a date with someone other than him. 

He tried getting more information out of his son, playfully asking who, where, and why. But the little man only scoffed, saying that you only said you had a date, and that’s why Dad had to watch him that evening. 

And on the day of, Satoru showed up at your doorstep looking offensively good. Fresh haircut and his hair half dry, a white t-shirt that was entirely too tight, and gray sweats- with nothing under them (slut). And to top it all off, your favorite cologne spritzed onto his chest. 

You opened your front door- you furrowed your eyebrows in disbelief, eyeing the man before you. You hated when he would purposefully show up on your doorstep looking fucking scrumptious. It was too tempting. 

And as he always does- he pulls you into a rib-crushing hug, ensuring you get a face full of his scent. Kissing the top of your head as you loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured against your scalp, pulling away from him and scoffing. 

Walking back into the entryway of your house, hearing him step behind you and close the door- “I thought I told you to come at 7.” you muttered, trying to shake off the invading thoughts of the apparent print in his sweats. 

“I wanted to see you before you left.” Satoru mumbled behind you, following you up the stairs of his house and listening to the TV playing your child’s favorite cartoon. 

You only hummed in response to the excuse as to why he was here a whole 2 hours before you were to leave. 

While you were showering, Gojo sat on the couch supervising his son, who was asking any question that popped into the little man’s mind. Questions the child would ask you, but refuse to think you were telling the truth. So he would ask his Dad, and believe him instead.

You found it frustrating that your child believed Satoru more than he believed you- but endearing that he would always run things by his father.

All the while, answering the little questions his toddler asked- Satoru wondered if you still had that bad habit of leaving the bathroom door unlocked while you showered. 

But Satoru knew he had to take a more subtle approach to the delicate situation at hand. 

As he heard the sound of the shower halting- thanking the noisy plumbing the house had. It always let him know you were stepping out of the shower from wherever he was in the house.

He rose from the couch and grabbed his child from the floor. “Let’s go see what mommy’s doing.” Gojo smiled as he hooked his hands beneath his child's arms, hearing happy laughter from the little human in his hands as he ran up the stairs.

Satoru always liked watching you get dressed, even if it was to go see another man. He enjoyed watching the care you put into your appearance. 

He walked into the humid restroom, his eyes catching the half-way-done zipper of your dress. “Zip me,” you murmured, looking into the mirror as you applied your makeup. 

Satoru placed his child on the ground and walked up behind you, his eyes catching the clasp of your lace undergarment. He furrowed his eyebrows, realizing it was one he hadn't seen before. 

He lightly placed his hand on your hip, his face too close to your shoulder, as his fingers slowly worked up the zipper. Gojo’s thumb caressed your clothed hip, giving you a light squeeze before letting go of the zipper. 

Pressing your thighs together slightly and trying to ignore the warmth of his hand. 

So as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, his child bouncing on his lap, watching you with an adoring gaze, enjoying the angle he had of you slightly bent over the sink. “Where’d you say you were going again?” squinting his eyes as you swiped away any misplaced makeup on your cheek. 

“Out.” you scoffed, knowing if you told him the truth he would only start whining at you. 

So he flashed his eyes to his son, “Do you know?” he whispered, watching his son hold back a laugh as you rolled your eyes. 

As much as you disliked being the bad cop in most parenting scenarios, your child always took his side- always told him the truth when he’d ask.

“Mommy has a date.” he giggled, only for you to look to your side and squint your eyes, “Traitor.” you murmured, watching Satoru’s jaw fall in feigned shock. 

“A date?” he pursed his lips, looking at you sadly. “You asked me to watch my child to go on a date?” his tone was full of sarcasm, watching you nod your head ‘no’ as you looked back into the mirror. 

“It’s just dinner-” you muttered, trying to avoid his harsh gaze on your profile. “Besides, I’m sure you have your fair share of them.” 

Satoru gasped your name, placing his hands on either side of his child’s head and covering his ears.

“You accuse me of cheating in front of our child? I only have room for one woman in my heart.” he scoffed, placing a hand onto his chest- almost as though he found offense in knowing you could- but he never would.

“It’s not cheating, we aren’t married anymore.” 

He pulled his hands from his child’s ears, eye twitching at your declaration. “Who is he?” he asked, tone more severe as his child played with his hands. You sighed, “I have a right to know-” he started- earning for you to look at him with an irritated expression. 

“Just a parent from his school.”

Satoru squinted his eyes. He knew he couldn’t ask you to homeschool his child- ‘socialization’ and all that. But now, Satoru had to worry about you being pawed at while dropping off his son at kindergarten. 

In some attempts to not show he was starting to get pissed off, “If you were into single dads- you have one right here~” Gojo grinned, watching the grimace on your face churn from his attempt at flirting. 

“That’s not it, but thank you for that.” you scoffed, curling your eyelashes and feeling his eyes pierce your skin. 

“So what is it?” he hummed, wanting to know what this man had that he didn’t. 

With a sigh you rolled your eyes, hearing your child slide off his lap and patter out of the bathroom. “I don't wanna talk about this anymore.” you muttered, sensing Satoru rise from the tub's edge and shift behind you, placing his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“I wanna know who you’re replacin’ me with,” he whined in your ear, causing you to scoff and look down to the sink. 

You were used to Satoru clinging to you- showing his affection to you even if you weren’t together anymore. 

Satoru pressed his hips onto your slightly bent bottom, his lips barely grazing your ear, “If this is about your needs- I’m here for that too, y’know.” he whispered into your ear. Making sure you could feel his print against your bottom as he pressed himself closer to you. 

Your breathing increased slightly, parting your lips as his hands around your waist squeezed you tighter. “You don’t have to look for anyone else-” he whispered, lips pressing onto the shell of your ear as you closed your eyes. 

“I’m here whenever you need me,”

Mentally battling the temptation with every whisper into your ear, his breathing grazing your skin, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface. 

Satoru was about to murmur another temptation into your ear. Until your child's crying voice echoed through the bathroom walls. Rushing out of the bathroom and finding your son on the ground of your bedroom- Tiny droplets of blood oozed from his little knee, with fat tears leaving his blue eyes. 

Satoru wasted no time scooping up the crying child from the ground, hushing him with small assurances that it was okay. 

Though it was only a scrape- it was enough for Satoru to convince you to call up this, ‘Fellow parent from school’ and tell him you had to cancel. Setting no reschedule day as Gojo purposefully called out to you- “Honey, where are the band-aid’s?~” 

And with that, Satoru got what he wanted. Your date was canceled, and the man backed off. 

After too many treats and much-needed coddling from his father, your son dozed off in Gojo’s arms as he walked up the stairs, exhausted from the sobbing. Placing him onto the little race car bed he built- recalling the day Satoru helped you paint the bedroom. 

You settled onto the living room couches and thanked him for being here. “M’sorry if you had any plans.” You sighed, looking at the well-favored man before you. 

Gojo scoffed, “No plans are more important than you.” with a slight smile on his lips. 

“And your son.” you clarified with a warm grin.

Satoru looked down at your hands. “And my son.” He repeated your words, reaching for your hands and holding them in his. Scooching the tiniest bit closer to you, “Thank you,” he muttered, caressing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. 

“For what?” looking at him adoringly. 

Gojo blinked his eyes as he engulfed the sight of your expression. Looking back at him with the same look you had when you were still married. “For bein’ a good mom,” he whispered, slowly inching closer to you. 

“-nd a good wife,” he whispered, watching your eyebrows furrow at the proclamation, cheeks tingling from hearing him call you that. Parting his lips as you leaned in closer to him. 

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, “Why did we ever get divorced, hmm?” he whispered, darting his gaze from your eyes down to your lips. Trying to recall the last time he tasted you- finding it offensive that he couldn’t even remember. 

You gulped slightly, watching his eyes go half-lidded as he leaned closer to you. You blinked your eyes closed- feeling the last of your reservations dissolve in your mind as you pressed your lips against his. 

Satoru’s eyes half-lidded as he watched your eyebrows pinch up- letting go of your hands as he traced his fingertips up your arms. Lightly swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, parting your mouth to grant him entry. 

Your hands making their way to his torso- feeling the thin fabric of his shirt beneath your fingers. Sighing as his tongue pressed against yours, his hands trailing to your back. 

Pulling you closer to him as his fingers reached the zipper of your dress. Soft hums of appeasement rumbling onto his tongue. Tugging down the zipper slowly as your hands found the bottom of his shirt, tracing your hands beneath the fabric.

Your fingers grasping against his carved torso desperately, your thumb lightly caressing his happy trail. His hands slipped past the opening of your dress- sprawling against your back. 

You pulled away- looking into his eyes. His cheeks flushed and lips puffy. “We can’t-” you breathed, hoping he would have the strength to put a halt to this. You swallowed- mouthing another ‘we can't.’ before pressing your lips onto his again. 

Letting a soft moan slip your lips as he pulled the top of your dress down- feeling the light grazes of his fingers against your skin. Placing his hand on your side, sliding up your torso and cupping the underside of your laced breast. 

Feeling a twinge of anger once he felt it was a bralette- only a thin layer of lace separating his hand from your soft skin. Even more when he remembered why you would be wearing this. 

Tracing his thumb over the little peak beneath the lace, giving it a soft swipe. Earning a light hum to leave your lips onto his. 

And to check- just to be sure he wasn’t getting mad over nothing; Satoru pulled his lips from yours. Placing damp kisses onto your cheek. Peppering them down your neck, soft sighs and moans leaving your lips were heard as hymns to Satoru’s ears.

Making sure to pay extra attention to your collarbone, taking a few seconds to suck harshly on the skin. Even if you didn’t wear your wedding ring anymore- this was his way of showing any other men that you were claimed- that you were his. 

His hands shifted your hips to sit correctly on the couch, slumped with your dress bunched on your thighs. Satoru trailed wet kisses to the swell of your breast, lightly pressing his tongue onto your laced nipple and swirling against the fabric, coaxing a light moan to fall from your lips. 

Though your eyes were closed, Satoru's grip on your waist told you that he was furious. Had you opened them, you would have seen his jealous eyes looking back at you. 

Satoru hoped he was wrong- hoped you wouldn’t do this to him. All but praying he wouldn’t have to do what he had to if he was right. 

His hands hooked onto the bunched-up fabric of your dress, shifting it down your thighs and pulling it from your body entirely before he pulled his lips from your tummy. 

Looking down at the matching lace panties- soaked as they were, he had never seen them. Gojo’s eye twitched as he looked back up to you, unwilling to come to the fact that you bought- and wore this for another man. 

Satoru liked thinking he was a patient person, calm and collected when he had to be. But the way he rose himself from the ground, manhandling you to flip over and bend your knees on the couch, made him realize he held no more patience for you nor your attempts to make him jealous.

Your hands held onto the back of the couch firmly, keeping yourself up as Satoru’s hands landed on your hips. Groping the malleable skin as you whimpered, pressing your bottom back to the growing erection in his sweats. 

“You wore this for him?” he mumbled behind you, slipping his thumb beneath the thin band of lace. Exhaling, feeling yourself soak your panties even further. 

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands in shame- knowing whatever you said now would only make him more bitter. 

Murmuring something- quiet enough for Satoru not to comprehend. He huffed a smile, “What was that?” he teased, pressing his bulge against your bent bottom, pushing you further against the wall. 

“Tell the truth.” 

You looked back slightly, peering at the crazed man behind you. Biting your lip and facing the wall, “I did.” 

As a reward for your honesty, Satoru gave you a firm spank against your bottom. Causing you to jolt forward with a soft whimper. 

“You’re that needy?” Gojo teased, caressing the warm skin of your bottom, soothing the sting. “That you have to cheat on me?” you exhaled- not wanting to admit how attractive it was that he was scolding you for something he shouldn’t be. 

Taking his hands from your hips and hooking them onto the sides of your panties, slipping them down your hips to be greeted with your soaked cunt. Glistening with the taste he craved from the minute he moved out. 

But even if his mouth watered looking down to your core, he couldn’t bring himself to kneel before you- knowing if he let things go your way, this little farce of divorce would stay in your mind.

No, he had to teach you a lesson, even if he had to pound it into your foolish brain that you were his. 

So as the tips of his fingers grazed your soaked lips- avoiding the bundle of nerves that he was sure was throbbing from how wet you were. 

Circling the tips of his ring and middle finger on your entrance as you let out breathless whines. “I just missed you,” whimpering as you reached a hand back to the one that held your hip in place. 

The words enticed Gojo to dip the very tips of his fingers into your cunt- “Didn’t wanna tell you.” you moaned, admitting the truth he had been wanting to hear for far too long. 

Closing your eyes as he slowly inched his fingers into you. Satoru smiled, feeling your walls welcome him in, too tight to have been recently fucked. So he knew you must be telling the truth. 

Grasping onto his hand, the tips of his fingers prodding into the spot he quickly found every time. 

Your hand that held you up trembling as he lightly curled his fingers. Letting out breathy moans, earning Satoru to smile to himself, “Who knows how to please you like me, hm?” he let out the thoughts from his lips without permission. 

You whined as he pumped his fingers into you with a slow ease. Whimpering softly as he watched with dim eyes. “Who else but me?” he pressed, feeling your grip against his hand tighten. 

“Need you inside ‘toru-” you whined, the hand holding you up gripping the edge of the couch violently. 

Gojo remembered the last time you called him that- biting his lip from the nickname you used to call him when you were still married. And you must’ve known how his mind reels whenever you called him that- or else why would you say it in that tone? 

All but begging for his cock with every light spasm your cunt did around his fingers. 

Satoru was pleased with how pliant you were in his hands, satisfied enough to pull his fingers from your cunt. Quickly removing his shirt before placing his messied hand over his sweats, softly palming himself as he looked at your core- 

Gojo was so sure at that moment- that there was no god- the closest thing to it was what lied between your legs. Pulsing- begging for him to bully his pained cock into it. 

He pulled his hand from his bulge, shoving down the loose band of his sweats and freeing his cock. And as you suspected- no briefs. 

Placing a hand onto his base and lightly tapping his leaky tip onto your ass, causing you to whine. 

Gojo started thinking about how he wanted you- now that you were compliant and needy before him. 

He backed away in the slightest. Kicking off his sweats before moving you to lie back onto the couch. Settling his hips between your thighs. Soaking up the desperate expression you wore as small whimpers left your lips. 

The tip of his cock sliding up and down your cunt- refusing to give you what you ached for. 

His forearms held his torso up as your hands latched behind his neck- legs spread and waiting for him to plunge himself into you. Only Satoru looked into your bleary eyes with a smile, “You wan’me inside?” he huffed- watching your bottom lip quiver, lowering himself close enough for your lips to brush against his.

“Tell me 'nd I will.” he grinned against you- watching your eyes close, trying not to cave to his demands. Biting your lip as he pressed his tip against your entrance- teasing you in the slightest. 

You breathed a light whimper, blinking your eyes open and staring into his power-crazed ones. “Please-” you whined, “Put it inside ‘toru.” the tone you took only made Gojo’s ego boost- smiling with parted lips as he slowly pressed past your entrance. 

A light whimper rumbled from his flushed lips as your hands pulled his neck closer, pressing your lips onto his. Breathing in every whimper, he exhaled onto your tongue as he eased himself into you. 

Being able to feel that you hadn’t fucked anyone recently- That you were faithful to him. And this was all just an attempt to rile him up, which only made him even more eager to burrow himself into you further, ‘You’ve been good. That’s what you deserve,’ he thought as his tongue danced with yours. 

The light sting from the stretch makes you huff out a pained whimper- inching himself deeper till his hips were flush to your thighs. His tip easily found the sweet spot he seemingly had exact coordinates to. 

Satoru placed his hands on your hips, slowly raising himself with your legs locked on his waist. Holding onto your back as you lightly ground your hips flush against his. 

A lazy, sloppy version of a lotus position, pulling away from his lips as you trailed a hand to his hair. Looking into his hazy eyes as his hand assisted your hips. 

Small moans leaving your throat as your lips brushed against his. Not even attempting to kiss him, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep a pattern from how deep he was hitting inside of you. 

A light sheen of sweat coating your forehead as Gojo relished the look in your eyes- just fucked out enough to let the mask slip. Looking at him with love-filled eyes, your bottom lip quivering as your head threatened to tip back. 

Your nose scrunched lightly, neck curving back with a low groan. Not wanting to leave space between you- Satoru placed his lips onto your exposed neck, humming muffled whimpers against your skin as your bottom lip trembled. 

Words forming on the tip of your tongue as you ground your cunt against him. The position so full of intimacy, it made you forget you were doing this with your ex-husband. 

Puffing out a light breath, smile forming at the corner of your lips- sinking into the mouthwatering pleasure you incited with every small thrust. 

“Fuck, I love you.” you moaned mindlessly. But the words rang through Satoru’s ears like church bells, words he hadn’t heard in far too long- even in the past slip-ups. You always held your tongue, making sure to not plant that seed in his mind. 

Gojo almost came when he heard your proclamation, inching you back with his lips attached to your neck. Easing your back onto the arm of the couch, planting a foot onto the ground as your hands kept a tight grip on his neck. Satoru dragged his hips from yours with a loud schlop coming from between your legs. 

Pulling his lips from your neck, he looked at your expression—pinched eyebrows and eyes shut tight- showing him you were close. So close, he could hear it in your sighs of content. 

Satoru leaned down to your ear, huffing a warm breath against your cartilage. Shoving his cock back into you- bottoming out too quickly, earning a whine from your lips. Wasting no time before repeating the movement. Setting a speedy pace with a low whimper.

Sliding your hands up his forearms, landing on his biceps as he quickened the pace- riding himself up an orgasm. 

“Lemme make you a mama again-” he huffed into your ear, his tip nudging your sensitive spot with every thrust- you moaned his name in response, so close your brain would have short-circuited had you tried answering. 

Satoru grunted with a smile, thinking of the words he was about to say. “Marry-” he groaned, feeling your cunt suck him in with every pull he did, “me again.” he whimpered, his thrusts pushing you up further.

Taking a long lick at your ear- urging you to answer him. Pulling away from your neck, placing his hand on your jaw lightly. “Huh?” Satoru grinned.  “Marry me again baby.” Watching your eyes crack open- bearing your teeth softly as you felt the warmth in your tummy over fill. 

Pressing his parted lips to yours sloppily- pulling away, and watching your eyes threaten to roll back. You started nodding your head ‘yes’ in his hand frantically- your walls flexing around his speedy cock as he felt you come undone. 

Your nodding agreement was all Satoru needed to lose the rhythm of his thrusts. Sloppily pushing into your clenching cunt, his whining muffled by his bottom lip being tucked between his teeth. 

Your lips started babbling soundless pleads- ‘please, please,’ and to Satoru’s ears- you were begging for him to fill you. Fill you till he didn’t have anymore to give. 

And as a loving and obedient husband- that’s what he did. 

With one loud grunt- he spilled himself into you- his thrusts slowing, not as long strides, but he made sure to push his seed deeper into you. Keeping that declaration of making you a mom again. 

A low whine left your lips, feeling his warm spend coat your walls with every twitch his cock made inside of you. 

So full, you were sure his proclamation would come true. And he came a lot- as though he was saving it up just for you. 

Heavily breathing as he slowed his thrusts, pressing his forehead to your temple. Trying to catch his breath as he came down, feeling your heartbeat against his own chest- racing and pounding against his sternum. 

Soft kisses planted on your face, your hands easing their grip on his sides. Satoru's hands slid down to your hips, raising himself to his knees and looking down to where you were still connected. 

A low gulp bobbing in his throat, knowing he would have to pull out eventually; And dreading it. Thinking of a million ways to keep you filled and plugged with his future offspring. 

And as you finally could steady your breathing, Gojo yanked you down from the arm of the couch. Back landing flush against the cushions with a soft grunt. Looking at him, all but asking what he was doing. 

Till Satoru pulled himself out of you, hoisting your hips up from the couch with two strong hands. “Sator-” you tried saying, only for his arms to hug the crease of your thighs, bending you in half with your legs flailing in the air. 

All the pressure was placed onto your shoulders as Satoru latched his mouth onto your messied clit. Keeping his eyes parted and watching your expression churn. Placing a hand onto his forearm- bracing as he greedily lapped at your neglected clit. 

Mentally- this was to give his seed a better chance of taking. Hips in the air- all of the cum he had just pumped into you had nowhere else to go but deeper inside of you. And to also get a taste of you- even if remnants of his cum mixed with it. Satoru didn’t care, as long as he got to taste you. 

Huffing out all the air you could, puffs laced with moans. Your hands gripping harshly onto Gojo's forearm, leaving minor crescent-shaped marks on his skin from your nails. 

Basically folded in half, your hips started writhing in his grasp- overstimulation creeping up your spine from his vigorous tongue. 

Spasming in his hands- trying to warm you were close, but it only came out as more ragged whimpers. Clenching your teeth with your eyes shut tight- unable to see the starved expression looking at you as Gojo unraveled you. 

And once Gojo felt your clit tremble between his lips- he knew it was too soon to let you back down; he needed to keep your hips aimed up as long as he could. 

Satoru watched your bottom lip tremble as he continued the movement with his tongue. Your hips trying to shimmy from his grasp- but he held you up with two strong arms that had a mission. 

Abusing your overwhelmed clit as your eyes screwed together tighter- white spots infiltrating your closed vision with desperate moans. The top of your head bumped into the arm of the couch as he pushed you into a firmer bend. 

Your entrance squelched against his chin as he pulled another orgasm from you- more ragged whimpers littered with his name falling from your lips. 

You huffed- feeling his mouth go unbothered from the third orgasm he had given you. “Please ‘toru-” you whimpered, cracking your eyes open and looking at the crazed man holding your hips. Satoru pulled his lips from your cunt- looking at you with a smile. 

Half his face soiled with your arousal and a glimmer of his seed on his chin. “Just one more-” he egged on, looking at you with dazed eyes. “Jus’onemor-” he cut himself off by placing his lips back onto your clit. 

You only sighed a whimper, allowing him to get his fill. 

Satoru lapped at your puffy clit, his eyebrows pinching together as his cock sent signals to his mind- the same signals that he was close to an orgasm. Untouched and so close just from pleasing you- from hearing your pretty sounds. 

Gojo started to whimper lightly- whimpers that vibrated against your cunt and caused your moans to slur into higher-pitched puffs of air- trying to pull through another orgasm. Taking your lip between your teeth with harshly pinched eyebrows, puffing through your nose with muffled whines. 

He closed his eyes- feeling the knot formed in his tummy snap as your knuckles turned a lighter shade, just from how hard you clawed at his forearm. Feeling a warm spurt onto your bent spine as you tried to focus on cumming. 

It took very little time for Satoru to gift you a fourth orgasm, a small tear falling from your closed eye as you aimlessly shifted in his grasp. 

Satoru sloppily licked at your cunt- cleaning up the mess on your clit with a softer tongue, parting his eyes and looking at your expression. Slowly easing his grasp on your hips as he unfolded you, placing one last kiss onto your cunt, earning a spasm from your hips. 

He eased your hips back down onto the couch, watching your fucked out expression breathe in as much air as you could- trying to catch your breath. 

Uncaring if the mess he spurt onto your back messied the couch- you always complained about how ugly it was anyway. 

He lazily laid himself atop you- placing the side of his face on your collarbone as your hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing small circles on his skin. Grunting softly from how easily he laid his entire body weight on yours. 

You parted your eyes, trying to blink away the post-orgasm haze. Even if you had showered a few hours ago- Satoru’s bath offer sounded like heaven. 

It seemed to take no longer than a few slow blinks. Easing into the clawfoot bathtub Satoru chose specifically for times like these when he bought the house. 

Sighing softly as his arms held you close, his palm gently sprawled against your lower belly and your back pressed to his chest. Avoiding the conversation that needed to be spoken about.

Knowing it would never be spoken if you shoved it off, jettisoned aside to be talked about later. 

“Satoru?” you hummed, placing the back of your head onto his chest. 

He sighed, closing his eyes and nodding his head 'no'. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now.” he huffed, feeling your hand clasp his beneath the water. Interlocking your fingers with his and closing your eyes. 

“If we don’t talk about it now, we never will.” 

Satoru smiled. “Then let’s never talk about it~” he scoffed. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to make sense of the meaningless words he babbled into your ear earlier. “You really wanna marry me again?” you asked- unsure if they were just words he mindlessly spouted at the moment- or if they had any meaning. 

He scoffed, “What kind of question is that?” 

Inhaling as though you were about to speak- “Course I wanna marry you again,” he hummed. Rubbing your belly softly, “nd make you a mom again.” 

Pulling his hand from your tummy with a scoff, causing small ripples in the water. “Be serious.”

“You have no idea how serious I’m being right now.”

Your lips pulled to the side, mulling over his proclamation. 

“You still love me?” he asked, looking down at the side of your face. 

Turning your neck slightly, you peered your eyes up at him with sincerity filling them. Furrowing your eyebrows, you tried not to admit it, but-  “Of course I still love you, ‘toru.” You mumbled. Heartfelt words that rang true in your heart. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

“Then marry me.” he whirred, watching your hand pull his left one up from the water. Your eyes admiring the wedding band he hadn’t taken off. 

You stayed silent, holding his ringed hand in yours. Satoru would be lying if he said seeing your ring finger empty didn't hurt. 

Your silence gave Gojo his answer, “Why not?” he whispered, hearing a ragged sigh from your lips. “I still love you- you. You still love me-”

“M’scared.” you mumbled. Feeling your shoulders tense against his chest with a small ripple in the water. 

Satoru let out a half-laugh from his chest. “Of what? I’ve been good, haven’t I?” he grinned, his playful tone invading your ears. 

“You were good when I was pregnant too.” you quipped, dropping his hand into the water and recalling the days he started slipping through your grasp. 

You sniffled lightly, “nd look what happened.”

Satoru bit his tongue. Knowing if he started defending his baseless actions, this would end up being a fight. 

“I spent so long wondering if it was me- if I was the problem.” you scoffed. “I don’t want to let you back in just for the same thing to happen.” 

Satoru pulled you closer with a sigh, “It won’t happen again.” he whispered into your ear, “I promise.” 

You huffed air from your nose, making Satoru think you didn’t believe him. “I’ll even write it into my vows this time.”

A small laugh left your lips, “You won’t miss single life too much?” you played, feeling his head rest against yours. 

“Not once have I felt single since you signed those papers.” he grinned. 

You pondered his offer, pretending to actually consider the option before you. 

Satoru softly kissed your ear, “C’mon- I’ll be such a good husband~” he whispered. 

It wasn’t as though you ever really felt single either- That one year spent apart was still full of love and a marital dynamic. 

The rest of the night was spent in the same bed Satoru built after you moved into the house, cuddled up just the way you had longed for since he moved out. 

The following day, Satoru couldn’t wait for his son to fully wake up- he walked into the hazy child's bedroom and asked if he wanted a little brother or sister. 

All smiles and beaming eyes in the kitchen- telling his son that his plan worked. He made you fall in love with him, and he was finally your husband again.

And as you watched your husband and your son giggle with each other in the kitchen, you smiled. Warm cheeks from the thought that Satoru actually thought you stopped loving him at some point.

But then again, you never really fell out of love, did you?

-

I loved writing this sm.

[wheeboo]

seventeen and their reaction to you after wisdom teeth surgery

PAIRING. seventeen (o13) x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, crack/humour, established relationship WARNINGS. mention of wisdom teeth removal, mention of surgery, mention of blood and gauze, mention of IV sedation WORD COUNT. 1.1k

notes: it would be day 1 post-op of my wisdom teeth surgery as of the posting of this. ik everyone's experience is different but i was given IV sedation for my procedure and it was literally like coming up from a nap istg HAHA. i've been quite literally devastated that i cant eat anything so i've decided to make this lol for funsies to cope i hope u all enjoy!!!

choi seungcheol

becomes your knight in shining armour literally. holds your hand while they stick the IV in your arm, insists to stay and watch over you but then the oral surgeon kicks him out of the room LMAO. when the surgery is done, he's literally picking you up bridal style all the way into the car and pampers and spoils you so hard for the rest of your recovery :(( he hates seeing his precious baby in so much pain. you'd wake him up in the middle of the night to take your medicine and he always makes sure to stay by your side

yoon jeonghan

ngl mfer would probably be laughing at you 💀 they'd wheel you up all the way to his car, still loopy from the anesthesia and numbing stuff. you end up saying something like "woww, the skies are sooo blue," and he'd just say "if you look closer, there's unicorns in the sky," and you're like "REALLY??????????" nonetheless he'd still be very very caring, just be aware of him talking about what food he should eat for dinner and you're glaring at him with your tiny cup of applesauce

joshua hong

just the SWEETEST, and maybe a bit of a tease as well (unsurprisingly), and def isn't secretly recording your cute moments to show you later on since you won't really remember. he'd be like "yeah, you told me you wanted to marry me on the ride back home." pushes back your hair and gives you the softest smile ever when you wake up from the anesthesia, and you couldn't help but mumble something about him looking like an angel who came down from heaven

wen junhui

he would be so amused by everything you're saying post-surgery. will be giggling alongside you at the most nonsensical things. due to the numbing you'd mumble something about how your tongue is gone, and he'd just gasp, "WHERE DID IT GO?" then immediately goes to reassure you, "wait, wait, it's still there, don't worry." will very much be doting on you the entire day, constantly promising to cook your favourite meals for you when you're finally able to

kwon soonyoung

man is a combination of hyping you and up and being in constant panic mode. he'd be cheering for you so happily after getting through the surgery, but by the time you're in the car and start mumbling nonsense, he'd be so so confused, trying to figure out what you're saying. you'd say like "i want jdsfklsjfd" with the bloody gauze and he's like "??????" is constantly reviewing over the oral surgeon's notes and googling stuff just to be extra safe. would try to make soup but somehow burns it?

jeon wonwoo

quietly yet determined. he always makes sure to take your pain meds on time, always helps spoon feed you and give water when you need it, always lets you hold onto him when you're uncomfortable. would be silently amused by your silly antics, to be honest. feels bad that you aren't able to eat but is constantly reassuring you with kisses to the head that you'll be better soon, running his hands through your hair until you doze off

lee jihoon

appears unfazed but honestly he might be freaking the freak out, constantly watching over you like a hawk. hates seeing you in pain and uncomfortable and wants to do everything he can just to make you not feel that way. pours all his love and care into creating soft meals that you're able to eat. you can tell him "jihoonie, it hurts :(" and he's absolutely melting. would definitely give you a little sigh and eye roll when you say something all groggily, but still loves it of course

xu minghao

is very patient and literally prepared everything beforehand. he has all the foods lined up for you to eat, all the meds scheduled at the right time you'd need to take them, your bed and pillows already adjusted to the right level. has all the herbal teas ready to help you relax. in the car, you'd ask him for a kiss and he's like "my love, the doctor said i can't give you one," and you give him a big old pout. he won't be able to help himself, and plants a kiss to your knuckles instead. overall, he's just very gentle eugh

kim mingyu

mother mode: activated. baby talks you the whole time, even when you're just loopily staring at him like "??????" carries you to the car if you're too weak to walk with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs wrapped around his torso, tucks you in with five blankets and five pillows propped to level your body, and brings you all the softest foods he can find. insists on feeding you even though you can do it yourself. honestly probably insists on doing almost everything for you: helping you eat, putting cold/warm compresses to your face, anything

lee seokmin

he's laughing. so much. but also giving you a cute little forehead kisse every few minutes. you wake up from the anesthesia and he's grinning so hard at you because you look so cutely dazed and confused, blinking up at him like he's some sort of a divine being (which he is, honestly). you probably say something like "wowwww you're soo handsome," and the dental assistants tell you that he's your boyfriend, causing you to be shocked, and he would just absolutely melt

boo seungkwan

oh my baby is loud but loving. he's wheeling you out of the office and going, "oh my god, my poor baby, you did so well!!" and immediately starts recording when you say something dumb. the moment you start whining, he's all over you omfg, fussing about your comfort, adjusting your pillows, and if you refuse to take your meds he'd be nagging your ass. if you start crying about not eating real food, he's crying with you honestly

vernon chwe

of course he's very chill but is very entertained and also kinda worried for you. probably records funny moments of you to send to the svt groupchat and keep in his memories to show you later on. always looks out for the little signs you might be in pain, and would fetch your meds and some water wordlessly. the first thing he'd get you after surgery would be a milkshake or smoothie, but insists to take the first sip to make sure "it's safe" (he just wanted an excuse to taste it)

lee chan

super caring but also the type to play along with anything you say. if you go "the ceiling is moving," he just gasps and goes, "no way! it is!" but of course he's really gentle with you, carefully buckling your seatbelt and rubbing your back when you get frustrated about not being able to eat solid food. might also carry you piggyback style if you're still out of it from the anesthesia. when you nap, he stays close by just in case you need anything

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@fujiswn

[kingkaisen]

𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, and his friends always tease him about it.

Eren and his boys—Jean, Connie, and Armin—spent four days together in Miami, Florida. It was a much needed trip, and each of them wanted to focus solely on spending money, having fun, and meeting beautiful women.

Except Eren.

He enjoyed ziplining over pools, drinking at clubs, going to the beach, and eating nearly all of the complimentary hotel breakfast food with Connie by his side, who started stuffing fruits and cups of cereal—with no milk, as he forgot, of course—into his clothes once the staff told him breakfast would end in ten minutes.

Even so, as he sat in the hotel’s dining area that had a light aroma of stale coffee and sunscreen, he missed you desperately.

Armin, who sat down at the little table across from Eren with his muffin, fruit, and eggs, could tell that his best friend was upset by the way he stirred his own scrambled eggs around on his plate, but not actually eating them.

“Don’t worry,” Armin looked up at his friend after taking a sip of his orange juice—Armin loved hotel orange juice, and Eren hated it—and the blue-eyed boy flashed a reassuring smile. “We’re going home tomorrow, so you’ll get to see her soon.”

“Yeah,” Eren mumbled.

“Maybe you could FaceTime her before we leave for the day,” Armin suggested. After all, jet skiing and scuba diving were on the agenda, and he truly wanted Eren to enjoy it.

“I already talked to her twenty minutes ago,” Eren sighed, slouching back in his chair. “It only made me miss her even more. She has a new hairstyle and everything.”

“Eren,” Armin slowly chewed on a strawberry as he blinked. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Eren pinched the bridge of his nose, and that’s when Connie and Jean joined them at their table.

“Guess what,” Connie grinned, placing two packed plates of food on the table. “They said we can sit here and eat as long as we want even after they stop serving breakfast, but we just can’t go back for seconds.”

“Connie grabbed every fucking thing he saw,” Jean frowned, grabbing a seat next to Armin.

“Hell yeah,” Connie picked up a grape, tossing it at Jean’s head. “So don’t be shy, grab whatever you want and eat up!”

“Don’t throw the grapes,” Armin said. “They’re delicious, so try not to waste them.”

“Loosen up, will you?” Jean frowned, breaking his hash brown into pieces before diving right in.

“I’ll loosen up once I know everything’s going according to plan,” Armin paused. “I mean, someone has to make sure we’re on schedule. It’s our last day here, so if we miss something, we won’t get another chance to do it.”

“The hell does that have to do with throwing grapes?” Connie said, earning a laugh from Jean.

Jean ruffled Armin’s blonde hair. “Don’t worry, we know you love the beach. We’re not gonna miss anything, alright? So just relax.”

“Right,” Armin smiled softly, “sorry.”

For a moment, everyone ate their food and engaged in somewhat polite chatter about today’s planned events.

“Alright, so we have our entire morning and afternoon planned,” Jean paused. “What are we doing tonight?”

Armin took that opportunity to bring the one silent member at their table into the conversation.

“Eren, is there anything you wanna do?”

“Yeah. Pack.”

And with that, Eren left the table, tossing his uneaten food in the garbage before heading back to the hotel room.

“Damn it, Connie,” Jean frowned. “I told you to let the guy bring his girlfriend.”

Connie tossed his arms up defensively, swallowing his food before he said, “go to Hell.”

—

As the day went on, Eren managed to have a bit of fun with his friends. Even so, as he swam with colorful fish and zoomed across the sea, a tingle of pain would shoot through his heart whenever he remembered that you weren’t with him, experiencing all of the bucket-list worthy adventures by his side.

As the group headed home in Jean’s SUV, Eren sat in the backseat besides Connie. He pressed his head against the foggy window, looking out at the orange streetlights passing by.

“Eren,” Connie fought back a laugh, pulling his phone out to record the pouting man. “Why are you acting like you’re in a R&B music video right now?”

“Shut up, Constance.” Eren effortlessly tossed his hand out and smacked Connie’s tattooed arm.

Connie quickly ended the recording.

“I’m gonna drop Eren off first,” Jean said, gripping the steering wheel as he made a left turn, “I really think he might die if he doesn’t get to Y/N soon.”

“Turn left again,” Armin said, directing Jean from the passenger seat. “But guys, leave him alone. Y/N’s lovely. None of us can understand what he’s going through because the three of us are single.”

“Thank you, Armin,” Eren said.

Eren folded his arms across his chest, continuing to sulk like a kid who just had their favorite toy taken away.

But, once Jean turned down a familiar street, the depressed man instantly perked up.

“You’re grinning like a toddler, dude,” Connie teased, but Eren ignored him, gripping the door handle tightly.

Jean tugged on his hat, slowing down as he pulled up in front of your home. However, before Jean could come to a complete stop, Eren started to jump out of the car.

“Eren! Be careful!” Armin warned as Jean slammed on the brakes. His warning was utterly useless, as Eren was already halfway through your front yard by the time the words fell from Armin’s lips.

“You forgot your bags!” Jean shouted, rolling down his window. “Didn’t shut my damn door, either.”

Suddenly, you opened your front door, having heard all of the commotion outside. And when you smiled, all of Eren’s friends could easily see why he was so in love with you.

Eren nearly knocked you over once he finally made it into your arms, a big smile spreading across that beautiful face of his. He showered your forehead and cheek with kisses as he inhaled your comforting scent.

“I missed you so much,” he said.

“I can tell,” you teased, hugging the tall man back. “I missed you too.”

He pulled away from the hug only to cup your face with his large hands. He kissed your lips softly, melting over the touch he had craved for days.

“I’m not going anywhere without you ever again. I don’t care if it’s the grocery store or to the living room,” Eren mumbled against your lips, and you giggled softly.

“Hey!” Jean suddenly honked his horn. “You’ve seen her, now come get your stuff!”

“In a minute,” Eren shouted back, flipping the driver off.

He just had to stare at that gorgeous face of yours for a few more minutes, and who could blame him? He was madly in love with you.

[girlsworldillusion]

I'd let the world burn for you

•

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

[tteokdoroki]

the consequences of constellations izuku midoriya ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’re in love with your best friend and you’re sleeping with him too… so you count the constellation-like freckles on his back to cope with the idea that he doesn’t love you in the same way. ( 2K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, suggestive, smut, angst. characters aged up to 20s, friends with benefits, unrequited love, mutual pining sorta, experimental piece, i wanted to play around with metaphors to do with space, fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

how do you always end up back here?

the answer remains a mystery to you, really. out of all the things that human-kind are capable of, their powers and prettiness, their strength and their stamina — even their knowledge used to invent the space shuttle that traverses the wonders of the uncharted starry abyss…and you still end up here. 

you always end up in the same place — amongst the crumpled linen of pro hero deku’s one bedroom condo. it’s high up enough that it just touches the skyline, it dips past the surface of powder blue skies into the inky black canvas of night to which you find yourself falling victim to sinful touches and muted whispers of pleasure.

it’s the same every time; izuku calls and you answer without hesitation — come rain or shine. you’ll often tumble past the threshold of his apartment with regret and pain pushed to the back of your mind because you’d much rather kiss him and taste the cigarette ash on his tongue in the moment than think logically or have some sense about you. in your world, there’s no better feeling in the world than deku’s masterful, scarred hands spanning out against the base of hour spine or napping out your curves. nothing beats the euphoric high you get from his hips smacking against yours almost in tune with the beat of his heart. 

he pulls you into his orbit. he places himself at the centre of your universe. he fills you up both physically and mentally to the point where every inch of your body and every corner of your heart is overcome with a scorching need for izuku midoriya, like you’ve been engulfed by the sun, it tingles at the tips of your toes and fingers to the top of your head. when he moans your name after every orgasm you share together desire lights up within you like a solar flare — you feel special, desired and maybe even loved.

but this is just sex.

it’s always been just sex, especially to izuku.

there’s a risk in allowing yourself to believe it could ever be anything more, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging in this sweet fantasy every time you end up tangled in the pro hero’s expensive sheets. how could you not when he fucks you like you’re the only woman he’s ever loved. 

playing pretend in your head while he sends shooting stars of ecstasy across your line of sight.

shame and regret always hits you like a truck right after — forcing you to deal with the derailing reality that is loving someone who doesn’t want you back and sleeping with them just to get close enough to that feeling of adoration. it’s bad in the morning, but worse at night after deku has cleaned you up with a tender touch and tucked you in for some sleep — rolled onto his side as his own breathing evens out and his consciousness floats away into the depths of deep, empty space. 

you think that he’s still sleeping when the constellations of honey brown freckles on his back begin to blur and your vision swims from unshed tears and you curl in on yourself. claw marks and crescent moons from your perfectly trimmed nails have left their mark on his golden skin, etched between sun-spotted freckles and a collection of faded battle scars — if you look close enough, one might mistake the surface level wounds you’ve left on deku’s body as an attempt at scratching through the space-time continuum to be closer to him. 

izuku stays awake, hoping that you’ll find the strength to get up and leave him so that he doesn’t  have to turn around and pretend to love you again. though, there’s a selfish wish rooted in the back of his mind, longing for you to stay. for you to play make believe for a little longer, to wish upon the North Star and beg for some kind of grace from god — hoping that izuku midoriya will love you some way, somehow. 

he’ll fake it for as long as he can, if it means being the only person to touch you and hold you and kiss you. he’ll pretend to rip every star in the sky for you and breathe false affection past your lips with every kiss if it means he can replace the pain in your lungs and help you breathe a little easier. because in his own twisted way, izuku cares about your feelings…at least to some degree. he’d rather pretend than end things right here, right now. maybe that’s his saviour complex and his instinctual, dire need to save people who doesn’t need saving. 

maybe it’s because this little arrangement has gone on for far too long, to the point where he can’t tell what hurts you or what doesn’t.

when the bulking pro hero shifts beneath the linen sheets, you hand bolts out to grab him — and, as if you’re protecting the embers of a dying flame, a fading star between your fingers, you pull him back into your chest. grasping onto him, holding out for something. you’re afraid that if you let go, izuku will disappear into space’s abyss and you might never get to have him like this again. another selfish wish. this time from you, not from him. 

don’t go. you want to tell him. don’t fizzle away. you want to say. you know that it’s wrong to want to keep someone you can’t, who won’t love you, around. it’s testament to how much respect you have for yourself, how much self worth you have. which, from the looks of it, is little to none. you feel like you might die without izuku, even if what you have of him is so little. a plant with a crane its neck reaching for even the tiniest bit of sunlight to grow… that’s how you feel about izuku’s…affections for you. even if it’s not real love, you still yearn for it and blossom underneath it. even if you should let him go because you love him, you don’t want to.

out of fear that he may not come back. 

when izuku says your name, whispers it into the black hole of the night — he treats it as if it’s made of gold. the syllables heavy on his tongue, weighing it down with a force of gravity. “are you awake?” he adds, despite feeling the shake of your limbs behind him from crying. he speaks slow and tender, the gravel of the early morning still in his voice. 

your breath hitches warmly against his bare back like a mist over his sun spotted freckles. “no.” a dishonest answer that would have given you away instantly had the evergreen haired hero not already been up and listening to you cry. you sound strained, stuffy and he knows your pretty eyes are probably a putrid red and that there’s snot stains left in tracks on his satin sheets. and maybe, if he loved you like he should — this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t feel so much guilt to the point where he feels sick to his stomach.

loving you is dangerous territory, like a trip to the uncharted parts of deep dark space. the concept alone is terrifying enough to send icy blood through izuku midoriya’s veins where he’s usually so hopeful and fearless. if he lets himself, for even a second, fall in love with you — there would be a chance your life would change for the worse, a chance that you wouldn’t be able to bare the long nights without him or the weeks where he’s gone. you hardly see deku now, how would you cope when he’s finally yours but too far away from you to touch. you could be in the same bed and he would still be light years away, galaxies ahead of your own train of thought because he is constantly thinking of who and how to save next.

not to mention the very fact that his existence is a threat to your livelihood, with villains lurking around every corner just waiting for a chance to make the number one weak…

…loving izuku midoriya would be like standing still in the middle of a hurricane on jupiter. 

no one would be able to withstand the largest storm in the universe, not even you, and the strength you find in loving izuku. 

still, you’re a liar and izuku knows it. even if he’s not supposed to. the bed creaks beneath his weight as he rolls over to face you, freckled cheek sinking into the cotton hills on his pillows as he finally sets his emerald sights on you. “you must be dreaming then,” he laughs fondly through his nose when he speaks, bringing a thumb up from underneath the duvet to swipe away your drying tears. the ones you tried so desperately to hide. water doesn’t fall in out space, it drifts endlessly and becomes a liquid with no form. izuku wishes you weren’t crying over him. 

shrugging, you lean into the man’s touch, letting deku cup your cheeks and trace your smile lines that don’t seem so smiley anymore. the early morning moonlight ( the sun has yet to rise ), illuminates the stars in his mossy eyes that practically plead for you to let go, and your heart lurches painfully. he feels sorry for you. “i hope so.” comes your tired whisper. embarrassed and heartbroken, you look away and tuck your face under the duvet — chin brushing your naked shoulders, skin bare and bitten and bruised from the night before. “if i am, i don’t want to wake up.” 

“what happens in your dreams?” capturing your chin between his fingers, izuku tilts your gaze over to him — inquisitive, cautious as if you’re an alien life form and he’s trying his best not to scare you away. he doesn’t quite understand you, why you keep returning to him , only to find yourself naked, vulnerable and heartbroken the next day. 

“you love me back, i think. we’re more than what we are right now.”

bitter selfishness tacks itself to the back of your throat like bile — you know that you’re being unkind and greedy to izuku by voicing your thoughts out loud, begging him for even the tiniest slither of love but what’s worse is the lack of compassion for yourself. the endless torture you inflict on your being just waiting for the number one hero to maybe love you back. 

in away, it makes you deserving of one another. whatever it is that the two of you have is no healthier than a pack of cheap cigarettes from the combini at the top of the road. a nicotine addiction that neither of you seem to be able to quit. humming into the moonlit void, deku brushes a thumb over your streaked, pudgy cheek — tracing the tear stains and the tracks left by the lines in the pillowcase. 

his eyes shimmer like the Milky Way on a clear night as he looks at you, strands of longing twisting within the vibrant green flecks in midoriya’s eyes. it must be lonely for him out there — he’s in another universe of his own and you can hardly compare to or comprehend it. “are you still dreaming?” he asks.

reaching up, you grab his wrist from underneath the covers — feeling his pulse beat steadily underneath the pad of your thumb. “i hope so.” you repeat your words from earlier, lashes fluttering against your cheeks — heart pounding. 

“then i’ll love you how you like,” midoriya agrees, masking his sadness with his signature hero smile. the one he uses to let the people he saves know that everything will be okay. even when it’s not. izuku treats you like a damsel in distress and maybe you are. you need saving from yourself, from him and he knows it. you both do. “at least until you wake up.” 

nodding, you close your eyes and lock off the rest of your senses — listening to only the sounds your steady breathing mingling in your own personal pocket of space. time freezes for the two of you, you don’t know how many light years it’s been before you speak again — but izuku’s warmth is still there, still enveloping you like the brilliant rays of the sun at the centre of your universe. he doesn’t dare cast you out into the icy cold of space. not yet.

“then i’ll try to keep dreaming, i’m not ready to wake up just yet.” comes your quiet voice as you lean forward to press your forehead against izuku’s freckled one.

not yet.

he exhales, deep and sad, but cups your face a little tighter and draws you in a little closer. “me either, not yet.” 

not yet. together, wrapped up in one another, the two of you decide that you'll stay lost in the web of constellations for a little bit longer. 

not yet.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[lilacxquartz]

beneath the murky depths;

octoman sukuna x f!reader

plot: your vulnerable state catches the attention of an oceanic god — themes/warnings: tentacles, smut, monster fucking, orally & in v, painful sex, dubcon — w.c: 1.4k • ao3 • masterlist

a/n: by request, hope this is what you were looking for! <3 keep the warnings in mind before clicking in.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the beach, but you couldn’t help it. You were so tired and it was so warm—how could you pass up such an opportunity?

You supposed that the problem was that, when you came around, the shores were now empty and devoid of seemingly everyone. It was dark in such an odd way too, with the skies looking more blood red than the usual dark blue that blanketed over the horizon.

At first, you thought that you were dreaming but the longer that you lay awake, the more real it all seemed. Something in the air tasted bitter, almost metallic—while the ground beneath your body gently trembled—the sand flittering around without a cause. You sat up in a flash, trying to make sense of what you were experiencing, only to be met with the otherworldly sight of what appeared to be rising tides, somehow paused at a standstill.

“What the…?” you murmured to yourself, your voice coming out as a hoarse whisper as it was still thick with sleep.

The waters, so void-like and foreboding, parted at the center like two liquified curtains separating at the seams, giving entry to a tall and imposing figure beyond your comprehension. Your eyes locked onto the impossible sight, taking note of his robust frame adorned with muscles; showcasing four large strong arms sprouting from his body alongside a set of tentacles spearing from his back.

Instinctively, your first course of action was to back away as far as you could, even though it seemed like you had nowhere to run off to. There was a strange feeling of some sort of ambient pressure, like this being’s presence prevented you from moving very far, if even at all.

“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?” he purred in a deep voice.

You stared at the monster, blinking a couple of times as your mind raced for a potential response. Something like him shouldn’t exist—there was simply no way—and yet… this didn’t seem to be a dream nor a nightmare, so what on earth were you looking at exactly? His face didn’t make sense either, with the parallel half boasting something resembling barnacles with shells alike, peering out what appeared to be another set of eyes.

“W-what are you?” you finally managed to sputter out.

He smiled slightly, yet there was nothing warm about the gesture. “The mortals know me as Sukuna,” he introduced himself, eyeing you down with fixed contempt, “you should be thankful to be in the presence of a god.”

“A-a god?” you replied.

Sukuna hummed, retaining his stoic demeanour, although a hint of arrogance crept into his eyes. “Depends on who you worship, some might call me a demon…” he trailed off, letting the implication linger in the air before continuing, “now, who might you be?”

You just barely muttered out your name to him.

Addressing you personally, he took a step closer, his figure looming over yours, casting a dark shadow over where you were sat. “And what do you offer me?”

You blinked. “H-huh? Offer? I-I didn’t pray to you… d-did I?”

Sukuna rumbled out a low, deep-bellied laugh. Despite his reaction to your confusion, he didn’t seem to be amused in the slightest. “I won’t ask you again,” he warned, addressing you personally once more, “so tell me, what do you offer me?”

“I-I don’t have anything?” you nervously asked.

“Everyone has something to offer,” he corrected you, branching out a finger to tweeze at your chin, tilting your head up to meet with him directly. You froze at the sight, your eyes wide with fear. “How about… your lust?”

Your words failed you for a second before you were able to even respond.

But then you finally managed something, “I…I— What?”

Sukuna hovered over you, his scarlet gaze locking onto yours, daring you to oppose his suggestion. You were too terrified to reject him and ultimately wanted to live through whatever this was, so you found yourself apprehensively nodding in agreement.

“O…kay…” you just barely choked out.

Sukuna didn’t need to be told twice, immediately moving over you. The tentacles that rooted from his back snaked over towards your body, capturing your limbs in a tight, wrapping embrace. You gasped out at the bizarre sensation, feeling the tugging weight of them spread your legs apart while keeping your arms locked in place.

“You should be able to take me after this,” he lazily murmured, coiling a tendril over your now-spread sex, placing a fleshy suction cup just over your clit. The pleasure was immediate as soon as the connection was made, the sucker vacuuming over the bud.

As the motions continued to spread a surging sensation of warmth, a sweeping tingle simmered through your core. Almost instinctively, your body lifted itself to lean into the spike of the muscle, letting slip of needy—almost whining shuddered out whimpers.

“Such an obedient girl,” he almost praised, seeming to approve of your reactions.

There was no time to reply to his condescending flattery as the blissful sensation rose, pushing your body above and beyond its capable threshold. An exhilarating peak formed in between your legs, boiling over to overflowing ecstasy as your eyes rolled back and your toes tingled and curled.

However, it didn’t seem to be over just yet. Sukuna plucked the limb away, guiding it slightly lower to meet at your entrance instead. You were slicker at this point, with your heat glistening in your sopping release. He then speared the tentacle into your sex without warning, impaling you with the tentacle, moving another to swim through your slightly ajar lips, feeling overwhelmed as he simultaneously fucked the tendrils into your body, keeping you perfectly well filled.

Quickly flustered, you unintentionally rolled your hips to match the momentum of how he moved within you, finding that he was able to slowly bulk out the swelling girth of the boneless limbs, leaving you completely stuffed as you were forced to adjust around the size, left perfectly distracted as he slowly eased the feelers out of your body.

Thinking it was over, you wrongfully relaxed, as once again without warning or any chance to recover, Sukuna moved forward in his plan to have you fully take him, positioning the tip of his heavily thick cock into your cunt, pushing himself fully inside.

Regrettably, you weren’t quite as ready as he thought, so he suffered your teeth sinking into one of his tentacles that hovered nearby, seething out a pained hiss in response. Quickly retracting it, however, he half laughed, half scoffed as if amused by your little slip-up. “You’ll take me,” he warned or rather, promised, “and you’ll take me well.”

Once again, he eased himself into your core, his eyes fluttering in pleasure from the sensation of your walls swallowing around his length. Slowly, he drove his cock through you, taking note of how your legs widened out of necessity before settling in as far as he could realistically push.

At first, it felt like a punch to the gut, almost, as he started to move. The thudding impact of him hitting your cervix over and over, was nothing short of excruciating, feeling unlike any other pain you had experienced before. Repeatedly, Sukuna stole your breath away as he rutted into your hilt, his creeping tentacles returning to maneuver around the contours of your body, wrapping himself tightly around you—all the while he slammed himself into your soon battered and bruised apex.

And as you let yourself go, your mind blanked. It felt like your orgasm was closer to killing you, than anything else as he continued to brutally penetrate you. He too, was caught up in an almost violent body-wide rolling shudder—filling you up with the flooding aftermath of his peaking climax—with trickling residue that sept out of the cusp of the tentacles, coating you in a sealing pact of something left unspoken.

Your eyes drooped shut after that, but rather than waking up safe and sound on the beach, praying to something else that this was all part of some bizarre nightmare—you found yourself plunged into the dark waters along with him—unintentionally promising yourself to be kept until the end of time.

After all, Sukuna didn’t quite tell you one little detail of the pact.

An offering was a promise, and a promise was forever.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Pain in the Light (one-shot)

Synopsis: Feelings can be difficult, especially when you don't truly feel worthy of love. And sometimes, when your biggest dream comes true, it's hard to believe it possible, leaving you exposed and raw.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: mainly angsty, bit of fluff in the end (Bob is working through a lot in this, and learning how to allow himself to be loved :) )

Warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, implied exploitation of children (nothing is ever described, but there are certain implications), injuries of broken bones :) can't really think of anything else that needs to be added

Word count: 12,477

Technically Part 2 to Peace in the Darkness, but can be read alone :). English isn’t my first language, minimally proof-read so proceed with caution :D All characters belong to Marvel

Bob never listened to the people who said shadows grew longer in the dark because they didn’t. Shadows were made of it, so they could only return home, return to where they belonged. It was daylight that changed things.

            Edges were suddenly sharper, the color denser, their shapes stark and painful. It’s why he hated it.

            At night, he could blend in, hide inside the blackness, wrap it around like a dull, pulsing blanket, and drown in it. But during the day? Bob had nowhere to hide. He was lit up and exposed.

            The New York sky, however, was grey.

            Not black as the night, but not bright blue of summer either.

            Just... Perfectly in the middle.

            And that about summed up how Bob was feeling, as he awaited the rolling storm clouds he could see on the horizon, bringing with them rain and thunder and lightning.

            He’d thought about going up to the roof, despite his dislike of heights. Thought about waiting around and getting drenched by the oncoming downpour, and maybe even getting struck by Thor, wherever the Thundergod was. But Yelena would call him dramatic, and tease him about it to no end, so instead, he just sat in his empty room, and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window, as she watched the skies for the familiar shape of their QuinJet, announcing that Y/N was back from her mission.

            A mission, she wasn’t even supposed to be on, but had jumped on the second Bob had put his foot in his mouth.

            The man dropped his head between his knees, releasing a large sigh.

            God, he was an idiot. Maybe it was genetic, or maybe it was a side-effect of the Sentry serum because nobody normal would do such a thing.

            It had all gone down a bit more than two weeks prior, which was insane because the day had started out perfectly.

            There had been nothing on anyone’s agenda that day. No missions, no briefings, no horrendous galas where Valentina stuffed them inside suits and dresses, telling them to make polite with investors. There was just… peace.

            Bob had awoken like he’d done so for the past three months since the ‘flu incident’ – in Y/N’s bed, her curtains half-open to let the morning light filter in and rouse them naturally, while still a couple of mushroom-shaped nightlights illuminated the room in a golden glow.

            Classical music played throughout the night, the volume so low, you had to really listen to even hear it, but Bob could distinguish the piano tune of Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune, as the melody was accompanied by the harmony of Y/N’s soft snores.

            He always felt a bit awkward on the mornings he’d awoken tangled up with her, always intending to go to his own room, but the calming atmosphere would take over and lull him to sleep before he was even aware of his own drifting mind.

            On more than one occasion, Y/N had told him not to worry about it, that she enjoyed his company and if being in her room was the one way he could sleep through the night without interruptions, then so be it.

            “We take care of each other,” she’d shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

            Because after nights when his dreams had been too intense for him to handle alone, sometimes so bad he could feel The Void curling somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, he’d try to slip out of her room, not wanting to wake her up, but instead, he would feel Y/N’s hand curling around his, as if there was some invisible thread connecting them, where she could feel him, and the emotions warring in him. With a simple touch, she'd guide Bob back to the light, back to comfort and peace.

            There were always at least four pillows on the bed, two for her, two for him, all covered in silk cases, because as Y/N had informed him, it was better for skin and hair, even though he felt lucky enough to have something soft to place his head on.

            It was now normal for him to awake to the smell of caramel and chocolate nowadays, as when he’d open his eyes, on more than one occasion, there would be a steaming mug of cocoa on the bedside table closest to him.

            The first time it had happened, Bob didn’t really know what to say, as he imagined Y/N, sneaking out of her room to make him the drink (a pump of caramel syrup, two spoons of cocoa powder, half hot water, half-warm milk, topped with mini-marshmallows), and tiptoeing back inside without waking him, just so when he did rise, he would have something sweet and warm waiting already.

            When Bob had taken hold of the mug (one of Y/N’s nice ones, one she didn’t allow anyone else to use), a frown pulled on his face as he stared at it. It was her hand on his shoulder that pulled him out of his thoughts.

            “Do – do you not like it?” She bit down on her lip, eyeing the mug. “Because I can go and remake it if you-”

            “Don’t!” Bob turned his body to the side, twisting it in a way so that she couldn’t take the drink. “I just… Thank you… You didn’t have to do this…”

            Y/N snorted, shaking her head and venturing inside the bathroom to start on her morning routine, as she noted Bob taking a sip. “I don’t have to do a lot of things. But I wanted to…”

            But even this, even the cocoa that Y/N had made him sometime in the early hours, this time with vanilla syrup as they must’ve run out of caramel, even her rolling back into the bed to catch some more sleep, couldn’t have prepared him for how things would go down.

            By the time the two actually got out of bed, most of the tower inhabitants were already halfway through their day.

            Bucky seemed to be on his sixth cup of coffee, more of a taste addiction than anything else, Bob had noted, because much like him, his super-soldier serum burned off the caffeine in no time. But he understood the need. If anything, it was a way to survive those congress Zoom-meetings he got stuck in even on his days off.

            Alexei and Walker, by the looks of it, had already been in the gym, the Red Guardian most likely testing John’s patience, as they exchanged blows while the older man recounted some tall tale about a mission in Russia during his glory days. Now, they were seated around the high-top counter, Alexei wolfing down an alarming amount of pancakes, while Walker ate on a pair of eggs, always sunny-side up.

            Then there was Ava, sprawled all over the middle of the couch, tinkering with some part of her suit while grumbling under her breath when sparks flew, while Yelena sat on the floor by the coffee table, glaring at the screen as a rerun of The Great British Bake-Off played, Bucky’s white cat Alpine having claimed her lap as the best napping spot.

            “That is not a croquembouche, you fucking donkey,” the blonde scoffed. “I swear some of these people were dropped on their heads as kids.”

            “Getting heated there, Lena,” Y/N chuckled, rounding the couch and plopping down next to Ava who’d opened up a spot, while Bob settled on Y/N's other side, taking one of the many blankets they had and throwing it over their legs.

            Immediately Alpine was up and stretching, because although she was Bucky’s, everyone knew, Bob was her real true love, and he couldn’t be happier about the feline having claimed him as her person. The intense purrs reverberated right into his bones, a sense of calm blooming through his veins.

            Yelena groaned, throwing her head back and covering her face with her hands, before resting her cheek against Y/N’s knee. “I am so over idiots defiling delicious pastry recipes. I bet they'd fuck up Kraft Mac & Cheese.”

            Y/N patted the top of Yelena’s head, fingers lightly scratching the other woman’s scalp. “I’m sure Prue and Paul won’t allow him to get too far.”

            “Actually, he almost gets to the finale,” Ava piped up without lifting her eyes from the suit.

            Yelena let out an indignant, “What!?”

            “What do you mean ‘what’? It’s an old season,” Ghost pointed at the screen.

            “I’m more offended anyone would give that monstrosity a second chance. You know, if I was a judge, I’d have a firing squad with me.” Yelena crossed her arms as yet another contestant messed up their choux pastry and had to start all over.

            “No offence, but I think there’s a reason you’re not,” Bob muttered over the rim of his cocoa, the sweet drink sliding down his throat and warming him from the inside.

            “Hey, I’m just saying that maybe, higher stakes would make all these people better and not mess up as much. Like – mess up a dough, get a cap in the knee.”

            “But messing up is half the fun of it all!” Ava said, clearly more invested in their conversation now, than the half-assembled suit in her lap, Alpine sneaking a paw over Y/N’s lap to swat at an exposed wire. “But if you wanna sic a firing squad on someone, I volunteer Walker. That man barely salts his eggs, and that is a federal offence.”

            “I heard that!” John hollered from the adjacent kitchen.

            “You were meant to!” Ava rolled her eyes as she whispered to the people on the couch. “Honestly, we should’ve left him in the incinerator.”

            “I have super-hearing, so I heard that too!”

            “You know what? Good!” Ava jumped up from her seat. “Then maybe you could do us all a favor and fuck off back there!”

            “Go screw yourself, Ava!” John’s fork clattered against his plate.

            But Bob wasn’t listening anymore, as their bickering moved on in the same fashion because, in the end, he knew there was no maliciousness to their words.

            They fought and argued, but there was care underneath it all. It was like having a bunch of brothers and sisters, who only you could bully, but if someone else tried to, you best be sure, your head would be ripped off in a matter of a second.

            Well, except for one person he didn’t view as a sister… one that made his heart beat out of rhythm. He took a chance to glance at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She was conversing with Yelena, both consciously making the decision to engage in English, so Bob didn’t feel left out of the conversation. She still had slightly mussed hair, a sleepy look in her eyes, and she was picking at the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit she couldn’t get rid of.

            Bob itched to slip his hand in hers. To stop her from harming the finger, he told himself. No other reason.

            He could do it. He knew Y/N wouldn’t mind. She never did. But the parts that made him up, warred with one another.

            Void always whispered how pathetic he was, unable to act on his feelings, so why would she ever accept him in a romantic sense.

            Sentry would no doubt say how there was no universe where Y/N didn’t feel the same. He was a god with an ego bigger than the suns he possessed in his body.

            But Bob… the part of him he wished people loved and cared for most… Bob was just… afraid.

            Because no matter what happened, if he told her how he felt, things would inevitably change. And that was the most terrifying thing of it all. Because what if it changed and everything became bad? What if Y/N didn’t want him around anymore? Not just in her room, but in general?

            No.

            Bob had worked too hard on himself, on letting people in, on caring for them and allowing them to care for him. He wasn’t about to ruin the family he’d gained, no matter if a fourth voice continuously whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. A little voice called ‘hope’, asking him “But what if it only gets better? What if she does love you the same?”

            What if? What if… what if…

            And yet, he couldn’t answer those questions, if he didn’t ask first.

            He would get there, he promised himself. One day, he would be able to gather all the courage he had and would tell Y/N what he felt. He just… he wasn’t ready yet.

            So Bob sat there, drinking in those moments of domesticity, while he sipped on his cocoa, relishing in the feeling of simply being allowed to exist and being loved for the simple fact that he did.

            The moment, however, was interrupted by the intercom system announcing there was a delivery for one Y/N Y/L/N.

            “Thank you!” She called out, standing up from the couch and stretching. “Send them up to the 126th floor, please. We’ll take it from here.”

            Yelena raised a brow, as she peered up at the woman. “What did you buy?”

            “Nothing,” Y/N shrugged, throwing her a coy smile. “Just something to spruce up my room with. And uh, maybe something that emptied Valentina’s wallet a bit.”

            Bob frowned, looking down at the cat in his lap, Alpine’s fluffy belly up as his fingers ran through the fur. “Valentina gave you her card?”

            “No,” Y/N snorted, nudging Yelena’s shoulder with her leg. “But I’m sure she won’t mind. After all, we do own her.”

            “Oh,” he could feel his heart fall as the hope receded.

            Yelena tilted her head towards him. “Oh? What do you mean ‘oh’? What’s up?”

            “Nothing, no…” Bob shook his head. “I just thought if she was, you know, allowing us to send in some requests for our rooms, I had uh, a couple of things I wanted, but it’s fine…”

            Both Widows shared a glance as a blush of embarrassment rushed through his body, lighting up his cheeks tomato red.

            “Bobik,” Yelena rose to sit on her knees, resting an elbow on the couch next to him, eyes incredibly soft. “What is it that you’d like?”

            He waved her off, Alpine letting out a disgruntled meow as he stopped the petting. “It’s nothing.”

            The blonde’s brows drew together as she scooted closer, while Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “Do not do that. Do not minimize your wants or needs. Now, tell us what we need to beat up Frankenstein’s Bride over.”

            “No, really, it’s nothing.” Bob let out a nervous chuckle, pulling at his sleeve. “I mean, my therapist just suggested that uh, a weighted blanket might help me fall asleep better, and stuff… but it’s fine, really. It’s no big deal.”

            Y/N let out an incredulous scoff. “And Valentina didn’t get you one? That’s like nothing for her!”

            “I – I mean, she just said it’d be an unnecessary expense… that I already have a duvet and… yeah...”         

            “Unnecessary expense my ass,” she grumbled, throwing a look at Yelena, the two communicating once again without the need for words.

            Bob wondered if he would ever have that kind of a connection, where a whole conversation could pass with just a glance. He wondered if it was something you had to forge through fire like the two women had gone through, or if it could also be something that could grow softly, like a flower emerging from nurtured soil… he wondered if he could have it with Y/N one day, if she’d allow such a bond to form between them…

            But before anyone could say anything, the elevator dinged, and as the doors opened, Alexei gasped as if a life-sized Wheaties box with his face stamped over it, had stepped out into the room.

            “What is that?” the man guaffed in awe as five guys dragged boxes into the common area, one the size of a building, in Bob’s humble opinion.

            “That,” Y/N smirked, moving over to admire her purchase, “is my new bed.”

            “That is not a bed, that is a monstrosity,” Yelena breathed out, walking over to the boxes like a woman possessed. “I want one!”

            “I can send you the link if you’d like. It’s the Alaskan King size, by the way.”

            “And how much did this thing set Valentina back?” Ava ran a hand over the cardboard where the mattress lay as Y/N shrugged her shoulders, once more picking at her thumb.

            “For her, it was basically a dime.”

            Walker raised a brow, sipping on his coffee. “And what is basically a dime in normal-people money?”

            “Just like… eight thousand dollars or something.”

            “Eight thousand!?” Bob, Alexei and Yelena all let out together, while Ava scoffed, Walker almost choked on his drink and Bucky just let out a heavy and resigned sigh, no doubt thinking of how Valentina would be on his ass about this, as their unofficial-official team leader.

            “Oh, please!” Y/N rolled her eyes, thanking the delivery men before they left. “Like that will hurt her. I’d like to see her try and do something about it. Her only leverage against us is money, so she has to make nice with us, not the other way around. Besides,” she threw her gaze towards Bob. “Avengers need a good night’s sleep to avenge stuff. Good sleep means good mental health, means good missions. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some very large Legos to put together.”

            It took Y/N a bit of bribery and good old-fashioned threatening, but soon enough she’d coerced Bucky into helping her, while pulling Walker quite literally by his ear, Alexei following on his own full of enthusiasm to see the bed be put together, leaving Bob and Yelena on their twosome, as Ava decided she was gonna go for a coffee and, “put together a list for Valentina”, as Y/N had encouraged them all to do.

            And sure, there were other things he wanted for himself, for his room to make it homier, but Bob couldn’t push himself to do anything. He could only sit there, hand mindlessly moving across Alpine’s belly as Prue and Paul crowned Star-Baker of the week, while something in his stomach curdled.

            He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way because it literally had nothing to do with him, but as an over-thinker, it was a talent he possessed – attaching meaning to things they didn’t have.

            And Y/N’s big new bed just screamed to him, she wanted space.

            It was Yelena nudging his shoulder that brought him back to the present. “You are glaring at the screen like you want it to melt.”

            Bob wanted to say it was nothing, but the words came spilling out without a way for him to stop. “She’s tired of me, isn’t she?”

            Slowly he raised his eyes to look at the woman, her mouth open a little in confusion. “Who is tired of you?”

            “Y/N,” he sighed. “She thinks I’ve invaded her space, doesn’t she?”

            “Hey, whoa, what is making you say all this stuff?”

            A pained smile bloomed on his lips, as he scratched Alpine under her chin. “Yelena, that bed spans a whole continent... she just doesn't know how to tell me she wants me gone... She's just too kind to be that cruel...”

            But even as he was speaking, Yelena was just shaking her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t start imagining things that aren’t true. I promise you, I swear it on Nat’s grave, Y/N isn’t tired of you. But please, for my sanity’s sake, go talk to her.”

            “Yelena,” Bob started but was interrupted by a pointed finger at his face.

            “No!” she took Alpine from his lap, the cat letting out an offended meow as she took him by the shoulders. “Go and talk to her and stop inventing dramatic scenarios.”

            By the look on her face, Bob was almost a hundred percent sure, Yelena was ready to grab him by the ear like Y/N had done to Walker and drag her to the woman’s room, so he was on his feet, quick to get a move on.

            But as he entered the private elevator that would take people to their rooms, his nerves couldn’t help but grow.

            Because that bed, despite no doubt being comfortable, and something Y/N deserved, his brain had taken it as quite the literal way of her putting space between them.

            As Bob moved along the hallway, he could hear gentle humming interrupted by swearing in Russian and groans of frustration. When he knocked against the doorframe, despite the door being open, he saw Y/N sprawled out on her stomach, struggling against a fitted sheet, and it looked like the sheet was winning.

            “I did not think this through,” she muttered through clenched teeth, hands on her hips and glaring at the piece of cloth like it had stolen something from her.

            “Do – do you need any help?” Bob let out a nervous laugh. “I can hold one end as you put the other on.”

            The smile she threw him was almost blinding. It was like he was looking directly into the sun, so he had to avert his gaze. “You’d be a literal lifesaver if you did.”

            Without raising his eyes, Bob moved to hold one edge down, as Y/N slipped the light grey sheet over, tucking in his own side until all four corners had been conquered.

            She fist-bumped the air, throwing their pillows onto the bed before hopping onto the mattress. It was so high, she could even dangle her feet while sitting on it. His blue eyes trailed over her form, as she bounced, testing the springs before plopping onto her back, hands outstretched in both directions.

            The bed spanned almost literally the whole wall, running from one corner to the other, with barely enough space for the two bedside tables to be pushed against either side.

            Can you not pick up on a hint? Void’s voice echoed from some deep recess of his mind. She doesn’t want you with her.

            And it was true. If he wanted to sleep next to her, side by side, he’d have to roll over at least twice now.

            But he didn’t have time to listen to his self-deprecating thoughts as Y/N called out to him, probably having noticed his vacant stare. “You alright?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just a – a very big bed.”

            “I know!” Y/N grinned. “I think we’re gonna have the best sleep ever on this thing!”

            “We?” The word was out before he could think better of it.

            Y/N raised her brow. “Yeah… unless you don’t want to stay the night. Which is cool. You obviously have your own room and…”       

            Bob looked over at the woman, as her sentence trailed off. But where he usually was the one who couldn’t handle a direct look, she had to break eye contact this time. Not only that, she was once more picking along the skin of her thumb.

            His heart pounded at the fact she was nervous around him. Because that carried certain implications, and there was no way he could curb the hope that rose in him.

            He cleared his throat, putting his hands in the pockets of his sweats, rolling back and forth on his heels. “I just… when I saw how big the bed was, I just thought you might be feeling like I’m crowding you. Like I’ve been taking up too much of your personal space.”

            Y/N glanced up at him, brows pulling together in a furrow. “But you are taking up space. As you should.”

            “Yeah, but it’s your room.”

            However, one hard look around would immediately tell anyone who entered, that two people lived there, and that was where Bob's issues lay. Bob felt like an invader. No matter the fact that he’d been invited, no matter the fact, that Y/N always encouraged him to be around her if he so wished, he felt like a cat-burglar instead of a guest.

             Bob’s spare sweaters were strewn about, over her settees and desk chair, sweats mixing in with Y/N’s own laundry. A pair of his slippers were neatly tucked under the new bed-frame on the side he usually slept on. Hell, he even had his deodorant and toothbrush in her bathroom, sitting in the same cup as her own. That and so many other bits and pieces of him were scattered around the place, which made it no longer solely hers.

            Bob never knocked anymore to ask if he could come inside. Mainly because he was already there. Sometimes, when Y/N was out on a mission, he would be in her room, as if his gravitational pull had shifted from the core of the earth to the woman who lived across the hall, body and mind craving to be surrounded by anything that was she.

            And Bob felt guilty about it, which Y/N could probably read from his body language, the way he hung his head, hands jittery in his pockets and lip between his teeth.

            “I didn’t order the bed because I feel uncomfortable with you next to me,” her voice was impossibly soft. “I ordered it so we both could have a bit more room, but still sleep next to one another. I uh…” Y/N swallowed hard, moving into a sitting position while Bob, taking a deep breath, sat down next to her, their knees touching like they usually did. Even his feet dangled above the floor. “Look. I’ve never really had a bed of my own. So, when this whole New Avengers shtick became a solid thing, I swore to myself I’d get the most ridiculous princess bed, I could find. And I just thought, you know, I know we both have issues with sleep and stuff… why not get the biggest one I could find? Does that make sense?”

            Bob mulled over her words.

            It did make sense. He couldn’t deny how easily Y/N’s presence banished The Void to somewhere he couldn’t bother them.  And he also understood wanting to be surrounded by nothing but soft and warm things. He himself had an alarming collection of blankets, courtesy of everyone in the tower gifting him at least one.

            Her lips pulled up in a smile as he nodded, worried features softening and relaxing, as she added, “And we can both be starfishes and not hit one another in the face as well.”

            “It was one time!” Bob let out a genuine laugh, as Y/N dropped back onto the bed, and so did he, mimicking the position.  He turned his head towards her. “I stand corrected. This is amazing.”

            “You’re pretty amazing,” Y/N spoke so quietly, he would have missed it unless he’d already been looking at her and completely attuned to her voice.

            It took a second for him to register what she’d said, what she’d meant, but once it did, immediately heat was crawling all over him, his head snapping to look up at the ceiling. “I – I mean, I’m just…”

            “Amazing,” she reiterated, only louder this time. “And kind, and you… you’re just everything.” Then, Y/N took in a deep breath, as if preparing for something big, like diving right under an oncoming tidal wave. “I like you, Bob.”

            “You uh,” he swallowed the lump lodged in his throat, “You like like me? Or like me like a friend? You know, which we are…”

            “Like like you,” and then after a moment she whispered, “I think I might even be falling in love with you.”

            Slowly he turned his head to the side, wide blue eyes meeting her hopeful Y/E/C ones. He could see how much courage it had taken her to tell him this. The way her finger was rubbed almost raw at the side, the way her chest was close to heaving, breaths stuttering half-way between her throat and lungs.

            But Bob didn’t think his heart was working right. Which meant that blood wasn’t circulating around his body. Which meant he had to be brain-dead, as it was the only reasonable explanation for what happened next, because instead of showering her in the love he felt, instead of pulling her by the neck to mold their lips together, he stuttered out, “Oh… I uh… I… don’t…”

            Y/N’s eyes widened, and as the silence stretched on after what he’d managed to expel from his mouth, she sat up, gaze everywhere but on him. “That’s uh, that’s fine.” She swallowed hard, nodding as she did so while blinking rapidly. “I’ll just… I’m just gonna go… sorry…”

            And then she was gone.

            Out of her own room faster than lightning could strike.

            Which, honestly, Bob hoped would, because as his mind caught up to what his mouth had done, that he’d basically told the woman he was head-over-heels for, that he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, felt worthy of Thor’s wrath.

            He had to find her.

            He had to explain to Y/N that he’d meant to say he didn’t know what to say. That it was only in his dreams he ever heard those words from her.

            He had to beg and crawl for her forgiveness and hope that if he did confess his true feelings, she would find it in her heart to give him a chance.

            Bob stumbled and almost crashed to the ground, as his foot caught against the bed-frame when he jumped off, panic settling in his body. The tower was huge, and though he was really the one who spent the most time in it, finding all the nooks and crannies one could hide in, Y/N had a handicap. She could already be somewhere out in New York. Then he would never be able to find her.

            But he had to start somewhere, so slowly, he combed through the place floor by floor, asking anyone that passed him if they’d seen the woman, only to receive small “no, sorry” or shakes of heads. He even took a peek in the vents at one point, because he thought he heard a sound. Yet instead of Y/N, he found some old chip packets, dating back to 2012, which in Bob’s humble opinion, couldn’t be sanitary and Valentina should really get a cleaning crew up there.

            By the time he got down to the first level and asked the receptionists if they’d seen Y/N, two hours had passed. Once again, he was met by murmured apologies and pitying gazes.

            Fuck, Bob had really royally screwed everything up.

            With his shoulders hunched, he entered the elevator, and with one last ray of hope still shining in his chest, rode all the way up to the roof, but when nothing but the wind and sun greeted him, he had to admit his defeat.

            The elevator dinged, announcing his arrival at the common area, Yelena, Alexei and Bucky, all sitting around the kitchen table enjoying their lunch while Ava kept phasing in and out, testing the modifications of her suit.

            He wanted to scurry past them over to the private elevator, drawing as little attention as possible, but Yelena’s low, “You. Come here. Now,” made Bob tuck his tail between his legs and venture over to the trio, well, quartet as Alpine sat on the counter too.

            In times like these, Bob hated having people who cared so deeply about him, mostly because they wouldn’t allow him to wallow in his misery, close himself off to the world, and drown in the rising darkness.

            “What happened?” Yelena asked, chewing on a piece of what looked like Chow Mein.

            “Nothing,” he mumbled, only looking at Alpine, but even she seemed to be judging him.

            “Sure,” Yelena dragged out the word, sarcasm dripping through the one syllable. “Then please do tell, why did I hear Y/N begging to go on a last-minute mission with Walker?”

            Bob’s throat threatened to close up. “She – she went on a mission? To where?"

            “Beirut,” Bucky supplied, as he watched his fellow teammate's brows shoot to his hairline.

            “Beirut!? Wh – wha – what’s she doing there? Why is she there?”

            The former Winter Soldier sighed, pushing away at Alpine who was pawing at some of his stir-fried rice. “I dunno. You tell us, because Walker got called out on a reconnaissance mission, and when Y/N heard, she practically sprinted to me, to ask if she could be assigned. Which is weird, because she hates dealing with John on her own, so the fact that she went with him voluntarily makes me really worried.”

            “Well, how – how long will she be away?”

            “A week or two, if things go well. Though given the fact it’s them, I wouldn’t place my bets on it.”

            “A week!?” the word came out way louder and squeakier than he intended it to.

            “Bob,” Yelena’s tone was low and steady, as she placed a hand on his elbow. “What happened? Did you two, by any chance, have a certain… conversation?”

            Of course, Yelena knew. The women were like peas in a pod, sharing everything, and honestly, Bob couldn’t fault them or mind it. Even if he wanted to keep the humiliating aspect of being the reason Y/N might have needed to seek comfort in her sister’s embrace because of his own idiocy.

            “M-maybe? It was more so that Y/N talked and I…”

            She waved her hand in a rolling motion for him to continue. “And you?”

            Bob could hear the clinking of the dishes, despite the thundering in his chest. “And I fucked it up.”

            The second he said so, he collapsed onto one of the stools, burying his head in his palms. Instantly, everyone stopped eating, turning all their attention onto him. Even Alpine swatted at his head with her paw, making him look up at the white feline. Two green eyes bore into his.

            “Bobik, tell us everything,” Alexei said, as he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Spare no detail. We are team. We are family. We will help.”

            Bob sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think you can help with this one.”

            “Sure, we can!” Ava phased fully into the room, putting her hands on her hips as she scoffed. “Come on! It’s not like she professed her love to you, and you shot her down! Everything but that might be fixable.”

            God, he wanted to die.

            The incinerator sounded nice right about now. Maybe Valentina still wanted to get rid of them, and he could trigger some hidden switch. Or maybe the tower could just suddenly collapse. He would give anything for an alien invasion, as he watched the realization hit in everyone’s faces that that had been exactly what had happened.

            A bunch of groans from all around made Bob slink down in his seat even more, his chin resting against the granite.

            “But you love her!” Alexei boomed, standing up from his chair. “Why would you say not so?”

            “I know!” Bob whined. “I do! I just… I didn’t expect her to say she loved me too, and I… clammed up. I just…” He sighed, pressing his forehead to the counter, soaking up the cool sensation. “I never imagined there might be a real possibility she did feel the same. So when Y/N just blurted it out… I froze.”

            “Oh, Bobik…” Yelena dropped her own face in her hands, mimicking his previous position. She took in a deep breath before looking at him. “You know what, okay. Okay… this is not that bad. We just need a game plan, yes?”

             “A game plan? For what?” he scoffed, lightly hitting his head against the surface. “Y/N is never gonna talk to me ever again. And honestly, I don’t blame her.”

            “No!” Yelena pointed at him with an accusatory finger, Bob rolling his eyes at this. “No. Listen here, we have a whole week we can plan. Because I just cannot go through any more of you two pining for one another like some lovesick puppies. Every day it is ‘oh, Bob is just so sweet and handsome’ from Y/N and then every day it is ‘oh, she is like the sun, she makes life worth living’ from you,” Yelena mocked them, and Bob felt like he had to be fire-engine red at this point. “And I want an actual puppy, alright? So, we will think of a way you can apologize, and confess your feelings, alright?”

            “Yes!” Alexei pumped the air. “That is the spirit, Lena. We will play matchmaker, and we will help young love blossom!”

            There wasn’t much Bob could argue against. For one, nobody would listen to his protests, and two, literally all of them were into the idea of getting him with Y/N. Even Bucky, who usually just sighed and grunted at their antics, pitched in on certain plans for how they could retrieve Bob’s dignity from where it lay six feet under, and give him a chance at love.

            Alexei’s plan was the first to get shot down, as he, obviously, suggested something grand.

            “We cut a thousand hearts and cover her room with them!” He boomed. “Then you dress up smart. A tux, alright? And you serenade her! Women love being serenaded to.”

            But that wasn’t Bob. He wasn’t a grandiose kind of a guy, and neither did he think Y/N was a grandiose display kind of a woman. She’d once winced when a guy had sent in a request for a song to a radio station as an apology for an argument he’d had with his partner. So, holding up a boombox above his head with a love song blaring, was a sure-fire way in alienating Y/N even further.

            Bucky and Yelena suggested that he should put on a romantic evening for them both – make some dinner, preferably Italian or French, as most touted them as the cuisines of love, cover the room with flowers, scattering the petals all around, and then ask her for a dance, professing his love as they slowly swayed to some music. And although it sounded like a solid plan, something still didn’t seem right for Bob.

            He didn’t doubt, Y/N would probably appreciate the gesture, but still. It wasn’t them.

            As everyone conversed around him, Bob tried to think back to certain moments he’d shared with Y/N, when one specific jumped out at him.

            It had been the day after she’d battled and won her flu. They were in her room, and she had put on the 2005 Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice.

            He hadn’t paid much attention to the movie, as Bob wasn’t too big of a historical romance fan, but as Mr Darcy confessed his feelings for Elizabeth, he’d turned to look at Y/N, and his breath had caught in his chest.

            Because there she was, silently, almost imperceptibly mouthing the words under her breath.

            “You have bewitched me, body and soul,” her lips moved without noise.

            And she had.

            Bob didn’t know what sort of spell Y/N had cast on him, but it left him in a daze, and one he never wanted to wake up from.

            Ultimately, it was Ava’s idea he took to heart, combining it with his own plan, as she suggested something meaningful, but at the same time, something that would leave no doubt in Y/N’s mind as to what he was trying to say, like annotating a favorite book of hers.

            The next day, Bob ventured out of the tower and into a nearby bookstore. It took him a little time to find the classics section, but with the help of the elderly shop assistant, she dug out a gorgeous version of Pride and Prejudice, all with gilded edges and handwritten letters stuck in between.

            Throughout the night, he combed through the book, acquainting himself with the characters and their emotions, and with Y/N’s favorite love story, and when he came upon a little slip where the character letters were placed, he removed them, so he could replace them with his own.

            He wrote long into the morning, pages upon pages of words, sentences he’d struck out, as he didn’t think they properly conveyed his emotions until he was satisfied and could take a clean piece of paper to put his heart down neatly in ink. He even attempted to make the first letter of each paragraph the loopy kind they did in ancient times but had to give up halfway when they became almost illegible.

            Bob had never been good with words, at least not spoken ones, but on paper, they flowed like a river – easy and natural. And as he dotted the last one, he signed it with his name, adding a small ‘hopefully yours’ on the end of it.

            Gently, as if it was made of gold, he folded the piece of paper and tucked it in the final pocket.

            He’d not only poured his heart out but his entire soul.

            He told Y/N of his hopes and fears. He told how he wished he could be her person, not only when she was happy, but when the darkness rolled in, threatening to cover the world. Like she was to him. And in the end, he asked if he could have just one chance to take her out on a proper date.

             Bob hadn’t even realized a full day had passed and night had once more fallen until Yelena brought him some dinner. She gave a curious glance at the book. “Everything alright?”

            “Yeah,” he smiled, and meant it, thanking her for the food. “I think it will be.”

            That night he decided he would sleep in Y/N’s room, despite the new bedsheets not having her scent on them yet, it still felt like home.

            But then another day passed.

            And another.

            And one more.

            And soon enough more than a fortnight had gone by without any contact from either Walker or Y/N.

            “Any longer and I’m going on a search-and-rescue myself,” Ava had grumbled into her coffee on the morning of day fifteen, as Alpine claimed her lap this time. “And I don’t give a shit that Valentina said they’re at a safe house. That woman’s a pathological liar.”

            Yelena hummed in agreement, as none of them really trusted when Valentina had informed the team of Y/N’s and Walker’s whereabouts, and how they were just waiting for an extraction team after the jet blew up.

            Bob tried to cling to those words, even though they could be a bald-faced lie. He had to. Otherwise, his mind became overcome with the worst possible thoughts, and he was an anxious mess as it was.

            His days consisted of pulling at the fraying edges of his clothing, walking aimlessly all over the tower only to find himself backtracking before Y/N’s room. To stand in front of the bed where everything went wrong.

            He no longer slept in it, not after the first week had passed and he awoke drenched in a cold sweat, the images of Y/N, her body all bent wrong, Y/E/C eyes unseeingly staring at him, as blood trickled out of her mouth, while she asked him, “why didn’t you tell me you loved me before I died?”

            Bob simply couldn’t handle all that space, not on his own, so now every night he was back in his own room, which was more a storage space than anything. It even smelled of long-dried paint, unlike the gentle notes of bergamot and chocolate that permeated Y/N’s room.

            A pathetic-looking blanket was thrown over his bed, skin-thin sheets, a single flat pillow atop it. There were only two shirts and two pairs of boxers in the closet with a single pair of pants. Because everything else was in the room he couldn’t step foot into, without tears welling up in his eyes.

            But even if Y/N allowed him inside, once she got home (not if; never if), after what Bob'd done, he would most likely have to move back into his own place, anyhow. It didn’t matter how many pathetic letters he wrote, how many love confessions he poured from his fingertips, there was no way she’d ever let him stay.

            And as the hours ticked by, Bob couldn’t help but feel like he was drowning in the darkness.

            He deserved it, Bob lamented. After all, why would someone like Y/N, someone so capable and truly good, choose him – a broken and battered man, who couldn’t even open his mouth properly to tell her what he felt?

            It was on day eighteen, a drab and dreary one, when Yelena found him leaning against the window of his room, as she rushed to him, almost breathless to tell that they were back.

            Once again, Bob stalled.

            Would Y/N even want to see him?

            Why would she?

            But the woman didn’t allow him to stay back, as she grabbed his elbow, pretty much dragging him to the elevator, pressing the 111th floor number.

            Bob’s heart dropped as he noted the number.

            The number for the medical floor.

            “W-what happened? Who’s hurt?” his voice wobbled.

            “Y/N,” Yelena confirmed his worst fears with one single name. “They’ve taken her to surgery now, but I thought we should be there when she gets out.”

            He could only nod, as his hands started to shake.

            What was the damage? If surgery was needed, no doubt it had to be something bad.

            Y/N had to pull through, Bob chanted in his mind. She just had to. There was no other option. Because he didn’t know what he’d do, if the horrible vision he’d seen that night, came true.

             As the two stepped out of the elevator, they were greeted by the rest of the team, all huddled together, Walker looking ragged as hell, while he recounted what’d happened.

            “Wait, so you two were really at the safe house?” Ava’s brows shot up.

            “Yeah,” John dragged a hand down his dirty face. “Comms got cut at some point when the jet blew, so we had to wait until Valentina sent an extraction team. Honestly, we’re lucky sepsis didn’t set in, but fuck,” he turned to look at Yelena, “for a Black Widow, Y/N sure is squeamish.”

            “She is not squeamish!” Yelena looked affronted on the behalf of her sister. “How dare you!”

            “I dunno,” Walker shrugged, “but her throwing that fit after seeing her broken leg, seemed pretty squeamish to me.”

            Yelena clapped and started to roll up her sleeves. “Okay. How about we give you an open break and see how you do with a bone looking back at you? Hmm? I say, let’s test your stomach out, and then we can talk!”

            “Alright enough!” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as Alexei slowly lowered his phone from where he’d turned the camera on, a pout on the older man’s lips. “Nobody is breaking John’s legs. Karma will get him soon enough. Now, Y/N is gonna be out soon, and she’ll probably be pretty out of it, so we should set things up so that someone is always with her, okay?”

            A bunch of mumbled ‘yes’s could be heard all around, as Bucky told Walker to go and clean up, and get some rest, while Bob immediately asked if he could be one of the first people in the room once Y/N was in recovery.

            “Of course,” Yelena gave him a nudge on the shoulder. “I’ll stay with you.”

            But Bob didn’t have a plan on leaving Y/N at all.

            Not as her bed was wheeled inside the recovery room, not as evening turned to night, not as the others checked in, asking if they wanted to switch out or go grab a bite. Bob wasn’t going. Not until Y/N opened her eyes and erased the image of her dead doppelgänger from his mind.

            It was sometime during the period when the moon had started to make its descent, when Bob noticed a soft humming in the room, making him look over to where Yelena sat on the opposite side of the bed, softly singing under her breath.

            She’d taken her post on Y/N’s right, slipping her hand inside hers, while Bob had claimed her left.

            “Yelena?” he finally spoke up after hours of silence, afraid it’d disrupt her humming, but when she didn’t, only tilted her head in question, Bob continued on. “What uh, what’s it you’re singing?”

            “It’s a Russian lullaby. Melina, my mother, she used to put me to bed with it, after I had nightmares. Just thought it might… I don’t even know what I thought. It’s not like she sang it to Y/N, but I hoped it would maybe wake her up quicker?”

            “It’s pretty,” Bob murmured, looking over at Y/N’s sleeping face.

            The doctors had informed them they had to use a heightened dose of anaesthesia to knock her out, so she might be asleep for a while longer as her body burned through the medication. “My mom used to sing to me too… to help me calm down.”

            “Hm?” she acknowledged his words. “What did she sing?”

            “Just some song from uh, from her own childhood, I think,” Bob nodded to himself, a finger rubbing along the sheet Y/N lay upon, not daring to touch where her hand rested.

            “Well, you are more than welcome to sing it, if you’d like. I’m sure Y/N would appreciate it.”

            Instantly, Bob flushed, shaking his head at the offer. “No, I just… I dunno… I’m not much of a singer. I uh… I was just wondering if there was something maybe from Y/N’s childhood, you know? Like maybe a story we could tell her or… or something… like that song for you… just… never mind…”

            For a moment, the only sound in the room was Y/N’s rhythmic breathing, accompanied by the beeping of the monitors she was hooked to, while Yelena gazed at her, Bob’s eyes trailing over her unconscious form and settling on the injured limb.

            Ava had already managed to autograph the cast, while Alexei had drawn an exaggeratedly muscled version of the woman, with Bucky lettering out a simple ‘get well soon’ and Walker just penning a smiley face.

            “Bob, do you know what happens to frogs in winter?”

            Now that wasn’t something he expected Yelena to ask him, snapping him out of the daze. “I uh,” he stammered for an answer, “I mean kinda? I guess? They uh, they go into hibernation, right?”

            She hummed in confirmation. “When winter comes, the frogs that live by the water, find a lake or a pond or something of the sort. And then they float down to the very bottom of it. And they stay there. Even as the water freezes over, right up until spring comes to unthaw them.” Her gaze was unnervingly intense as she looked at him. “Their bodies basically freeze just like the water does, but they don’t die. They just… stay at that bottom.”

            Bob swallowed, shifting in his seat. “What does that have to do with anything?”

            He didn’t know why he asked, because he knew, he wouldn’t like the answer. Yelena sighed, looking over at Y/N, and brushed a finger down her cheek.

            “No matter what happened to me and Nat, I always thought us lucky. We had Alexei, Melina. Even if it was just for a little bit, for just a few years, we were a real family… but Y/N… she didn’t have that.”

            He was aware she had been trained separately, but only at this moment, did he find out just how different their upbringings were. As the Widow continued on, Bob couldn’t avert his eyes from the woman in question. “Since day one, Y/N was under Red Room’s control. She wasn’t taken like most of us were. No… Mistress Vera, her handler, was in charge from the very start, because Y/N was never a normal Black Widow. She was hers and Dreykov’s pet project.”

            “What do you mean?” Bile rose in his throat, as Yelena looked over at him.

            “When we first met, I was twelve. Y/N… she was sixteen.”

            “Wh – what? But she’s younger than you.” The two had even had numerous arguments about how Yelena played the older-sister card way too much, just to get her way, despite her being barely three weeks older.

            “In all the ways it matters she is,” Yelena nodded, holding onto Y/N’s hand a bit tighter. “But… when she was born, barely out of her mother’s womb, Dreykov and Vera injected her with some sort of a version of a super soldier serum. Some aspects of it took, some didn’t. She can still get sick but will recover quicker than the rest of us. She’s not as strong as Bucky, or Dad, or Walker, but she can… endure.”

            Tears threatened to fall down Yelena’s cheeks, as her hazel eyes glistened in the dark. Bob, however, was already crying, as his mind rushed ahead and even without further explanation, understood what was to come.

            “And if they wanted to have use of Y/N for longer, they had to find a way to keep her in a certain stasis.”

            When Yelena did start crying, she didn’t shy away from the tears, the drops glinting in the low lights of the room. “When we met again, I didn’t understand how it was possible she looked the way she had years ago. And then I started to think – Y/N had always been touted as the best of the best. Red Room’s Diamond. And yet, I barely saw her, barely heard about her missions. Because when they didn’t have use for her, they put her in a cryo chamber to sleep.”

            Yelena wiped at her cheeks. “By the time Nat got her out, she was my age when she was supposed to be hers. They were born the same year, you know.” She took in a deep breath, steeling herself for a moment. “When we broke Alexei out of the prison, he immediately recognized her, and the idiot called said “legushka nasha! Frozen, but back to life again! Always made us proud!” Safe to say, he got three of his teeth knocked out, and didn’t try to call her it again.”

            As if feeling she was being talked about, Y/N shifted in her bed, like the words had registered somewhere in her sleep-addled mind, but despite both Bob and Yelena holding their breaths, hoping she’d awake, she just got more comfortable and resumed her snoring.

            The blonde sighed, running her thumb over the top of Y/N’s hand. “When we decided to take the Red Room down, Nat and I… we thought she was gone. Our last contact with her was before everything exploded and she was on her way to find Mistress Vera… who had a certain... reputation. We all knew it was basically a suicide mission.”

            “But then we were on the ground, and Y/N just crawled out from underneath all the rubble, bruised and bloody, with a dislocated arm, and holding on to a fucking toad. I still have no idea where she found that little amphibian, but she’d gotten to one of her old cryo chambers and used it to ride out the crash. Those things were made to withstand an earthquake.” A wince-like smile split her lips. “And they had to be. They held precious cargo, after all.” She practically spat the last two words.

            “That was the moment I told myself I would protect her. Nat had to go on and join Steve, so I decided I’d be that big sister, like Tasha was to me. Whatever Y/N wanted, I would do everything I could to make sure she got it.”

            “And she just wanted softness,” Yelena tilted her head, looking over at him. “So, Bob, please be that softness to her. She’s never had a real bed. She’s never had a room for herself. She… Y/N never really had anything kind… I remember when we got to Melina’s safehouse, Y/N dug out this old fairy tale book and fell in love with this one story – The Princess and the Pea. It’s this tale where a girl seeks refuge from a storm in a castle, and the people inside think she’s a princess. So, to figure it out, they get her a room with a dozen mattresses on the bed, but leave a pea under the very bottom one. When she awakes the next day, she says she had the worst night’s sleep and that is how they figure out she is a princess after all – because only a princess would feel the pea even so far below her.”

            Yelena sniffled, wiping below her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “So, Bob that bed isn’t about you. That bed is her twelve mattresses, that bed is her soft and safe place to land. Because she deserves that and more.” Slowly, her eyes shifted to Y/N, as he listened without even taking a breath, terrified she’d stop talking if he did. “Please don’t break her heart. Because I don’t think I could stand seeing her sad. Not after everything.”

            Bob swallowed hard, mainly because it felt like Yelena had taken his heart in her hand, and squeezed it, bringing it all the way up to his throat.

            His eyes burned and he was sure they were rimmed red, from what the Widow had told him about Y/N’s life. He could feel the fierce protectiveness emanate around them, he understood she would go to the ends of the earth if it meant happiness would be found there. So, he nodded, promising he would try, even though he couldn’t say it out loud, because if he did, his voice would absolutely break, and he felt like his soul would too. He wanted to be everything Y/N deserved and more, and if the only thing he had to do was try, he would with every fiber of his being.

            “Maybe uh…” he cleared his throat. “Maybe I could read to her? That fairy tale you said she liked?”

            Bob could see the worry and fear dissipate in Yelena’s eyes as she nodded, giving him a soft smile. “Yeah. I think Y/N would love that. Let me uh, let me go find the book. I think Alexei might have it.”

            With a kiss on Y/N’s cheek, she stood up, cracking her spine and exiting the room, but not before whispering something that sounded suspiciously like “You’re in good hands with him, Legushka.”

            And so, Bob remained at his post; the dragon guarding the princess; the knight keeping watch. At some point after Yelena came back, a battered and bruised copy of a fairy tale collection, the sun had risen and even Alpine had found her way inside, making her bed by Y/N’s broken leg.

            But as much as Bob wanted to remain vigil, even his body had to rest. Due to all the accumulated anxiety and stress, he only managed to get through The Princess and the Pea and Andersen’s version of The Little Mermaid only to fall asleep half-way through The Sleeping Beauty, a story that was much more traumatizing than the Disney version, if he had to be honest.

            Unlike the princess, as much as he might have wished, Bob wasn’t awakened by a kiss of true love, but by lowly-talking voices. One of them was unmistakably Y/N’s as she asked someone in the room, “Is she one of those death-cats? You know, the ones who know when people are gonna die and sleep only next to them?”

            “Dunno,” Bucky’s low rumble echoed around the room. “But I guess, you’ll be the test subject of that theory.”

            “Great. Thanks. Looking forward to it,” Y/N deadpanned. “Just so you know, I so will haunt your ass if that’s the case.”

            Bob was terrified to raise his head or make any sort of movement that would indicate he was awake because that would mean he’d have to untangle his hand from Y/N’s, and he didn’t know if she’d ever allow him to hold it again.

            Not that he had much say in that decision as Alpine had made her way around the bed and smacked him right on top of the head.

            “The hell?” He jumped up, rubbing against where her paw had met his skull.

            For a cat, Alpine was alarmingly strong. But then he remembered how John hated when she came to sleep in his room and had started placing dumbbells before the door, only to have basically jacked Alpine up, as she could now open it even if there was a ten-pound one before it.

             “Okay, Alpine?” Bucky lifted the white feline up from where she glared at Bob. “No violence before eight AM. Scram.”

            If a cat could scoff, Bob was sure Alpine would’ve done just that, as she jumped off the bed, tail high as she padded out of the room, Bucky following her with a promise of some breakfast for the two.

            Once alone, Bob gave Y/N, what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “M-Morning. How uh how are you feeling?”

            She grunted, as she slipped her forearms underneath her and attempted to sit up, Bob immediately taking her pillow and placing it behind her back. “Overall, fine, I guess. Leg hurts like a bitch, though I’m not surprised, given how my inside bones were staring at me at one point.”

            “Inside bones?” he chuckled. “Aren’t all bones inside bones?”

            “Your teeth are your outside bones, and fun fact,” Y/N wiggled her brows. “Your tongue is the only muscle in your body you can actually see.”

            “That is not a fun fact. It is actually a horrifying fact,” Bob frowned as he became a bit too aware of his teeth and tongue and the way it wouldn't comfortably sit in his mouth.

            But it was Y/N’s laugh, the real kind, that brought him out of the spiral, and he felt like he was being bathed in sunlight. He was warm and all lit up from the inside out. Yet as the moment passed, slowly that feeling dissipated, leaving them under the clinical fluorescents of the hospital. Bob cleared his throat, eyes jutting around the room, not making contact with Y/N until she let out a heavy sigh.

            “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

            “Let’s get what… over with?”

            “Look,” Y/N closed her eyes, biting down hard on her bottom lip, and god, did Bob want to be the one doing that. “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. I mean, clearly, I misread some signals and got it all wrong.”

            “What? No!” He shook his head, so unprepared for where the conversation was going. “No, I’m the one that has to say sorry, because I d-”

            “No, you don’t,” Y/N interrupted him with a raised hand. “Because your feelings are yours, and whatever they might be, they’re valid and you are valid in havi-.”

            “But I don’t feel that way!”

            “I just don’t want things to be weird between us, you know?” She continued on with her spiel, a speech Bob felt like had been prepared by her, and his heart ached at the thought of her mulling it all over in her head, trying to accept the fact that he didn’t like her. “Like I know I basically ran away to a different country an-”

            “Y/N, can you please let me talk?” Bob was on the verge of tears as she rolled on.

            His anxiety was already sky-high, and there was no way he’d be able to take any more heartbreak, apologies or attempts to quell his guilt at not reciprocating. Which is why he did something he never thought he would.

            Bob simply stood up from his seat, leaned over Y/N, took her cheeks between his hands and bent his lips to hers.

            Y/N was frozen in an instant, having not anticipated this move, and if he was honest, neither had he, but slowly, as he pressed closer, his nose brushing along the bridge of hers, her body came back to life, a hand moving to the nape of his neck, while he swallowed a breath that stuttered out of her lungs.

            That little moment alone, the one where he could feel her physically react to him, elevated Bob to another dimension. Sure, his lips were clumsy after years of not having any sort of romantic partners, and his nerves didn’t do him any favors, as he attempted to deepen the kiss only to knock his teeth against hers.

            And yet it was theirs.

            It was awkward and new and exploratory.

            And it was the best kiss of Bob’s life.

            He would not change a single thing. Well, maybe Y/N wouldn’t be stuck in the med bay with her leg in a cast, but other than that, it was perfect.

            The way her fingers tangled in the small hairs at the nape of his neck. The way her other hand cupped his jaw, pulling him harder against her. The way Y/N sighed his name into his mouth as if he was the air she needed to breathe.

            It was that small thing, breathing, that made them finally part, but they didn’t go too far away from one another. Bob was done with distance, as he kept his forehead pressed to hers, chest heaving and body already craving more.

            He could feel her brows furrow in confusion, but she didn’t try to break their connection. “But I thought… I mean you literally said you didn’t like me…”

            “I clammed up,” Bob sighed, pecking her lips again, already addicted to the feeling. To the taste. No drug could compare to the way his heart felt so full at the fact that she pressed them right back. “I… look… I’m not proud of it, but just… I’ve been in love with you for so long, that moment when you said you might love me too… that was something that only happened in my dreams… and I’m not good with words. I’m even worse with people and my emotions… All I know is that whenever you’re around, you make it easier. You make me feel like I’m enough… And I was scared to mess that up… because I can't not have you in my life. So, I accepted having you as a friend. If that was the only way I could have you around, so be it… but when you told me that… that you love me… I just didn’t know what to do… I didn’t want to wake from that dream… and I panicked...”

            When he dared to take a look at Y/N, he pulled back in alarm, as she had tears rolling down her face, coming to a point at her chin, but he wiped them away before they could drop down.

            “Oh, don’t cry,” Bob’s own voice cracked. “Please, don’t cry. I – this is the last thing I wanted to do.”

            “Bob, you are enough,” Y/N almost hissed as she cupped his face. “You hear me? With or without me, you are enough. You don’t need someone to complete you. You’re not some puzzle missing a piece, okay?” She huffed an angry breath, shaking her head. “I hate that notion, you know? That somehow, we’re all missing parts of ourselves and the second we find a partner, then magically poof!” She made an explosion-motion with her hands, “You’re whole when you already are a whole and worthy person. With or without someone there, you are good enough.”

            His heart practically splintered and mended in his chest, as Y/N tried to get it through to him, how, no matter what, he still had a purpose, he was still worthy the same way the others were. He was still allowed to take up space and not apologize for it.

            Bob hadn’t even noticed how tears had started sliding down, not until she reached up and wiped them away.

            “But,” Y/N’s tone was much softer now, her fingers trailing along his jaw, tracing his eyebrows and pressing against where crow’s feet appeared by his eyes when he smiled. “There’s this Japanese tradition called kintsugi, where broken things are mended with gold. And that is who I believe people are. Who I am… who you are… we’re all just broken little pots, mended with gold. And I’d like to think we can be each other’s gold when water starts to seep through the cracks.”

            “I like that,” Bob choked out as a smile bloomed on his face. “I really like that. Like Lilo and Stitch – a little broken, but still good.”

            “Exactly,” she nodded, slowly pulling his head closer to hers once more. “Because I know for a fact, you are my gold, Bob. You’re my light.”

            And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t afraid to stand in the direct beam of it, because he was made of it. No longer an entity of darkness and shadow, but someone who could illuminate the life of others.

            And when she kissed him, a thousand suns exploded with love.

BONUS

            “Are you sure, you’re steady?” Bob worried his bottom lip, as he watched Y/N clamber around on her crutches.

            It was fascinating, really. During their day-to-day lives, he’d watched her during training sessions, mouth agape in awe at the way she moved, sparring with Bucky, Alexei and John sometimes three-on-one, and having no trouble in taking them down.

            She was incredible, flipping through the air like it was nothing. Now, however, she was worse than a newborn deer on ice, because somehow, despite everything, Y/N had never broken a bone so bad, she needed to be on crutches. And she had no balance whatsoever.

            “I,” she huffed. “Am,” and puffed. “Fine,” and grunted with strain. The elevator was all of twenty steps away from where Y/N’s recovery room was, and yet she’d barely managed to get halfway. “But I would be better if they took this fucking cast off. I’m healed anyway.”

            “Not according to your X-rays.”

            Y/N scoffed. “My body heals by the second, not even minute. Besides, isn’t it the point of the metal plates they put there? To hold the bones together?”

            After she’d awoken and Bob had explained, through an intense amount of blushing and stuttering how he’d written her a whole bunch of love letters, putting them in a copy of Pride and Prejudice, when he presented the book to her, he’d also revealed to Y/N what Yelena had told him about her time in the Red Room.

            “I just hope you’re not mad at me. Or her… I don’t want this to impact your relationship.”

            Y/N tilted her head, giving him a reassuring smile. “No. Never at you two… I just… I’m not proud of it, you know? And I don’t like reliving it, even if it’s just talking about it, but no… I’m not angry she told you about it or that you know.”

            “I mean, I would never judge you,” Bob instantly took Y/N’s hand in his own, worried she might be feeling unworthy, an emotion he was all too familiar with. “I – I’d never. You didn’t choose it, you know.”

            “I know you don’t.” She pulled him gently by the wrist so he would come closer and pressed her lips to his, sending Bob’s heart galloping. “Which is one of the reasons I love you. Now come on, help me up. I desperately need a shower, and some fresh clothes.”

            So there they were, Y/N hobbling closer to the elevator, but before Bob could press the button for her, it dinged, Walker and Yelena exiting, each holding a bag of take-out in their hands.

            “And where do you think you are hopping to, legushka moya?” Yelena chuckled, as Y/N threw her the dirtiest glare possible, forehead gleaming with sweat.

            “To my room,” she grunted. “I am sick and tired of smelling like antiseptic, so I will be taking a shower with my strawberries and cream gel, washing my hair with my grapefruit and basil shampoo, and slathering my skin in my vanilla body cream, so I can smell like a fucking cupcake garden. And you cannot stop me.”

            Yelena raised a brow. “I could literally take away one of the crutches and you’d be down.”

            “Suchka,” Y/N swore while John laughed at the two.

            “Just be careful with all that slipperiness,” he gave a smirk and crossed his arms. “Wouldn’t want our legushka to become leg-less because she tripped or something.”

            Honestly, Bob didn’t think even if Sentry was in charge, he would’ve been able to see or prevent the punch that connected with Walker’s face.

            Blood exploded like a popped water balloon, painting her knuckles, face, chest, the ground, walls and everyone’s clothes in red, as food containers dropped to the ground.

            “What the fuck, Y/L/N!?” John hollered, clutching at his very much so broken nose. “God, something is really wrong with you!”

            A muscle twitched in her jaw, and Bob placed a gentle hand on her elbow, more to hold her back from another attack, but also to steady her, as she sneered. “You do not get to call me that. Try it again, and see where it gets you.”

            Walker groaned, eliciting a phlegm-filled cough. “Fucking hell, you’re weird!”

            “Come on,” Yelena threw her head back in a cackle, winking at Y/N. “Let’s try to find a doctor and set that nose before it heals crooked. Though maybe not? You could definitely do with an adjustment.”

            “Oh, fuck you both!” Walker threw a middle finger at the two, stomping away as Yelena followed, laughing through it all.

            Bob let out a nervous chuckle of his own. “You have a mean right hook, you know? Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end that’s for sure.”

             “You can call me anything you’d like. But I think I uh… I’d prefer if you called me yours...” Y/N turned her head a bit to the side, a sheepish smile quirking on her lips.

            “Mine…” Bob whispered the word with reverence.

            “Yours,” she echoed. “If you’ll have me like that.”

            He swallowed hard, slowly moving to stand in front of Y/N and turning her head so they faced one another. “Only as long as I get to be yours too.”

            It was the way she smiled, that took his breath away.

            It was the way he could see, Y/N herself had to push an overwhelming amount of emotions down, just to not cry.

            It was the knowledge she did love him like he loved her.

            Because in truth, she already had both his heart and soul.

            Come rain or shine, winter or summer, day or night, Bob had been Y/N’s from the very beginning.

            And knowing he could be someone’s home like she had been his?

            Yeah.

            There was nothing really like it.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: well... this got out of hand fast :D Bob tags are open for futre fics :)

[factsilike]

Quotes in the No. 6 novels that had me reeling from their sheer level of intensity and yearning (aka my favourite lines)-

"This is where my heart is. I was human when my heart was stolen by him, and I was human when I longed to be by his side. And this fact won't change, no matter what name I give to these feelings."

      "Why won’t you come home? Why aren’t you beside me? I just want to look into your eyes and see that I am me, that I can continue to be who I am. They are my only anchor."

"I’ll be waiting. No matter how many years pass, no matter how old I get, I’ll be waiting here for you. The wandering star and the fixed one. Someday our paths will cross again. When that happens, I’m not going to sit quietly and let you go. I’ll be waiting for you."

"It’s not friendship, not merely a deep affection even—nor is it simply romantic attraction or respect or caring. It is a deep and powerful love for someone dear to him."

“You called me, and I listened. I reached out, and you caught my arm. I opened the window so I could meet you."

"No one is greedier than I am. I’m sure no one desires another as strongly as I do."

"It's been four years, and I still have neither skill nor the heart to push this body aside."

"I'm drawn to you. A lot. That's why I want to stay here. I want to see what you see, eat what you eat, and breathe the same air as you."

"Have you noticed? No matter how dark or blindingly bright it is, I'm never led astray―my eyes always find yours."

"If I lost you here, right now, I wouldn't be able to stay sane. I would go mad. The world would turn upside-down."

"I'm probably more afraid to lose you than anyone―anybody else. I'm so scared, it's unbearable. I want to make sure you'll never disappear from my side. I don't care if you ridicule me, or sneer at me―these are my real feelings." It was none other than a straightforward and simple confession of love. I can't live without another―without you.

The emotionless voice became a frigid wind that wrapped around Shion's body. With his sense of pain, his fear, and his pride whipped away, for an instant, Shion was empty. Like a cicada shedding its skin, he became a hollow cavern that left only its outward appearance intact. He sometimes had this sensation when listening to Nezumi's voice. He didn't mind it much. In fact, it even felt refreshing. Exhilarating, even, to become empty.

I'll never leave you. I'll sink my teeth in, and latch on no matter where you go. He would never lose sight of that back turned to him. He would crawl across the ground to follow him if he had to. That was the only thing in his mind.

Invited along by Nezumi's voice, Shion had smiled, and seen the sky. It was that deepest hue of blue he had seen, lying in the grassy field. The colour of the heavens was spreading across the darkness. True, this world was ridden with brutality and falseness. Indeed, it was rife with it. But that wasn't the only thing that existed. Because, look―in this world, and in people's souls, there definitely existed beautiful things like the blue of the lofty skies. Nezumi's voice became a bubbling spring that quenched Shion's body and filled him to the brim. It was a strange voice. It melted the soul, and regenerated people to life.

He felt like he was being wrapped in an elegant grey cloth. The core of his body pulsated. All the thoughts that had been swirling around in his head came to a full stop. A moment of pleasure. It was strange. Just the kind of light in Nezumi's eyes was enough to make him feel like he was being pushed away or being embraced.

Curiosity. No, it wasn't such a casual feeling; it was a deep-rooted desire. It roved in circles deep inside his chest. It was intrigue towards a world his imagination could not render. Interest in the unknown. And more than anything... it was the expectation that he could acquire some piece of knowledge that had to do with Nezumi. His soul was stirring restlessly. It stirred from wanting to know, and not for anyone else but himself.

Nezumi was almost like a deep forest. No matter how far he waded in, he could never gaze out over its entirety. Here, clumps of flowers bloomed; here, a bowed branch bore fruits. Here, a spring gushed forth, and he could hear the gentle sound of its flow. He had definitely seen these various scenes, but they were mere parts of the deep, vast forest. Perhaps he would emerge from the dense trees to be faced with a sheer cliff. Perhaps there lurked man-eating beasts. Perhaps a scene totally unknown to him would stretch before his eyes. He didn't know. No matter how far he waded in, Nezumi never revealed his entirety to him. The further he waded in, the more unfathomable it got. I've wandered and gotten lost in an endless forest. I'm drifting, a tangle of throbbing pain and dreamy ecstasy.

" I've gone against what you've told me. I've sighed many times for another. I believed him, and opened my heart to him. I placed the shackles around my own feet. But I couldn't have done otherwise. I couldn't cut him away."

"I came to know what it was like for my heart to feel moved for someone, to yearn strongly for someone. I can't go back to when I didn't know. I don't want to go back. I would never want to go back to when I lived peacefully, knowing nothing."

"And above all, I have to tell you about Nezumi. I want you to know about him. Four years ago on a stormy night, I met him. Ever since then, I feel like I've been captured by him. When I'm with him, I lose sight of myself. No, that's not it. I'm illuminated vividly. Maybe I'm blinded for an instant because that light is so bright. That's how much my vision had deteriorated. It was so weak, I couldn't even discern myself, my surroundings, or the truth. Safu, his―Nezumi's gaze and words pierce me. They shoot through me, batter me, and save me. By his hands, I was melted, wrought anew, and instilled with new life."

"There's no way you can't hear me. There's no way my voice won't reach you. No matter when or what situation, you always caught my words firmly, You heard me through the noise, you grasped my words, and you answered me. You came back to me. This time, I'm going to bring you back. I'll take you back by force."

"The wind was howling. The flame was flickering. And I desperately wanted to hear you recite that line. I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted to lend my ears to your voice, and immerse myself in your breathing. As I listened to Macbeth tread the path to destruction, I felt elevated; I was fulfilled."

"You called to me. I heard that voice―your voice―calling me. It ducked through the wind, tore through the rain, and came to me. You called me, and I was called by you. That's why I opened the window. I flung it open wide to the outdoors. I extended my arms in search of you. You called me, and I listened. I reached out, and you caught my arm. I opened the window so I could meet you. That's our truth, Nezumi."

"Going to Hell doesn't seem so bad when it's with you."

"The fight would still continue tomorrow. But if I lost Nezumi, if I had to face a tomorrow without him, then I wouldn't be able to remain a soldier. You're weak. Unbelievably frail, he could hear Nezumi say in derision. Laugh at me, Nezumi. Look on me with contempt. Make fun of me. Give me a scornful laugh, a cold laugh. I just want to hear your laughter. Let me hear it, please."

"To me, you were more of a miracle than the Forest God ever was. I felt like I was being told to live―to live on, not give up.... If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been able to survive that night. Shion, you―only you―were the one who saved me. This time, too."

"The world means nothing to me without you. Nothing."

"He's more dangerous, troublesome, strong, and beautiful than anyone else in the world."

Nezumi's gazed pierced through him. Those grey eyes gave Shion the impression that they knew everything. He wondered why every time he was held by this gaze, he felt a shiver of bliss rather than pain.

"I'm alive and waiting for you. Even in those hellish surroundings, I was drawn to your eyes, your words, your gestures, your thoughts―and they supported me. Thanks to them, I was able to survive. And right now, I'm still alive."

[maiamore]

MILLER ASSOCIATES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 5k-ish

Summary: A one-night-stand with your boss at the firm you work in turns out not to be such a good idea. Tags: lawyer a/u, alcohol, colleagues to lovers type, breeding themes, able bodied reader, joel being a southern sweetheart, creampie, p-in-v, unprotected sex, mentions of anal, mutual pining, dual pov, dry humping

A/N: very much suits inspired, had to get this out of my head PREQUEL | MASTERLIST

A rhythmic, low bass filled your senses, thrumming against your ears. All the chatter & laughter from the crowd blending into each other, forming one singular noise. 

The stickiness from the floor dragged across the ball of your strappy heels. Causing you to wince in displeasure. Thankfully, you’d had enough to drink so it’d dulled the pain of wearing heels all night—you supposed going to town on those cocktail shots wasn’t all that bad now. 

The growing chants of the countdown filled the air, the giddy excitement was almost contagious. 

Pushing past the wave of swaying bodies, you’d locked on to the figure ahead of you, the only sure thing in the nauseating strobe of lights that grounded you. Briefly, that figure disappeared within the crowds. A slight panic surged through you. 

You’d taken a couple steps forward, scanning the crowd. Just when you were on the verge of giving up, a warm hand guides you out with a swift tug by the back of your waist, pulling you against a leather clad wall—or well, chest. 

You blinked a few times. Joel, who was quietly ahead of you, gave you a look. Letting you step back a little. “Keep up.” He said. Or, you thought he said by the ways his lips moved. His hands assuredly tightened around your waist this time. He wasn’t going to lose you through the crowd again.

“Okay.” Your voice competed with the chaos around you—countdown timer flashing on all the screens situated in every corner of the room. The reality was bleary at best, you’d definitely drunk enough to scramble the rational side of your brain. 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. You’d followed his gaze to the bar's back door. 

As soon as you’d stepped out of the bar, the chilly air outside hit you like a force. Sobering you up, barely. 

This was happening. 

Joel’s hands flattened against the back of your waist. Thumb soothing you from the decision you both made in the heat of the moment earlier. You could feel just how needy he was just by how touchy he was. 

This was happening. 

“Wait.” Your panicked voice interrupted his movements when he dipped his head to your level. “...Let’s..let’s just establish the situation before we actually do this.” You managed. Earning a confused look from him.

“I came on to you. And..I kissed you first.”

Deep brown eyes settled to look into yours. A slight scoff leaving his stupid pretty pouty lips. 

“This ain’t Law & Order, darlin’.”

Even with nothing but the residual glow blue neon signage illuminating above you both beneath the moonless skies, you could see it in his eyes that he’d been waiting. Way past his limits. His usually assured voice came out barely restrained. 

Joel could tell by your less than amused expression that you weren’t fuckin’ around. You needed an acknowledgement from him.

“Yeah.” Backtracking, humour lost in his words now. A much more complicated sentiment taking its place. 

 “Alright. Sounds good t’me.”

You’d exchanged a look of mutual understanding. As sure as you could’ve been with your current combined blood alcohol levels. The same hand on your waist gently turning your body around. 

That was how you found yourself getting fucked against the walls by your boss. 

6 Months Later

After that anomaly in your offices’ New Year get together nearly half a year ago, you both swore you’d never bring it up again. It was just too complicated to unpack you said—at least that’s what you told yourself.  

He’d been more than happy to oblige. Which stung somehow.  Maybe you were just too afraid to deal with the implications of what allowed you both to indulge in something that was hugely just the tip of the iceberg. Or maybe he just didn’t want to create a workplace imbalance. Maybe. The thought had always gnawed at you, the idea that he might’ve regretted whatever happened even though he showed no indication of it.

Tension ran high in the law offices of Miller Associates. There’d been some sort of situation. You figured. You weren’t all that concerned, yet.

“You didn’t hear?” An obnoxious noise crept up from behind you. Interrupting your concentration. “What?” A sharp gasp filled your lips when your chair had swiveled, your colleague, Serena, leaning down towards you. “The case you’re working on! With Mr Miller.” Her voice a mere whisper. “Someone fucked up. Big time. The settlement was voided.”

A chill ran down your spine. “What? When?” You said a little too quickly. Grabbing your phone in a haste. A single notification glowing on your phone.

Fuck.

“Dunno. I just heard Mr Miller was at Wheeler’s trying to work out a deal. Someone leaked information—”

You were on your feet even before she could finish her sentence. This was officially your problem now. You’d been on the case with Joel for weeks.

What was supposed to be a straightforward division of assets—a separation of a couple's joint built company—quickly unraveled. Someone had leaked sensitive information to the opposing counsel's client, costing the firm its leverage in negotiating the settlement.

“Get Leighton out. Make shit up. Do whatever the hell & buy us some fuckin’ time.”

Joel’s voice carried through the halls. A silent look shot towards you to drop whatever pointless errand the other associates tasked you with. Warily, you trailed after him. It was a rare sight to witness Joel frayed. 

His normally slicked back curly hair was visibly in disarray. 

So he looked perfect even when he was about to lose his shit. Great. 

You’d noticed the lack of his tailored jacket or vest. Navy sleeves rolled up snug around his forearms. 

This wasn’t like him at all. 

He dragged his hand down his scruffed jaw as he remained on the phone. Not even looking back to see if you were following. He just knew. 

“Need you on this.” He’d gestured to the stack of documents that lay on the edge of his wide dark oak wood desks. Bringing the phone up to rest against the edge of his shoulder. 

You took a few steps ahead to pick up the stack of papers. The initial settlement documents for the Leighton versus Anders proceedings.

“So you want me to look through it again, find the discrepancies. Get references—“

When he’d finally put the phone down to look at you, you were already focused. Your gaze hadn’t lifted while you flipped through the papers. 

“No need for the subtitles, darlin’. Do what you have t’do. Get me somethin’ by 11.”

That frustratingly smooth southern drawl in his tone made it sting even more when he’d rendered you an idiot that easily just for asking.

Nodding, you glanced over to your watch with a tilt of your wrist. 4pm. So two hours till the end of work and another four hours tomorrow. Seemed pretty doable. 

“Okay. I’ll get back to you by the morning.” 

“No. 11pm, tonight.”

“What?” A breath of disbelief that blended into your exclamation left your lips. He hadn’t responded. Merely raising a brow at your confusion. 

“I can’t. I have plans—“

“So cancel.” 

He’d said it so matter of factly like it was the most natural next step, you’d brought your hand down. The papers crumpling slightly in your grip. It didn’t help that some part of you admired how easily he got people to do as he wished. Well. You’d have known that first hand. Evidently. 

You couldn’t trust yourself to speak then. It would probably start with something like listen here you fucking inconsiderate shit.  

Mumbling a begrudging got it, you got started as soon as you head back to your cubicle. 

JOEL

Joel Miller was a man who’d thrived on setting specified routines for himself, following rules set in place in his life. He had to. It was what kept him sane despite everything that came his way. 

Wake up, 0700. Shower, 0715. Breakfast with his daughter, 0800. Office by 0900. 

He was off rhythm today. It was only the start of his bad mood. He couldn’t kiss his little girl goodbye before she headed off to school, skipped breakfast and had to drive over to the other end of Manhattan to deal with a literal growing trash fire. 

The deal was called off by 0800. He’d lost one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars by 0830. 

He couldn’t lose his shit just yet. It was his last name, his fathers legacy, staring back at him in bolded letters of the building. 

He was aware that his intense presence had everyone on high alert, though some part of him was grateful he supposed that when it came down to it, his employees were on the ball. 

And then…there was you. 

Fluttering around helping everyone. Back and forth, through offices of his associates, to the secretaries. Arms always full with stacks of papers you delivered even when you didn’t have to. 

Six months ago, you’d officially wrecked the part of his life he’d carefully built walls around. If he was being honest, you already had two years ago when you’d joined the firm as a paralegal. 

“So you want me to look through it again, find the discrepancies. Get references—“

Good girl. 

He thought. He’d known the sort of person you were. Always compartmentalising. He wasn’t sure if you’d thought about him the way he’d thought about you still. Fixated on the little furrow on your brows as you concentrated on the documents. Lips slightly pursed. It wasn’t that long ago he’d had the privilege of feeling the heady sweetness and the softness of your lips. 

“I can’t. I have plans—“

Yeah. I know you had, sweetheart. 

He’d heard it all when the other ladies, in the break room, had been squealing at the fact that Marcus from Mergers & Acquisitions had asked you out at the cafeteria. 

Fuck. Did you need a probable cause to fire jerkoff, always wearing suspenders, Marcus? He probably could. Shouldn’t though. 

Admittedly, he had some sort of satisfaction that he actually had a reason to keep you around his orbit. 

PRESENT

It wasn’t like you wanted to go on that date with Marcus. He was a little too egotistical for your tastes, always flaunting his Dior clothes and that obviously second-hand Patek Philippe watch like it was his entire personality. But you were at your wit's end. You needed to stop moping and pining over the one amazing sexual encounter you had all year.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms above your head. The lights flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows across your face. The glow lulled you—finally allowing yourself some reprieve with a brief shut-eye.

“So..so pretty.” His voice came out in rough whispers against the back of your earlobes. It sent chills down your spine. 

He’d hoisted you back up against him with a grunt. You could feel his thick cock filling you up even deeper. A rough hand coming up to cradle around your forehead so it wouldn’t have to touch the walls. Even when you had been so out of it, his attentiveness heightened every nerve ending of your body. 

His other hand slid downwards to give your clit much needed attention with a swipe of his thumb. “Been so good f’me—…ah..fuck. Shit.” A sharp hiss leaving his lips when you’d clenched around his cock subconsciously in overstimulation. 

You couldn’t trust yourself to speak. Feeling his fingers tip you over the edge. Whining against the arm that held you firm. “Can’t—…t’much..”

“I know baby, you can give me another one, can’t you?” You could feel the purrr in his words. Gently pressing over the bulge on your stomach where he could feel how deep he was fucking into your soft pussy. Praises littered into your skin that felt like kisses. You nodded with renewed desire to give this man anything he'd asked for. 

You’d lifted your head up from where it’d rested against your palm. Snapping out of your daydreams at the familiar voice calling your name. 

You blinked a few times, registering the office’s law library’s attendant. “Are you okay, honey? I have to leave now.”

You offered a polite smile. “I’m good, see you tomorrow Mrs Balmaceda.” 

You’d looked back down at the piles of books across the desk. The coldness of the library—evident by the building's foggy condensation outside the windows. Your exhaustion was finally catching up to you in the worst ways possible. Briefly glancing around at the amber overhead lights, illuminating the books tucked in large floor to ceiling bookshelves. 

You’d inwardly sighed at the lack of references you had yet to find—grabbing the paper, scribbled with names of references that Joel had neatly written on it. You pushed past the attached ladders.

This was going to be a long night. 

—

“This book..isn’t even supposed to be here.” You grumbled at the lack of care of the people who’d haphazardly shoved books into the shelves in places it didn’t belong. A stack grew in your arms, piling up the wrongly filed books. Taking it upon yourself to reshelve it. 

“Are you supposed to be the librarian now?”

You’d nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice from behind you. Books nearly slipping out of your hands, you’d acted quickly enough to stop them. Twisting your body to see the intruder. 

JOEL

“Make sure she eats dinner and packs her books fore’ bed. Thanks Tommy…’ppreciate it.”

He’d ended the call, leaning back in his chair with a fist over his eyes. Not a single thing had gone the way he needed it to. He pushed the stacks of paperwork on his desk, blue ink that curved with the initials of your name on a document stared back at him. Confirmation that you were quite literally the only one other than him to have read the settlement papers.

He covers it with a stack of files. As though he didn’t quite want to face the truth behind it.

—

“Anything to show me yet?”

Barely able to register the object coming towards you, you awkwardly managed to catch the can of black coffee hurled towards you. Even with his odd way of showing it, you felt it. The care. 

You’d trailed behind him. Eyeing the slump in his shoulders now. “Yeah. Couple of things in the settlement we can take advantage of because of the disparity,” you explained. 

The sound of the can flicking open caught your attention. Watching as Joel took a swig. You swallowed. Holding the unopened can tightly in your palms. 

Instinctively, your tongue darted out to wet your lower lip as your eyes lingered on the subtle movement of his adam's apple, rising and falling with each swallow. Your gaze trailed downward, drawn to his collarbone, partially revealed by the undone top buttons of his shirt.

You would’ve told him that you didn’t like black coffee. But you’d pretty much lost the window to say anything by now. That didn’t matter. You needed something for how dry your throat felt. 

You’d open your can of coffee. Taking sips of the bitter liquid to quench the metaphorical desire building in you. 

“Looks good enough. Two or three more references would do.”  

He’d noticed the brief look of disgust on your face as you took another sip. Raising his brow slightly at your conformity. “Not much of a coffee person, are you?”

“Not really, no.” You admit. Sitting down across him by the chairs. He’d been flipping through the stacks of papers with you. Hastening the process a little more. 

A quiet silence filled the air between you both. You’d have been okay not to acknowledge it. But Joel didn’t want to let it. 

“What did you do?” He offered after a couple minutes of silence. You furrowed your brows at his words. “...Over the weekend, I mean.”

Since when did he care for small talk? 

“Nothing much. I’ve been studying for the LSAT’s again.” He’d hummed in acknowledgment to your words. Observing you and your little quirks. 

He’d noticed. You had a preference for the blue sticky tabs in any paperwork you did for him. When you’d been really concentrated, you opted not to speak. 

“Again?” He questions. 

“Again.” You repeated. The word leaves a bitter note on your tongue. “I’m not…I don’t test well.”

That earned a frown from him. He’d figured you got a little twitchy at times, but you had heart. 

“What about you?” You’d tried to fill in the awkward silence after that. Trying to change the subject now. “What’d you do?”

It was as though your question caught him off guard. As though you’d interrupted his line of questioning that seemed to build up to something. “A play—…my daughter had a play, in her high school.”

You’d actually lifted your head up at his words. You were paying attention now. Something about your silence prompted him to continue. A daughter. You didn’t know he had a daughter.

“I was thinkin’ these kids were going to do some..Shakespeare thing. And then—...Sarah walked on stage as some blonde girl. From that movie.”

“That movie?” You repeated. Brows knit together. 

He lets out a sigh. “The movie.” He repeats. His expression mirroring yours, hand gesturing vaguely as though to mortalise the words in his head. “Girl gets hit by a bus at the end…” He manages, in deeper thought. His thumb swipes the bottom of his lips in concentration.

You weren’t sure if you were paying attention after ‘girl gets his by bus.’ He may as well have had a sign on his forehead to say, “kiss me please” with the way he’d been bringing attention to it.

“I wanna say…it was somethin’ bout’ some girl named Caddy. Kayde?”

You were confused at first. Eyes widening. 

“Mean Girls?”

A sigh of relief left his lips. As though it would’ve bugged him all night for not being able to remember. “That’s the one.” He says finally. 

An amused scoff left your lips, the combined laughter of yours and his filled the silence in the room. Ignoring the fact that high schools nowadays didn’t quite care about literary classics, you were more focused on the fact that Joel seemed chillingly human. It was breaking through the carefully built mental barriers you had in place. Your ability to shove any lingering feelings—with the excuse he was just your boss didn’t quite matter anymore.

You didn’t realize how much you’d been staring at his every movement—how he just looked softer. 

—

A considerable amount of time had passed, the both of you working together in sync to get the last of what you needed. You’d been eyeing Joel, his weariness evident in the constant furrow of his brows—or in the way a few curls had fallen effortlessly against his forehead.

You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this anymore. What was it about a man looking so damn attractive when their life seemed to be falling apart?

“How did things go with Leighton?” He inquires. Rudely interrupting your thoughts.

You’d stopped for a moment. Why was he asking this now?

You swallowed thickly. Feeling your nerves fray. Your current demeanor wasn’t lost on Joel. He’d been looking at you carefully. Despite your best efforts, Joel studied you enough to understand your behavior in his entire time knowing you. 

He'd spent all day untangling the mess, he was asking this out of courtesy at this point.

“Good…there weren't any issues.”

“I’m askin’ you, since you were the last person to see her.” 

“..I—“

When he’d repeated your name firmly, you tensed. It was far too late to keep up with hiding the fact now. He just wanted to hear it from you directly.

That you were the reason why the initial settlement was thrown out the window after you told Leighton about Ander’s infidelity yesterday. It was purposefully withheld from her during the proceedings.

But then…you’d seen Anna and how tired she looked. One look at her and you knew that she deserved all the facts. 

“Tell me you didn’t, sweetheart.” The way he said it churned your guts. Of course he’d already been aware–some part of him wanted to believe otherwise.

You’d pressed your lips into a thin line. Not daring to look up. You could feel the way he’d been looking at you. How disappointed he would’ve been. 

When you had looked up, however, disappointment wasn’t what you found. In the times you’d known Joel, you’d observed him and his little quirks. 

You’d noticed. When he’d tried to practice patience in withholding his anger. His jaw ticked. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

The sigh he let out had you looking at the ground. It was a feeling not unlike the sinking weight of having utterly disappointed your parents. “You went behind my back.” His tone devoid of any kindness. 

“I did the right thing.” You repeated. Firmer now.

“You’re fuckin’ deluded if you think you did the right thing, darlin’.”

That stung. Far more than you’d expected. Joel’s anger had been simmering over the edge. Minutes from saying something he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t just betrayal he’d felt, it was his naïveté in trusting you completely. 

You knew you’d made a mistake. You knew. You should’ve apologized and moved on because he was right. But the words spilling out from you was anything but. The venom laced in his tone was not something you liked in the slightest. It’d rubbed you raw, a blooming pain that bled through the wake of your recklessness.

You’d gotten up abruptly. Grabbing the list of documents you’d needed from the archive room. The hastened clacks of your heels against the carpeted floors was soon joined by the low thud of Joel’s oxfords.

“You know.” He began, his voice trailing closer behind you.

“Through all this bullshit I still expected some level of humility from you at the very least.”

His footsteps grew closer. It was clear that he had no plans to let you get away with everything. Not without an acknowledgement to what you’d done. 

You’d attempted to shut the door behind you, but Joel’s hands came up to wedge through the archive rooms doors to let himself in.

Your pace quickened, stepping into the room tucked in the corner of the library. Situating yourself between the metal racks. Stacked with dusty boxes of old case files. Barely lit by fluorescent lighting that hadn’t been changed in years.

He’d repeated your name. A little louder now. 

“The hell do you want me to say?” You snapped back finally. 

“Something that isn’t an excuse.”

You felt your own anger take the place of the supposed humility you were supposed to feel. You hated this side of him, pushing, cornering, intimidating people into submitting. You rifled through the boxes. Feeling his quiet presence overwhelm you, demanding an answer from you. Words bubbling up like word vomit, you couldn’t stop them from spilling.

“It’s not an excuse.”

“Are you that much of a sociopath that you’re sacrificing ethics and morals over getting a fucking payout for the firm?” You breathed out. Whipping your head around to look at him. “Is that what you wanna hear?”

“This isn’t about ethics or morals!” He’d raised his voice. Louder than he’d intended. No, he was more hurt that you didn’t trust him enough to handle it. Didn’t trust him enough to let him know before going behind his back. He would’ve done anything you’d asked. But you hadn’t.

“I should’ve known better than to trust a damn paralegal with helping me.” He’d felt regret even as he spoke, but he couldn’t help it. “I was fucking naive to think you were more. That you had something—“

“I was a goddamn fool to think that some kid who couldn’t even pass the LSATs could be trusted.”

Your heart twisted at his words.

“Did that make you feel better, Joel?” Your tone was laced with an equal amount of bitterness. “Come on. Tell me what else you fucking feel.” Challenging him. He had a feeling this wasn’t all you’d held back on. 

The air went still. He’d known he’d gone too far when he’d said it. But you weren’t upset at the fact that you’d both been exchanging words that were intended to hurt each other, but because all you’d managed to say were shit neither of you meant.

All you could think about was how you’d felt. About him. About all the feelings you’d forced yourself to swallow down. 

“I don't need to hear it. I don’t need to hear how much you’ve regretted it.”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I’m talkin’ bout’.”

Did you regret it? Did you regret sleeping with me the same way you regret trusting me with the case?

The unsaid words that couldn’t leave your lips hadn’t gone past him. Despite it all—the residual anger was still there—Being clouded by his wants that bubbled up whenever he was around you. The want that was being amplified now that all he could hear was your breathing and his.  

Your eyes traced his features carefully. Not being able to swallow down the anger and humiliation that churned in you. Threatening to consume you whole. You knew he blamed himself for how you seemed to be falling apart. It was all in the subtle furrow of his brows, the faint twitch beneath his eyes, and the way his deep brown eyes locked with yours. 

He’d stepped forward the same time you had. 

Hands coming down to maneuver you against the shelves. His hand gripping around your waist, dipping his head lower to finally kiss you. It wasn’t slow, or careful. He kissed you like he’d been wanting to for months. You met his kisses with the same intensity—stumbling backwards to catch your footing. Both hands cupped around the base of his neck. You tilted your head to match his movements, the weight of his palm cradling your jaw securely.

Not giving you a chance to catch your breath. You sighed into his lips slowly & he’d drunk it all in—your lips slotting perfectly against his. He’d stepped backwards, panting, like you were. Looking for a sign that you didn’t want this. You’d clumsily yanked his tie off, answering that question for him.

It was quiet at first. All but the rustling of him throwing his jacket off and you attempting to unbutton your blouse in unison—You didn’t like the silence. The last time you’d fucked he was vocal, with praises singing into your skin. 

So when he’d finally grabbed you, legs slotting between your thighs, your gasp broke the practiced silence. 

He was a man on a mission. He needed to make you come, needed to drink in the sweet saccharine noises you made. The very thing he missed in those six months that haunted him whenever he’d heard you speak. 

He tugged you tighter, rocking you against his thigh. Encouraging you to rut against him. You’d whined in his grasp. Your hips tilting to grind against the fabric of his slacks. Tipping your head back, the ache grew. The friction wasn’t enough. This wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel him. 

His bigger hands casing your jaw—tutting at your struggle. “…Sh—…shh shh. I know. I know.”

You gripped around his forearms. Tip toeing, you tried to angle yourself just right so your pussy could feel the friction of his thigh properly. Your hips stuttered, feeling him notch your needy pussy right against him with his guidance. He’d tilted your jaw up so you'd maintain eye contact with him. Your lips parted wider, feeling the steady pleasure build in you, your clit stimulated in all the right ways.

“Needy baby, workin’ so damn hard—“ He’d leaned in, tracing the curves of his nose down your jawline. “C’mon sweetheart, need you to come f’me, need you to feel good.” Muttering against your neck. It’d sent shivers down your spine, drinking in the praises that had followed after what he’d said.

“Look at you, pretty…pretty..pretty, pretty.” His wanton sighs against your neck. 

His other hand sliding upwards, kneading your tits over your clothes. You’d whined a little when he’d lifted up your blouse. Tugging your lacy bra downwards to free your tits. Head lowering so he could suckle on one. Low vibrations of the rumble in his own grunt of pleasure in seeing you feel good reverberated against you. Steadily massaging the softness while his other hand thumbed over your nipples. 

How was it possible that this man knew you more than you’d known yourself?

You’d felt the build up hitting you faster than you’d realized. Your thighs had given in—quivering in the wake of your release. “Atta girl.” He’d leaned in and gave you an appreciative kiss, smiling against your lips. His palms circled around your hips to turn you over before you’d known what had hit you. 

Your head rested against the cool metal of the shelves, catching your breath from the intensity. His thumb traced over the dampness of your panty hose. Groaning at the sensation of how turned on you were just by grinding pathetically against him.

“This wet already, desperate lil’ thing.” He mumbled. Placing a few kisses against your pulse point.

A hand slid down to knead the globe of your ass. The sight of you earned a hum of admiration from behind you. If only you’d known just how many nights he’d spent, fucking his fist, thinking about the sight of your pretty ass fucked to the hilt that night.

He hooked a finger over your panty hose, clicking his tongue at just how inaccessible it’d been. You felt a cold gust of air followed by a ripping sound. You didn’t have time to reprimand him when the sensation of two fingers tentatively slid up your clit, down to your slick folds—effectively shutting you up. Wiggling your hips backwards, you attempted to urge him deeper. 

He tutted once more. Pressing down on your lower back to hold you in place. Reminding you on patience. Not that you even cared at this point. Your eyes widened at the sensation of his thick fingers finally sliding into your aching cunt, scissoring through the tight valleys of your velvety warm pussy. You’d let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

You found yourself whining. Growing frustrated. He’d let you move back against him, your pussy sucking his fingers back in everytime he pulled it out just a little. Your senses hyper focused on chasing the release you felt yourself closing in to once more. A loud clunk caused you to snap your head up, catching the sight of him unbuckling his belt over your shoulders with a half-lidded look. 

“Back t’reality sweetheart? Ain’t done with you, far from it.” He gripped around his lanyard to toss his security keycard over his shoulder. Holding you secure and snug on both sides of your waist.

He could come just from the sight alone.

You felt the heat of his cock slide against your folds, gathering the slick that had him slipping back out every time he’d attempted to fuck his tip into your pussy—Earning a gasp from both Joel and yourself when he did manage to notch his cockhead in.

“Fuck me, sweetheart, it’s a slip’n’slide out here.” 

You looked over your shoulder. Frowning through your fucked out gaze. He chuckled, a sound that only made you throb all the more. He’d raised a hands up in defense at your glare.

He guided the base of his cock with a firm grip—feeding you his cock. Inch by inch. 

You gripped tightly against the shelf. Eyes rolled back at just the sensation of him filling you up after he’d been such a goddamn tease. You’d managed to catch him off guard by grinding backwards, he hissed at the tightness of your pussy, choking him like vice, forcing him to bottom out in you.

A low groan leaves his lips at the sight. Head lolled to the side at how perfect you fit against him. His hips began to rock steadily around you, not even having to move much with how you were eagerly bouncing against him. 

He smirks at the sight, leaning back to observe. Allowing you to set the pace. Gently rubbing down both sides of your hips as a soothing gesture. 

Joel couldn't handle it any longer. He needed to fuck you like you deserved. 

“Still owe you an apology, sweetheart.”

You’d let out a sharp gasp when he’d tugged you harshly up against him. His arm coming up across your chest. Anchoring you in place before he starts to jackhammer into your pussy.

“F-Fuck, Joel!”

He gripped underneath your jaw, tilting your head back–kissing you sloppily, drowning your reverent moans into his mouth. He’d set the pace, fucking you hard until the shelves rattled underneath your combined weight. His sweat mixed into yours in the almost intolerable heat your bodies emitted.

You’d probably come again, you didn’t know, didn’t care. Feeling Joel’s grunts and gasps was enough to send you over the edge. 

“Tight pussy’s gonna be the death of me.” He gasped against your neck. Nose rubbing against your cheeks. 

“M’gonna come.” He managed, barely. “Please baby, tell me I can come inside you.”

You mewled at his words. The breathy way he’d practically begged you for permission. Grinding against him in finality–you nodded desperately when two fingers rubbed against your clit. 

“Yes, f-fuck, yes.”

With renewed fervour, he’d buried his head into the crook of your neck—rutting into you until you felt his hips stutter. Feeling his heavy breathing as he held you snug against him, your smaller hands gripped around his hand that was flattened against your chest. He could feel you pulsing in your own release around him and that was enough to tip him over the edge.

He grunted into your shoulder, pumping you with ropes of his hot come. Filling you deep. 

He’d pulled out of your pussy after a few seconds with a slick pop, his thumb swiping against your entrance, two fingers stuffing the come dribbling out back into you. You’d briefly glanced back to see a lazy smile curled up one side of his lips.

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder. Firm hands adjusting your skirt back into place.

“C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛ DESPERATION INCARNATE yan! xiao / gn! reader

in every life, he had sworn to protect you. in every life, he had failed. in this life, he'll make sure that it won't happen again. to keep the you in this life from ever slipping away from him like you did so many times before.

in which xiao falls in love with you in every life and slowly goes insane.

( reincarnation au, w4r, lots of blo0dshed and decápitation, graphic description of vi0lence, mention of xiao's sl4very, deáth... lots of it, sort of enabler aether but for a lil bit, the beginnings of a yandere, angst. lots of it as well )

“you know, yéyé says that if you make a wish on a dandelion seed, then your wishes will come true!”

the unnamed adeptus fixes his golden gaze on a fellow prisoner, sitting across from him with a bright smile. the prisoners around them have given up already, with their dull, glazed eyes and the repeated prayers of deàth spilling from their cracked lips. but this odd one, although their face caked with grime and their hair matted from bloòd, smiles at him from the darkness.

“... dandelion seed?” he goes, not bothering to wince or be embarrassed by his raspy voice. this dull life strips you of your dignity and pride. there’s no use in saving face when you’re looking at deàth right in the eyes. “i have never heard of such a thing.”

“oh, you don’t know?” the little prisoner cocks their head at him. “it’s a curious thing! it’s a flower with fluffy petals covering the middle part. yéyé said that whenever he takes a walk on the borders between liyue and mondstadt, he’d pick some for himself and make a wish!”

the adeptus scoffs. “wishes have no place in my world. actions must be taken if you want results. your grandfather sounds foolish. now be quiet, lest you want the god to take care of that noisy tongue of yours.”

his fellow mate sticks said tongue out at him and gives him a dirty glare. “how rude! my yéyé is the smartest one in our village, you know. he takes a record of all the crops harvested. he’s veeery important! besides, don’t you want to know what he wished for?”

he sighs. it wouldn’t hurt to indulge this one’s yapping for a little more time. the painful groans were starting to take a toll on him and conversation, no matter how foolish the premise sounded, was a nice change of pace. even if his throat was hurting from use because of the god’s neglect to give them drinkable water. “what is it, then?”

they grin at him. “he wished for mondstadt’s harsh winds to disappear! isn’t he cool?”

“why wouldn’t he use the wish for himself?” he cocks his head. “it seems to be more efficient and logical.”

the little prisoner stares at them from behind their bars.

“... what.”

“you are so dull to talk to.”

ugh, this little—! they were the one who started the conversation! before alatus could snap something back, they fall back dramatically and shake their head at him in a pitying manner. “wishes aren’t made to be efficient and logical, stupid! they won’t always work! that’s why they’re just wishes!”

he decides that this thing is absolutely aggravating to talk to, but he won’t deny that he likes their company. “then what’s the use of doing something so useless?”

they laugh. it echoes through their cell, a pleasant tune before it escapes through the bars and gets lost in the sad symphony of groans and lifeless pleas. they continue to laugh like they were underneath liyue’s vast blue skies instead of an underground tomb. “isn’t it obvious, mister adeptus? it’s for hope!

“if you wish on a dandelion and blow the seeds away, your wish will be carried for all of teyvat to hear! and then– and then! even if it’s just a teeny bit of hope, you’ll start to feel that everything can be possible!”

“sounds inefficient.”

“that’s why i said you’re so dull to talk to.”

“hmph.”

“i don’t understand why you keep coming back down here, mister adeptus,” comes the familiar cheery voice of his once prison mate. the surrounding cells are all empty, filled with corpses of the dead long gone. the young god has no time to spare any thought for the useless mortals hanging in his underground prison. the adeptus slides a tray of milk and bread between the bars and into the lap of a grinning face.

even you, he thinks as he examines their sallow face and dry lips. you have been forgotten.

 “you have plenty of companions upstairs. shouldn’t you be celebrating and parading around with them? i heard through the cracks that you’ve got plenty of rice wine to waste.”

“they are not my companions,” he snaps, but they don’t flinch as they snack on the food. “they’re fools who waste their time mindlessly partying and deriving pleasure from the pain of the weak. and i’m… i am nothing more than the god’s plaything.”

he sinks to the ground, sighing. “... [your name],” he whispers, staring at them tearfully from behind bars. “i will get us out of here, i promise.” his hands, shaking and caked with blood, gently reach for their cheek. it’s rough and awfully thin, and something in his chest breaks whenever he sees such a beautiful thing covered in dirt like they were nothing. “i’ll get you back to your village. i’ll make sure that you’ll see your grandfather and your siblings again.”

their hands squeeze his lightly, not having the energy to reciprocate his tenderness like they used to. “i know,” they whisper back to him. they smile up at him, though it is now weak and shaky. “... your hair is green.”

his brows knit together in confusion, but they brush back a few stray strands and smile at the feel of it in their palm. “... i’ve never seen a dandelion, you know. but my yéyé says that dandelions are green. i don’t know if it’s this shade of green but…” you close your eyes and chuckle. “it’s nice to know that i have my own dandelion right in front of me.”

“...?!”

“my dandelion… i have a wish to make,” you mumble to him. alatus closes in, ready to serve you your heart’s deepest desires.

“anything… anything you want, [your name], i’ll make it come true. so…!”

“smile for me, will you?” you peer up at him, watching confusion take over his delicate yet rough features. “you always look so sad. as my dearest friend…

“my only wish is that i see you smile. even if it’s just once.”

the adeptus returns the next day, milk and bread on a tray once more. they are wasted on the floor.

a corpse smiles from the shadows of the cell.

he thinks back to the wish he couldn’t fulfill yesterday. try as he might, it’s hard to stretch his lips into a genuine smile.

maybe it’s because he’s collapsed on the ground, yelling in pain as his whole world blissfully sleeps in the corner.

maybe it’s because whenever he tries to smile, it doesn’t feel right.

not when there’s no one to smile for anymore.

the end is nowhere in sight, yet rex lapis keeps pushing forward.

alatus’ spear plunges into the guts of the demons, spurting black blood over his lithe body as he pulls it out. around him, his fellow yakshas are also hard at work. bosacius tears bodies apart with his four bare hands, splattering more blood and leaving a gruesome sight behind. menogias clicks his tongue and furrows his eyes at the electro yaksha in disapproval.

“can’t you be a bit more graceful, bosacius?” he steps out of the way as bonanus and indarias team up to fling a particularly mighty foe across his way. “these corpses are dismal to look at!”

bosacius laughs boisterously, hoisting an enemy up in the air and cracking their skull on a rock in one fell swoop. “i can’t be bothered, brother! this is the way bosacius fights! with bare hands and strength! corpses are not meant to be looked at anyway!” crack. crack. the gruesome sounds of his fighting are lost in the sounds of war around them.

with a clever twist of his body, alatus sends a corpse to the four-handed idiot to which he skillfully catches without even sparing a glance. “less talking, more fighting,” he says ever so curtly. “rex lapis requires our immediate assistance. do not dally.”

bosacius and menogias send each other a knowing glance, quite familiar with alatus’ undying loyalty to their senior adeptus. the fighting continues and alatus continues to let himself get lost in the chaos, never minding the mysterious ache that binds his chest tighter and tighter with every demon purged. when the battle is won, no one celebrates. it’s hard to, when you feel the blood of the thousands you have massacred drying on your skin. alatus approaches rex lapis, his toned back shadowed by the rising sun as he overlooks the aftermath of the war.

“you’ve fought well, alatus,” rex lapis’ deep voice acknowledges him, brown eyes still steady on the horizon. “you do well to keep the contract.”

“i do not need a contract to serve you, rex lapis,” alatus starts humbly, lowering his gaze in respect. “i owe you my freedom and life.”

“you say that, yet i now have you enslaved to kill for another cause. to me, there is no difference.” rex lapis casts a glace on his most loyal follower. “yet you say that i have given you freedom.”

alatus takes note of the dry bitterness underneath rex lapis’ otherwise gravel tone. “i have signed the contract of my own free will,” he professes, daring to gaze his golden eyes into his lord’s similar ones. “you need not worry about me, my lord.”

rex lapis chuckles, before beckoning alatus to his side. “look at her harsh winds and cold peaks,” the senior adeptus muses. “our nation is blessed with vast plains and tall mountains, but our neighbors shoulder the bitter cold while fighting their side of the archon war.”

“indeed,” alatus could only say. “but your victory is sure now, my lord. soon you will rebuild liyue to glory once you’ve taken the seat of the seven.”

“mmm, yes,” rex lapis hums. “the war nears its end. seven victors from different nations, including bitter and wintry mondstadt. i wonder what sort of archon will rise from mondstadt. our borders are joined together— while violetgrass root themselves on the stony sides of our mountains, their dandelions withstand harsh winds even as their seeds threaten to fly. perhaps their new archon can give them a home where they can grow unbothered, while i build our citizens to be as resilient as a violetgrass.”

… dandelions…

“apologies for the unnecessary question, my lord, but… have you seen a dandelion?”

“oh, they’re curious little things indeed. native to mondstadt. if guizhong had time, she used to walk by the borders and pluck them to make a wish.”

alatus’s breath hitches at the familiar tale. “... what did she wish for, if i would be permitted to know?”

rex lapis’ lips turn into a half-smile, hardened eyes softening at the memories of a dear friend long gone. “she wished for liyue to prosper under my rule. never used a wish on herself.”

“... huh.” the wind blows back alatus’s matted hair, revealing forlorn eyes as they gaze at the sun. “... i wonder why they all do that.”

“does this all sound familiar to you, alatus?” the younger adeptus looks up to see his lord gazing at him with a soft look. alatus shakes his head and straightens his back, taking on the stance of a soldier once again.

“no. this is not the time for me to be concerned with another nation’s trivialities.” he bows his head to the adeptus and starts to make his exit. he doesn’t know why, but a gloved hand takes one of the stray strands of hair self-consciously and turns back to rex lapis. “another question… if i may be so impudent to ask.”

“impudence is not a word to be used on you, alatus. go ahead.”

for a moment, alatus’s confused and conflicted face makes him look like the young adeptus rex lapis saved from the hands of a cruel god. now he is not a battle-hardened soldier, but a lost boy who doesn’t know what to do. “... is the shade of my hair… similar to that of a dandelion?”

the older adeptus cocks his head at the unusual question. “far from it, no.” he studies alatus’s look of disappointment as he lets go of the strand. “why do you ask?”

“... nothing, my lord.”

moments of respite like this are rare in this current era of warfare, so soldiers cherish every single second of it. but for alatus who has only known bloodshed ever since his days at the mercy of the young god, this temporary peacefulness is a waste of time. in a camp just outside of liyue harbor, alatus and his fellowmen idle around a crackling campfire.

“you’re too fidgety, alatus-gē,” pervases laughs as he takes a bite out of his grilled ticker fish. he raises one to alatus’s face. “care for one?” when the senior adeptus scowls and turns his head away, he shrugs and scoffs it down stick and all in one gulp. “more for me then.”

“those malevolent gods continue to let their underlings rampage as we sit here and idle,” alatus frowned at the seemingly peaceful campsite of his fellow yakshas and even a few outstanding mortal warriors. “we should be making plans and calling reinforcements. the war will not end unless we bring that monster down to its watery grave.”

“oh my,” comes a motherly sigh. a young woman with silvery gray hair smiles slyly at alatus. her slender figure stretches across the log serving as a seat in front of the campfire, the cleansing bell tinkling delicately at her side. “you youngsters are quite eager to get into danger these days. not everyone has the energy to keep battling, you know? why i—” she sighs mournfully, pressing her fingers to a supple cheek “— even i need my beauty sleep. charging into the fray daily with no rest is just too much!”

“ping,” he addresses the newcomer. “i see that you are as vain as ever. if you’re not willing to put your all into this war, why did you even enter the contract?”

“i am upholding my end of the contract,” huffs ping. “but only within reason! you’re the one who’s out of reason.” she waves him off with her hand, shooing him off like a stray dog. “take a walk or something. call it a night patrol to ease yourself. i’m afraid your scowl is going to affect me and give me wrinkles.”

alatus takes a good moment to ponder the suggestion before he feels ping’s eyes narrowing at him threateningly. with a deep sigh, he takes his spear with him and teleports himself to a quiet walkway some ways off the guili assembly. war had touched this side of liyue too, it seemed, with swords rusted with blood plunged to the ground and tattered kerchiefs belonging to soldiers waving solemnly in the air. alatus knows this place to once been the safe haven of rex lapis and the late guizhong’s people before the war took the sweet goddess’ life and perished her to dust. now it is mere ruins, a reminder of the evil deities are willing to commit for power.

alatus has years of battle experience under his belt, but it doesn’t make the feeling any better as he stares at these relics. he focuses his gaze on the moon and walks by.

… rumble rumble…

a weathering wall shakes just a few steps away, alerting alatus’s senses. he quickly arms his spear as he vigilantly approaches the spot. the place is teeming with ruin guards and other dangerous mechanisms and although mindless machines are no match for him, alatus is not one to underestimate an opponent. when he peeks around the corner, it is not the eerie glowing eye of a machine but a pair of eyes about to glaze over.

covered in soot and dirt, a raspy voice tries to speak out, “w… wa… ter…”

alatus blinks in surprise when he finds a human instead but quickly teleports somewhere to get drinkable water. in a moment, he appears again in front of them and swiftly tips the saucer into their mouth. gently lifting their head, he watches as they desperately glug down the water. some of it spills from the sides, but the light in their eyes quickly revives until they pull away with a gasp.

“ugh… ha! i thought i was a goner there!”

alatus freezes.

two shining [eye color] eyes peer up at him gratefully as a wide grin spreads across their face.

“thanks a lot, mister adeptus.”

they are escorted into liyue harbor. alatus does not talk to them or even spare them a glance, afraid of whatever feelings that may arise should he do so. he’s aware of the curious glance they send his way, scrutinizing his every inch. he doesn’t like how they stare at him with awe and absolute trust. this is an era of warring gods, where adepti like him dig into flesh and blood to pursue their ambition. fools who cling to whoever feeds them die easily.

they continue staring. it feels like fire as his guilt and memories long pushed away pour from his heart and threaten to consume him whole. his steps feel heavier, as if any second now and the earth will cave in and send him straight to hell. unconsciously, his eyes glance back to them and they… smile.

it hurts.

flashes of a corpse long gone come back to him and he tears his eyes away. he shakes this haunting feeling away, yet their stare that bears the weight of decades' guilt continues to burden him all the way to camp.

"ping," he says gruffly, catching the attention of the group. everyone's a bit startled at the arrival of a newcomer, a dusty and malnourished one at that, but even more so that alatus decided to trek uphill instead of just conveniently teleporting himself. "take care of this one," is all he curtly says before plopping down underneath a tree and closing his eyes.

ping huffs in disdain and gives him a dirty look, but quickly changes it to give the newcomer a warm smile. “come now, sweetie,” she coos, placing a comforting palm on the small of their back and escorting them to the bonfire. “you’re positively shivering! it makes sense, given that that yaksha’s always so cold.” at this alatus grunts, but she doesn’t pay him any mind. “here’s some soup and a blanket to cover you with. my gosh, you’re so dirty! what have you been doing? playing around in the mud?”

you eagerly take her up on her offer, and soon you’re swaddled in a thick blanket and bowl of carrot soup to enjoy in front of the fire. “i was actually studying some of the leftover ruins at the assembly. i thought that maybe i could get some useful things and use them for myself.”

ping gasps dramatically at your story– a young adult scrapping for leftovers in the middle of the war– and alatus rolls his eyes. “poor, poor thing!” she cries and draws you in for a hug. “don’t worry. here at morax’s camp, you won’t have to suffer through that anymore! you’ll be cared for until we can find a suitable place for you and the other survivors to live!”

you laugh. “i think you have the wrong impression, ms. adeptus, i’ve had it pretty easy compared to others during this war. what i’ve been scrapping are materials!”

ping cocks her head, and alatus even peeks out from the tree he’s hiding behind. “materials, darling?”

“yes! screws, tree bark, metal, you name it. i’m finding them so i can continue making my gadgets.” you fish into your bag, and they can hear the clanking of metal and other stuff as you sift through the mess. “ah, here it is, one of my favorites!” you pull out a curious box, the cuhui wood engraved with liyuean details. you gently snap the box open and reveal a little figurine made out of precious stone, frozen in an elegant twirl reminiscent of liyue’s traditional dances. you begin to crank the little knob at its side, and when you release it a pleasant tinkling of sounds fills the night air.

ping stares wide-eyed at the pretty treasure, listening to its sounds with a fond look on her face. even pervasive hums as he gnaws on his nth fish, his scratchy voice humming along with the old lullaby. other nearby campers close their eyes and let their minds wander for a while, to a place where lullabies such as this sang all day and wars didn’t raze grass and civilians to the ground. for a moment, they let themselves be deluded into a moment of peace.

when the tinkling fades away, only the crackling of the fire remains. “pretty, isn’t it?” it takes ping a moment to snap out of her trance before nodding enthusiastically.

“quite! oh, if it didn’t look so perfect slotted between your hands, i might have snatched it for myself! although,” she nervously chuckles, feeling the stern gaze of the silent adeptus lounging behind the tree. “i might not have the chance anyway. a certain someone has been glaring at me ever since i conceived the thought.”

“maybe he wants it for himself?” pervases jokes. “he could do with it, what with all that stress.”

“hmph, i’ve no need for such trivial things.” he goes back to resting against the trunk without another word.

ping sighs and shakes her head at you, like a disappointed mother. “he’s always like that,” she laments. “he’s morax’s most faithful servant, i’ll tell you that, but sometimes it makes me wonder what will happen after this war is over. surely he won’t be going around slaughtering monsters?!” she raises her hand to her mouth like the thought was too unforgivable.

pervases hummed, thinking hard and long about how his senior would act in a time of peace. “hmm… i think alatus-ge would like to fish. he seems like the type.”

the image of the bloody general fishing floats above your three heads. ping waves it away. “as if!” she scoffs. “he’d just spear the fish and be done with it!”

“what kind of person do you think alatus-ge is…?”

“alatus, alatus!”

something twists at his gut, a mix of anticipation and dread, but he stops in his tracks to wait for you. you catch your breath beside him. “you’re so fast for someone so short!” you complain. “how do you do it?”

“slowness isn’t an option on the battlefield,” alatus curtly says before turning to assess. you’re covered head to toe in dirt, and your fingers are covered in grime like you’ve been digging. he sighs and rubs a speck of dirt from your cheek. “another one of your foraging hunts? you can always tell me if you need something. it’s too dangerous outside the camp.”

“i used to tell you, didn’t i?” you pout. “but you can’t tell the difference between a cork and a screw!”

alatus blushes. he can’t really wrap his head around these machineries. whenever you and cloud retainer got into one of your excited conversations about tinkering and machinery, alatus could only pretend like everything you just said didn’t make his head spin. if you got into another of your rants about the intricacies of machines or whatever, everything you said went into one ear and out the other.

“but you still listen, don’t you?” ping and pervases teased him with knowing grins. he had hit them over the head after that.

“... tus! alatus! ugh, you’re not listening again!” you had gotten into a lecture of the differences between corks and screws, but now you shake him by the shoulder with furrowed brows. “you’re always like this. is machinery really too hard for you?”

“everyone has their strengths.” he ruffles your hair, smiling softly when you visibly relax. “you wouldn’t want me to tell you about how to efficiently kill geovishaps, do you?” when you make a face, he laughs slightly. “thought so.”

“they just… ugh. they just smell so bad!”

“... they smell like rocks.”

as the two of you finish the rest of his patrol, alatus doesn’t miss a moment to watch your every movement. here, under the red rays of dusk, you look so alive. your cheeks could be healthier, but alatus is comforted with the knowledge that you stuffed yourself full this morning. your eyes have a twinkle in them, not the last sparks of ember that you had tried to hold on for so long. and you smile… because you want to. not because you had to. not because you had to comfort your fellow friend in prison.

“looks like we’ve walked too far,” alatus comments, sighting the dandelions swaying in the distance. “we should head back to camp before it gets too dark.”

“oooh, dandelions,” you muse. you and alatus stand side by side, taking in the dandelions swaying in their pastel heads swaying in the wind. “i heard they were pretty, but seeing them in person is better.”

standing by your side, alatus takes in your countenance. there is an indistinguishable look in your eyes as you watch their seeded heads bob and sway, your smile somewhere between content and forlorn. the setting sun paints your face with an orange hue, only serving to make you look as if you’ve come out of an oil painting itself. alatus’s breath hitches and he tears his eyes away from you.

self-consciously, he rubs a teal strand of his hair before tucking it back. “do… does my hair…” you turn your gaze to him questioningly, and his pale face burns at the embarrassing predicament he’s put himself in. “does my hair look like the dandelions?”

you stare at him for quite some time, only blinking and not saying anything, before you tilt your head back and laugh. alatus’s face only reddens further and he hits you with his elbow in his embarrassment. you only continue to laugh, even as alatus is beginning to throttle you and beg you to pay no heed to his words. when you’re done laughing, alatus huffs at you and refuses to look at you.

“oh, you… silly adeptus, i would have mistaken you for a pure-hearted maiden there!” you giggle into your hand, and alatus’s brows knit themselves in huffiness as you continue to tease him. “come on, you have eyes. they’re not even close in color!”

he kicks you lightly in the shin, before turning around and walking off to the distance. “come on. let’s head to camp before night,” he says as if nothing’s happened. you stare at his back for a while, a teasing smile on your face, before shaking it off and hurrying to catch up to him. when you catch up to him, you leap at him with your arms around his neck, ruffling his hair with a bright smile on your face.

“don’t be too grumpy, alatus!” you laugh, even as he sends you a look of frustration. “once this is all over, we’ll come back to this place and make wishes on those dandelions!”

“don’t forget about me, mister servant,” you lightly laugh behind your bars. “bring me lots of food, okay? then once you get me outta here, we’ll have a big ol’ feast at my yéyé’s.”

one of the guards tug at alatus’s shackles but he clings to your cell even as they grunt and pull. “[your name], i’m not leaving you! i can’t! i won’t!”

you chuckle. “stupid mister adeptus. who’s going to swipe cake for me then? now go, shoo.” you wave him away, smiling weakly. “i know you’ll come back for me. you always will.”

you’ve always had a knack for being the unluckiest person alive. even if your smile was so bright that it seemed to ward off evil, tragedy always seemed to tightly coil around your neck like a noose. he wanted to be the one to cut it off, in both the last life and this.

once again, he always seemed to be too late.

“they’ve broken through the formation!” indarias yells, slamming a fiery fist through her enemies. the pyro-blessed yaksha, usually so playful and coy, looks at her comrades with panic. “there’s no one left at the camp to defend them anymore. they’re— they’re all—!” she swallows down the bitter reality, pervases and her other comrades’ gored bodies flashing through her mind. “the civilians can’t defend themselves from all those monsters!”

“shit.” menogias slices through a foe and turns to their youngest, standing atop a pile of bloodied corpses. karmic debt wraps him and the other yakshas like a dense fog, and it gets harder to breathe with every passing second. still, he calls out to him.

“alatus—!”

the young yaksha only spares him a golden glance, before slipping the bloodied mask on. “you don’t have to tell me twice.” and he disappears into the air.

you are not there when he reappears at the camp. no one is. everything is on fire, and he can barely see what’s in front of him thanks to all the smoke and ashes polluting the air. he hisses at the burning in his lungs, but he perseveres forward as he strains his ears for any signs of life. the faint clashing of weapons and maniacal laughter is far away, but they grow stronger as he continues.

he steps on something… fleshy. growing dread rises within him as he slowly looks down.

that… is a severed hand.

biting his tongue, he rushes forward through the sea of flames. more and more decapitated limbs and bodies litter the area. arms, legs, torsos, feet… the handiwork of psychopaths, no doubt. because an ordinary soldier would not do this. not to civilians. not to people who could not defend themselves. he sees no face to mourn for. he sees no head to remember.

roars of laughter peal through the air as he braves a wall of fire. as the sky is dyed red with both fire and dawn, alatus’ face pales when he sees the enemies marching around as they shout triumphantly into the chaos.

your head, beautiful as he had always remembered, parades past him on a wooden stake.

when karmic debt takes over, he doesn’t remember anything the next morning when he sobs and cradles your sleeping face, surrounded by the bodies of foes and allies alike.

in your next life, you are both strangers. he looks high and low for you in liyue, but he does not find you.

celestia orders the seven archons to launch an attack on khaenri’ah, and alatus and whoever is left of the adepti is ordered by rex lapis to stand by in liyue and eliminate any escaped khaenri’ahns. although he has nothing against them, he is more than happy to follow his lord’s commands, because he has nothing else left to do but do his duty.

surely enough, the khaenri’ahns have found some escape route that leads up to liyue. unfortunately for them, alatus and the others are there to massacre them without hesitation.

in one of the escapees, his eyes widen behind his mask as he meets your scared eyes. in this life, they have diamonds in them, and they stare back at him with fear and unfamiliarity rather than mischief and friendliness. he thinks you still look beautiful.

even as he drives a spear through your chest.

when the massacre is finished, he tries to find your body. but there are too many of you, bodies upon bodies and the stench of death heavy in the air. he cannot find you, his pearl, in this bloody sea of corpses.

years have passed, and he has not seen you since.

well, that would be a bit false. he does see you, but not… you. he does not walk with you in flower fields to admire your face bathed in sunlight nor does he watch you rummage through ruins for scraps of metal and machines. he does not idly chat with you behind bars to pass the time away nor does he help soft bread to your chapped lips as he comforts you with promises of your freedom and your yéyé.

he sees an image of you, the hallucination that his karmic debt has conjured for him in his nightmares. you smile at him ever so sweetly, joining him in his bed at wangshu inn. you’re always so pure and pretty in your nightdress when you sidle up to him to share in his warmth. but when you lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, alatus’ eyes shoot wide open as he feels your hand wrap around his neck and squeeze. he should fight, he could fight, but how could he? your face is twisted in hatred and disappointment, whispering to him about his betrayal and failure to save you. ‘you killed me, you left me, you fed me to the dogs.’

how could he fight back, when all you have said is the truth?

and so alatus, now named xiao, wakes up for another day drenched in his sweat and tears.

he is patrolling guili plains when he spots a familiar head of gold and the tinier head of white walking idly through the grasses. it’s not unusual for aether and paimon to be here, but they’ve thoroughly explored and exhausted this area of any treasures, and last he heard they were in fontaine. he hides away in a tree, observing their usual back and forth as they seem to wait for someone.

“like i’m saying, they’re an hour late!” paimon fumes, stomping the air as she throws a tantrum. “what if someone happened to them? oooh, paimon knew we should’ve picked them up from mondstadt! they’re always so clumsy!”

“oh, don’t get your crown in a twist, paimon,” aether says, nonchalant as ever. he glances towards xiao’s way and hums to himself, as if partaking in a fun little secret (he’s always been so perceptive, xiao muses), and takes a bite out of his sunsettia. “geniuses like [your name] are always like that. losing track of time, getting caught up in some curious thing they encountered on their way… they’ll be here soon, promise.” he hands out his half-eaten sunsettia to paimon. “sunsettia?”

“ew, gross! don’t hand paimon your leftovers!”

xiao perks at the familiar name, opening one eye as he lazily ruminates the familiar syllables in his head. [your name], [your name], [your name]... like he could ever forget that. he whispers it in his sleep, prays to your hallucination like a god, screams it every morning… [your name], [your name], [your name]... he watches aether finish his sunsettia and sighs to himself. he shouldn’t be silly. numerous people with your name have appeared in liyue ever since he’s last seen you, and not one of them was you. he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

“— iiii’mmm! so, so sorry!” a sobbed yelp breaks the peace of the plains from the distance. a hefty backpack overshadows the figure carrying it, running as fast as they can with the weight on them. they skid to a stop in front of the traveler and paimon, who greets the newcomer with an amused smile and a huffy face. the backpack ungracefully lands on the grass with a loud clang, and its owner falls alongside it as they try to catch their breath. “i’m so— huff— sorry! i was— hah— on my way here when i— huff— came across a travelling merchant. they had all these goods from fontaine and i— hah— couldn’t resist!”

paimon once again stomps the air. “well, you should try to be more mindful from now on! it’s rude!”

“i’m so~ory,” the eccentric figure whines pitifully. they rummage through their bag and pull out a pretty tin box, the kind used to store cookies. “forgive me, paimon?” in the usual paimon fashion, her eyes twinkle upon seeing the pretty sugar cookies stored inside, and upon the first bite all is finally forgiven.

“hm, is it just me or is someone watching us…?” they wonder, looking around the guili plains for any signs of life. “i feel this, uh, weird pressure. or am i just delusional…?”

when they turn, xiao catches their eyes through the canopy of leaves on the tree he’s occupying. his breath hitches, his eyes widen, and the world seems to halt to a stop.

you unknowingly lock eyes with the adeptus, cocking your head as you try to find the stranger peeking on your little group.

you blink when the pressure is finally gone, and you look back at the highly perceptive traveler in confusion. he only regards you with a small smile and shrugs.

“you’re awfully interested in the engineer, don’t you think?” aether playfully muses as he walks in on one of xiao’s rare times of relaxation. he lounges on wangshu inn’s balcony as he overlooks the scenery beneath him, almond tofu in hand. “why don’t you greet them for yourself then?”

xiao doesn’t spare him a glance as he brings a spoon of the silken food to his mouth. “unnecessary.”

aether rolls his eyes, taking the spot next to xiao as he studies the adeptus with a smile. “don’t be like that, you introvert. you’re always following us around while they go study liyue’s machines. i’m sure zhongli would be pleased to know that you have friends outside of us and the other adepti.” xiao scowls when aether uses his lord as a guilt trip, but doesn’t comment any further. “[your name]’s a wonderful person, if not a bit ditzy at times. i think they and cloud retainer would get aloong quite well if they ever met each other.”

he thinks back to your second life, where you chattered the night away with the crane adeptus about machinery and the like. bathed in the glow of the campfire, alatus would only dare observe from a distance as you talked passionately with stars in your eyes. aether observes as xiao’s eyes soften. “they did.”

the traveller huffs a laugh, slumping his cheek against the wooden railing as he looks out to the scenery too. “reincarnation, huh? there were things like that in other worlds as well.”

he’d never admit it, but he had always been pleased by the fact that aether had the shared experience of living for eras, if not longer. the other adepti were never close to humans, but aether and his sister had always walked alongside mortals in order to observe their stories. xiao lets the wind graze his cheek. “... did you ever have someone you wanted as well?”

“i made many friends but…” aether quirks a small smile, tapping his fingers on the wood lightly. “my sister was really all i needed.” he notes the hidden pain in his voice. “we’ve traversed many worlds together, and we will always have eternity together. but you don’t have someone like that.”

golden eyes meet golden, and xiao shudders at the sly look that aether gives him.

“well, unless you do something to change that.”

‘damn you, aether.’ the traveller’s always been sort of a bastard hiding behind gentle manners and a pretty smile, but he never thought that he’d stoop so low as to awaken the dark feelings that he’s kept repressed for so long. ‘sly dog.’ he makes a mental note to not react when aether calls for him next as some sort of petty revenge.

today, you are alone. your backpack is lighter, thankfully, otherwise you would not be able to travel through the huaguang stone forest’s cliffs and falls. he’s joined you on this journey since you started a few days back, but he continues to grow with paranoia every time he sees you walk too close to the edge. he’s also saved you a few times, summoning wind to stabilize a shaky glide or carrying you further away from the edge when you started rolling in your sleep.

his heart twists when he settles you back in your sleeping bag. he takes in your sleeping face, murmuring nonsense in your sleep, and the sides of his lips tug into an unconscious smile. you’ve always had that habit in the lives that he’s known you in, and he pushes aside the strands of hair to take a clearer look at your face. when the babbling subsides, your dopey grin relaxes itself, and the heartaches begin once again. so many times he’s watched over you like this, but the last time he had was… was when you were…

your face, peaceful and oblivious, overlaps to a bloody, dismembered one. xiao inhales sharply and shakes the image out of his head.

he starts with your cheek, caressing it softly with his calloused fingers as he revels in your warmth. they trace every feature— your fluttering eyelids, the in-betweens of your eyes, your twitching nose— until his thumb presses on your lip. this was not a luxury he could afford back then, but now, now.

‘i can protect you in this world.’ he thinks. his lips brush against yours, but he does not lean in further.

‘all my past transgressions, i will make it up to you.’

you smile in your sleep peacefully, just as you did... so many years ago.

you appear in xiao’s dream once more.

it starts off the same as always. you are draped in fine liyue silk, batting those innocent eyes at him as you call him to your shared bed. he knows what will happen next, having relieved this for centuries on end. you will crawl upon him, you will wrap those hands around his neck, and you will admonish him. xiao stares at the alluring image of you and does not budge from the foot of the bed.

“[your name], come to me.” your image cocks its head in confusion, but you follow anyway. now that he’s met the real you, he can clearly see the difference. your hair isn’t that shade, your eyes are much too wide and— ah, his image of you has slowly been creeping away from his mind after years of separation. the thought of it twists his heart.

he watches you crawl over to him, tempting and innocent like a newly wed bride. you sit on your knees dutifully, awaiting his next command. he reaches out, strokes your hair— it’s not as soft as this in real life— and smiles darkly.

“i love you, [your name].”

you smile. “i know.”

“i always have. even after all these years.”

“i know.”

your eyes held so much light and passion than this blank-minded image of you. he inhales. “i’ll miss you.”

you furrow your brows, frowning in confusion at the sudden confession. “alatus, what are you talking about—?!”

xiao’s face is unmoving as he watches you choke on your blood, staring up at him wide-eyed as your hands shakily reach up to the spear embedded through your chest. “a– la– tus…?” he does not respond to your weak call, yellow eyes dull as you bloody his spear and heave with every gasp. “wh– how could…?”

“i’ve met you, [your name],” he whispers. he thumbs away the blood trickling from your lips. he breathes in slowly, knocking his head against yours. your image stares at him in betrayal and fear. “in this life, i’ve finally met you.” he feels your image dissipating and he brings you in closer. “finally. after all these years.”

“a… la… tus…”

“this time. this life. i promise you.” he entangles your bloody hand in his and presses a kiss to it. “we will finally be together.”

“no matter what.”

[maudie-duan]

"When did these statues posing as men arrive? Another stereotype pretending to be understanding, pretending to want the things that you wanted, but like a statue, there was nothing beneath the surface, a cold indifference to everything you were or ever wanted to be. His superficial point of view forever unmoving, incapable of the warmth that love requires, the forgiveness it takes."

Word Count: 7.5k

Pairing: Harry x Ex-Girlfriend Fem!reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST, (a scene of)Verbal Abuse, Dark Themes, Emotional.

When had the romance died?

At what point did you become the impending doom at the end of his day? Because when it was all said and done, this would be the part that would never make sense.

When had his love become the razor-sharp edge of a papercut, igniting with a sudden sting across your tender skin? The burn a superficial pain cutting across the flesh of your life with a sharp intensity that only seemed to wake in his presence the second he took one look at you.

Always angry, always misdirected.

Where did the anger come from, when had it become the tiny microscopic cuts sliced across your skin, stinging with every acidic word that left his mouth, wakening the wound each time you managed to forget it was there. You thought this was a passing phase, but lately, his anger was becoming a harsh reminder that seemed to linger, and your only way of coping was to forget until nights like these, when his words were out like knives.

These were the times you found yourself retreating inward, to a place you had never really mastered, but found yourself floating somewhere between the reality of your awareness, a mental tug-of-war between your presence and your absence. You were there now, you had been there all night, and now, as your vision staggered down to the wine glass trembling in your hand, the crimson liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim, you couldn't remember how many you’d had.

Was it three, maybe four?

You didn’t think to keep track, but you remember feeling the pleasant numbness at some point in the night, the kind of numbness that nestled into your limbs, making evenings like these with Bryan’s friends bearable until now—until Bryan's voice is cutting through all the mundane chatter, his tone unnecessarily sharp, with a cold edge that left a silencing chill as it slowly settled over the room.

"You always do this," he spits, his first slice catching you off guard. It wasn't like the room went quiet right away, but you felt the attention shift, their eyes moving like predators sensing weakness. "You drink too much and then you say stupid shit."

And you blink, trying to process what the trigger could have been this time. Had you said something wrong? And you stood there, your mind rewinding through the foggy haze of the evening, searching for the offense. Maybe it was your comment on his story about work, something about how his boss didn't appreciate him. What did you even say? Something about maybe considering a different approach?

"I don't think I—" you start, but it's too late because Bryan is already building momentum.

"No—that’s it, right? You never think, do you?" As he said the words, you stared into his cold eyes, remembering a time when his blue eyes reminded you of clear summer skies. Now all you saw was ice—beautiful but dangerous, and you felt the chill running down your spine as he continued.

"That's the problem with you. You just fucking talk and talk without considering how it makes me look."

That’s when your eyes darted around, the eerie silence almost as loud as Bryan’s words. The room held a stillness that ached in your bones as six pairs of eyes watched the scene unfold, some with discomfort, others with a twisted morbid fascination. Here was the retreat, and as you began to slip away, you buried yourself inside until there was nothing but a focal point.

These were Bryan's friends, not yours. Never yours. You were always the accessory, the girlfriend who tagged along, who tried too hard to fit into spaces that didn't reflect who you were; it was never a space that you didn't have to force yourself into.

But now, as Bryan's words cut through the sterile silence, you felt that familiar ache of isolation—the kind of isolation that made you question your existence, something you were growing accustomed to, one that was always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be awakened.

You knew you were alone in this room. Completely and utterly alone.

"I was just saying that maybe—"

"Maybe what? Maybe I should let my boss walk all over me like you let everyone walk all over you?" His voice rose then, not quite shouting but loud enough to make you flinch. "Christ, you have no fucking backbone. It's embarrassing."

Each of his words landed like a physical blow as your body began to slouch, as you started to feel your body cave in on itself, and you stood there, taking it, rooted in place, the wine in your glass now perfectly still as your hand gripped the stem with white knuckles.

Whatever shame you felt before for drinking too much was pushed to the back of your mind. You could feel the alcohol at work now, dulling the edges of the pain, almost happy for its relief, but it couldn't eliminate it entirely because something about the tantrum Bryan was so obviously throwing was different this time. Bryan had never exposed you like this—had never skinned you alive, never peeled back the layers of your flesh to showcase to a room full of people. He kept all his gutting within the walls of your home, but now he was opening you up, tearing out all of your insecurities as if you were some kind of cadaver on an examination table.

Someone—was it Mark or David? It didn’t matter at that point—clears their throat awkwardly. "Hey, man, maybe we should—"

"No—she needs to hear this," Bryan interrupts, his fierce focus shifting to solely dismantling you piece by piece. "I’m sick of her walking around like she's so smart, so put together, but look at her. She can’t even handle her alcohol. Can't even have a normal conversation without making everything about her."

Who the fuck was this man standing across from you?

Because this couldn’t be the man you had fallen in love with. When had the love died? Somewhere along the way, it had transformed into this ugly, twisted thing that now stood before you wearing the mask of a man who once used that vicious mouth to whisper sweet nothings against your naked skin in the dark. You found yourself searching his features for any trace of the man who had promised to cherish you, to protect you, to love you until the end of time.

Where had he gone?

All you saw was this stranger, and the agonizing truth was that he was just another man—another man parading through your life, selling dreams of security, of partnership, of forever. This man that you had built up was nothing more than an ordinary man, maybe even considered a nice man to someone else, his strong hands selling strength and stability, promising that they could hold you, keep you safe from the harshness of the world.

When did these statues posing as men arrive? Another stereotype pretending to be understanding, pretending to want the things that you wanted, but like a statue, there was nothing beneath the surface, a cold indifference to everything you were or ever wanted to be. His superficial point of view forever unmoving, incapable of the warmth that love required, the forgiveness it takes.

Even as Bryan continued his tirade about your supposed inadequacies, what struck you most was the innocence his blue eyes still held. It was disorienting—this disconnect between the cruelty of his words and the boyishness that still lingered behind his harsh gaze. It struck a sense of fear that lived somewhere deep within, the kind of fear you never forgot, the fear that haunted you in moments like this—a reminder that you would never lose your youthful fear of grown-up men. To never forget their ability to inflict harm while sheltering behind the naive certainty that they could remain blameless, that every action could be justified in their conviction, the misuse of power as they wielded their moral superiority like weapons, leaving you to shoulder the aftermath.

It scared you, this realization, and the fear swept in like a rising tide, drowning out the voices around you.

"Are you even listening to me—?" He snapped, cutting through your thoughts. "This is exactly what I'm fucking talking about. You just check out when things get difficult."

And you nod, not trusting your voice, your throat burning with all the words you wanted to toss back, but what could you even say? Was it a fight he wanted, or was he just using you as a punching bag for his own insecurities? You knew there was nothing you could say in this moment that wouldn't fuel the fire.

"I think we should go," you finally managed, your voice as small as you felt.

Bryan stared at you for a long moment, and you held your breath, waiting as you watched him decide whether to continue his public execution or grant you a temporary reprieve, and when he finally gave you a curt nod, and said, "Fine. Let's go." your heart hammered in your chest reminding you that you were alive, that you could leave—just leave and escape this nightmare.

But the nightmare wasn't over; it was just beginning.

Because now you would have to say your goodbyes.

So you plastered on your best attempt at a smile as you made your way through the room, feeling the weight of those six pairs of eyes burning at your neck. No one spoke, no one moved to say goodbye. They just sat there like the fucking cowards they all were, frozen in place, spellbound by the show of ruthlessness they had just witnessed. Did they all agree? Or did they too feel disgusted, who was the asshole in this situation?

Did they believe the lies coming from his mouth?

You could feel yourself sinking, your feet treading the ground like mud as the awkward tension ripped through the room, and for some reason you risked a curious glance over your shoulder, but all you were met with was sympathetic glances that raked over your skin like burning coals, while the others averted their eyes as if you were a dog slinking away from a scolding, tethered to Bryan's leash as you trailed behind him. No one had stood up for you. No one had intervened. They had watched as Bryan tore you apart, and they had done nothing—a reminder that you had no allies in this life you had chosen.

The car ride home was worse—a suffocating silence that stole every ounce of oxygen you could muster. You hated yourself, and the statue beside you even more. Bryan drove with both hands gripping the wheel, his skin stretched tight around his knuckles, his jaw clenched, his stone wall continuing to block you out. You couldn't look at him, let him see you sulk in the misery you were slowly becoming, so you stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur together through the tears you were fighting back.

It was in these silent moments lately that you felt your mind drifting across the ocean, to another man, one whose voice carried the inflection of London streets and eyes the green of spring rather than the cold blue of winter. He would have never looked at you the way Bryan had tonight. He wasn't the kind of man who used your vulnerabilities as ammunition. He had seen you—the real you—not as an extension of himself or a trophy to be displayed, but as a person. A man who had loved all your vast complexities, a man who knew you were worthy of gentle handling.

In Bryan’s eyes, however, you were the slaughterhouse—somewhere to process and discard his building frustrations for the world and what he thought was owed to him, all the shortcomings that went beyond your mind's eye, leaving you marked by the deliberate brutality of his words. These wounds would linger far beyond tonight, invisible scars altering your very movement through life—scarred by the cruel intentions of a man who claimed to love you but only knew how to destroy you in the end.

The car came to an abrupt stop in the driveway, and you ripped your eyes forward, taking in the home you had created together, taking in its beauty, already yearning for the warmth it once brought. Once it was a sanctuary, a prideful manifestation of the love and commitment you had shared with Bryan. Now, as you peered out the front windshield, it loomed before you dark like an empty mausoleum, waiting to house the decaying remains of what you once believed was forever.

The tension was still palpable as Bryan killed the engine, but out of instinct, you made no move to exit the car. You didn't know what was coming, and so you waited, hand on the door handle, unsure if another storm was brewing.

"I'm sorry," he finally spoke up, but the words were hollow, performative like you knew they would be. "I shouldn't have said those things in front of everyone. I've just been stressed with work, and you know how I get when I drink..."

That burning lump is back, searing the back of your throat, and you silently nod, accepting the apology that wasn't really an apology at all: another justification, an excuse, a way for him to absolve himself without taking any sense of responsibility—now, add this to the growing list of why this isn't going to work out, and the shittiest part about it all is that you're too tired to fight, too drained to demand more, because when you've been worn down this much, even the slightest kindness granted can feel like a token of salvation.

And that's the part that makes you sick.

When did the promise of silence become such a welcoming factor in your life? A different kind of silence, the kind of silence that doesn't extend the gracious hand of peace to relieve you of your misery. The sort of silence that isn't really silence at all: It's the type that tortures, that amplifies all the noise in your mind, becoming an echo chamber of all the memories, all the doubts, that seem to slowly morph into a self-inflicted punishment the longer you sit in the isolation, in the rejection, in the cowardly absence of the validation you know you deserve. That's when the distance continues to stretch, and each time it happens, you wonder if you'll ever be able to speak again—spill all the words that are aching inside, desperate to be let loose, to be finally heard.

To remind yourself that you are not powerless—that you have a voice.

Yet the silence would remain, and you nod again, succumbing to your fate as you slip out of the car and trudge up the path to the house, feeling Bryan's eyes bore into the back of your skull as you go. The silence that followed you into the house, up the stairs, and into your shared bedroom was deafening as Bryan thumped behind you, each footfall a reminder that the real torture would be sleeping next to this man, this stranger, that maybe for the first time in your whole relationship might have showed his true character, and it shook you down to your very core.

You undressed in the quiet, every inch of your skin screaming with awareness as the chasm stretched between you—a void that seemed to widen with each passing second despite sharing the same suffocating air. The rustle of fabric was like sandpaper against your raw nerves, and you wondered if you could peel away your flesh with it, rid yourself of the evening entirely. When Brian's shoe hits the floor with a soft thud, your eyes sweep to his feet as the other follows, echoing in the room like stones dropping into the grave of what you once called love.

Because in that moment, you knew you didn't love this man anymore.

Somehow, you had managed to avoid his eyes the entire time you had been home, but as you climbed into bed, you felt drawn to his face, meeting his eye, finding that same innocence still lingering behind his gaze as if tonight's events had barely registered, and as you stared into his blue eyes, you had to resist the urge to recoil, to shy away from the impending doom, from the weight of your own mortality casting its long shadow over you.

In the silence, you longed for the taste of London in the air, the scent of green grass and fresh rain, the press of a gentle hand against your cheek, and the soothing lilt of a voice you had once longed to hear—until the bed creaked in protest snapping you back to reality as you and Bryan crawled under covers that might as well have been continents, and you ached with it, the wordless motions between you so dense it crushed your lungs with each shallow breath, and you wondered if you would ever be happy again.

This ordinary routine was like marking a grave—slowly twisting into a eulogy for your relationship that sounded in the hollow space where words should have lived, where apologies should have flowered, where truth could have breathed new life into the air between you. But there was nothing. Just the fucking unbearable weight of all that remained unsaid festering between you like an open wound neither of you dared to acknowledge.

Just as you settled, eyes peering up at the ceiling, Bryan turned to you before switching off the lamp, his face a mask of repentance that didn't reach his eyes. "I really am sorry, babe…You know I love you, right?"

Before you could respond, he leaned in, sealing his half-assed apology with a quick kiss to your cheek, his lips dry and cool against your skin, and you held your breath, your stomach churning with revulsion at the very thought of his mouth touching you; it made your skin crawl. Never again, you thought. Never again would you allow yourself to be diminished, to be treated as less than.

"It's fine..." you lied, the words tasted like ash on your tongue. "Night.”

That was enough for Bryan, and he turned over, his back to you, now a wall of indifference. Within minutes, his breathing had deepened and slowed, and you lay there seething. Why did his journey to sleep get to be unbothered? It didn't feel fair, Bryan lying there in the untroubled sleep of someone who believed they had been forgiven, a spineless man who had successfully transferred their burden onto someone else's shoulders.

And as you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. You felt the hatred build within you, a slow-burning fire consuming the remnants of whatever love you once felt. You kept circling back to the thought of his hands on your body earlier that week, how you had closed your eyes and endured, how you had played out the motions, praying for it to end.

You felt sick to your stomach, physically ill at the idea that this was your life now—an endless cycle of performances, of a love that had rotted to its core. Where had the woman you had once been gone? Because there was once a time she loved fiercely, laughed freely, lived wholeheartedly—now she was fading, slowly slipping through your fingers like sand.

When had the flesh between your thighs become a punching bag for men who only saw you as a body promising fantasies of forever? At what point had you genuinely believed that this was all you deserved? The grass on your side of the ocean was dead, trampled underfoot by men who claimed to love you but treated you as if you were some kind of afterthought, a convenience, a vessel for all their desires and frustrations.

You needed to get out of this fucking hell hole.

This cage that was closing in.

The thought hammered in your mind, growing louder each minute as you lay there perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. You needed to leave, you needed to put as much distance between you and this toxic life as humanly possible. This wasn't your home anymore; it was a prison masquerading as a sanctuary.

The longer you lay there, the more your mind drifted to the only place that's ever truly felt like home. To the man who had once held your entire world in the palm of his hands—his compassionate touch that had honored every contour, every quirk, every perceived flaw with the devotion of someone who saw not imperfections that come with being a human but a masterpiece worth exploring, worthy of listening to.

Maybe Bryan felt this way before, but it was never the same.

That's when you let the thoughts creep in, trickling in one by one: What would the grass on his side of the ocean feel like under your feet? You kept thinking back to the solid ground you had when he was in your life, the garden you had weaved together with sacred intentions. How his green eyes had seen the human in you, not this shell resembling the flesh of the woman you once were. His hands had always been delicate in their touch, strong in the way they held you, not to possess but to support.

The memories were both balm and torture. They seemed to painfully soothe the raw wounds Bryan had inflicted tonight. While all at once reminding you of what you had lost, what you had walked away from in pursuit of what you thought would fit the trajectory of your life, because is this life if you have to bend and shape yourself to fit into someone else's?

That was when you knew you couldn't lie there any longer. You couldn't bear the sound of Bryan's peaceful breathing while your insides mangled in the grief of regret and self-loathing. So, carefully, you slipped from under the blankets, your movements slow and deliberate to avoid waking the beast, and you padded silently across the bedroom and out into the hallway, rushing down the stairs as quietly as you could.

You could feel the downstairs bathroom calling to you, and when the door came into view, it promised a temporary escape. The second your hand turned the knob and you closed it behind you, turning the lock with a soft click it felt like freedom. The clawfoot tub dominated the space, its white porcelain gleaming in the dim light that filtered through the small round window. This bathroom had always reminded you of a lighthouse—now it would be your temporary haven as your life churned before you like the mystery of the sea.

And as you approached the tub, you felt relief wash over you.

This tub was your favorite thing, yet the irony of it now made you sick. Bryan had surprised you with this tub when you first bought the house together. "For those long bubble baths you love so much, babe," he told you with a proud smile, and his arms wrapped around you from behind as you both admired the vintage beauty. The gesture had truly touched you, and you thought, wow, here's the proof, this attentiveness, his desire to make you happy.

What else could you need?

Now the sight made your heart sink in your chest. Another prop in the play you had been performing, another set piece in the life you had constructed around a love that had never been real, and as you climbed into the empty tub fully clothed, your back pressed against one end, your knees drawn to your chest, you felt the chill taking way. The porcelain was cold against your skin, a haunting testament of the chill that seemed to be settling in your heart, and you peer down at the phone clutched in your hand, the screen illuminating your face in the still darkness.

It was already 9 A.M. in London. Would he be awake? Would he even answer a call from the number he had once known by heart? Would he have deleted it, blocked it, erased all traces of you from his life as thoroughly as you had tried—and failed—to erase him from yours?

Because he was never truly gone; never far from your thoughts. No matter how many miles you tried to put between you, his echoes clung to every inch of your soul. He had become the touchstone for everything you had experienced since walking away, the benchmark by which you measured the hollow promise of happiness in this life you chose, and as your thumb hovered over his contact, still saved after all this time, because lets be real, you had never been able to delete it, you had never been able to sever that final connection. It was the only lifeline you kept tucked away, a glass-break-in-case-of-emergency type of moment you never allowed yourself to use.

Until now.

Because this was that moment, and you were just drunk enough, the alcohol still coursing through your system, giving you the much-needed courage you had always lacked when you needed it most lately, and before you could second-guess yourself you pressed the call button, the phone fumbling in your hand as you brought it to your ear with a trembling hand.

Each ring seemed to stretch into eternity of misery, each tone a heartbeat, a moment in which you could still hang up, could still take it back. But anxiety was cruel, and for a moment, you even considered retreating back to the safety of your desperation because then you wouldn't have to face it all, face him with the failure your life had become.

One ring. Two. Three.

That was when the panic set in

You could feel yourself ready to give up.

Your nerves beginning to falter, your finger ready to move toward the end call button.

Then, a click. Silence. And finally, a voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Hello?"

His voice was exactly how you remembered it—warm, like velvet, running through you like a smooth caress, his British rasp halting your racing heart as you tried to compute what was happening, and when you opened your mouth to respond, nothing emerged. Your throat seized with the simple greeting, suddenly choked with every emotion you had been suppressing all night.

But there was nothing you could do. The silence seemed to be all you could give. So when the silence stretched, he didn't hang up. He waited, patient as ever, giving you the time you needed—a quiet understanding, a silent willingness to sit in the discomfort you knew he had to be feeling because you could feel it to, but this was the type of person he was, always allowing someone else the space they required, and this part seem to tear at your heart the most, because it was exactly what you longed for, something you had walked away from.

"Take your time,” he nudged, his tone gentle, curious rather than annoyed.

You forced a shaky breath through your nose, willing yourself to speak. "Harry..." you managed, the single word barely audible, your voice ragged on the verge of crying.

"It's me..." you breathe.

When Harry doesn't answer right away, there's a heavy pause, one of recognition, and you hang tight, granting him the space he just so freely gave you. "I knew it was you...it's why I answered the call," and then he says your name, each syllable leaving his mouth was like a revelation, a prayer, a question.

And all you could say was "Yes," the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

"Yeah, It's me."

The sound of movement comes through the line—sheets rustling maybe, a door closing softly. Harry was creating privacy for this unexpected call, this ghost from his past reaching across time and distance, and you held your breath waiting for his words.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, his concern immediate and genuine. Even after everything, his first thought was about your well-being.

"No," you sob out, the honesty a relief after months—years—of pretending. "I'm not alright, Harry. I haven't been alright for a long time."

"What's happened? Are you safe?" And the urgency in his voice made your heart constrict. He still cared. Despite everything, he still cared, and the ache of that knowledge pounded in your chest, a heaviness that seemed to expand with each passing breath.

"I'm safe," you gasped out, but the word felt hollow because you knew physical safety wasn't the issue. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice." and you suck in a breath waiting for the words to land.

"Tell me why you're crying," he asks so tenderly that it physically hurts, and your head falls back against the rim of the tub as you stifle a sob, forcing its way up your chest, and you pull the phone away, not wanting him to hear.

"Talk to me, love. What's going on?" he adds as you bring the phone back to your ear.

This endearment, so casually offered, seemed to break every resolve you were fighting to hold back, breaking open that desperate hollow inside you. The longing like a dam bursting open, and suddenly you were telling him everything—about Bryan, about tonight, about the slow death of your spirit in a relationship that had never been what you pretended it was all this time.

"He just fucking—he tore me apart in front of all his stupid friends," you confessed, your voice catching on a sob. "And I just stood there like a fucking idiot and took it. I didn't even defend myself. I didn't even walk away. I felt paralyzed."

Harry was quick to speak up. "That's not your fault," Harry said firmly. "I've met People like that. The kind that wears you down over time. They want you to believe that you deserve it."

"But--I should have been stronger, you know I should have—"

"No," he interrupts, but it's gentle, insistent. "Darling, don't do that to yourself. You're calling me now, aren't you? That takes strength, right?"

And you let out a bitter laugh, "Or desperation. Or too much wine."

When the rasp of his laugh fills the line, it sends a flutter to the pit of your stomach. "Maybe all of the above," he follows up, and you can hear the small smile in his voice. "But you're reaching out. That's the first step."

And here was the pain again, the pressure building in your chest, your lungs heavy. His kindness was almost unbearable, pulling at your flesh with a visceral ache you couldn't seem to shake. You didn't deserve it, not after how things had ended between you, not after the choices you had made. You knew you shouldn't have called, that this conversation was a mistake, that you were only torturing yourself, making this whole nightmare infinitely worse, but the words kept tumbling out.

"I miss you, Harry," you confess, the words escaping before you could stop them. "God, Harry, I miss you so fucking much it literally hurts sometimes."

Then the silence swept in, the line empty except for the faint sound of Harry's breathing, and our whole body went still in anticipation, waiting for his response, terrified of what he might say—or not say.

"I miss you too," he finally said, his voice lower, more guarded. "But—we can't—"

"I know," you interrupted quickly. "I know we can't go back. I'm not asking for that. I just... You were the only man who ever really loved me. The only one who saw me, all of me. I don't even know how to explain it—you never ran away. You didn't try to change me, use me, or break me down."

"I just feel empty--" and the words die in your throat as you finish.

"That's not love," Harry says softly. "What this Bryan is doing—that's not love. You deserve better than that."

"I had better," you whispered. "I had you."

And for a second, you both let the words hang between you, heavy, loaded with the history of your ending, with the regret that lingered, with the weight of what might have been.

"Do you ever think of me?" you finally asked, unable to stop yourself. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if I had stayed?"

When Harry sighs, a rush of static comes through the phone. "My love—please.."

"Harry...," you plead. "I need to know. Even if it hurts... It's okay, I promise."

When silence takes the line, you exhale a weighted breath, quietly drawing in another breath, letting a glimmer of hope fill your chest. When he spoke again, his voice was measured, careful. "Yes, I think of you. God—I don't know...probably more than I should.. There are always like these tiny moments, you know, like a song on the radio, a certain smell, someone laughing in a particular way—and suddenly you're there, in my mind, as vivid as if no time had passed at all."

His words ignited the devastation you knew they would bring, but here was that hope, a violent crash of heartbreaking possibilities that seemed to wake your decaying soul. The confirmation you knew somewhere deep down that you needed, that he hadn't forgotten you, that you still occupied space in his mind, was both validation and torture, conflicting as joy soared through you.

"But—" he continued, his tone shifting, becoming more hesitant, "thinking about what might have been... It's not healthy. For either of us."

"I know—I swear I know..." you answered, swiping tears from your cheeks. "I just—I can't help but wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left London...When I left you...?"

But your words floated out like a question rather than a declaration, the statement stripped of pretense and laid bare in its painful authenticity. As you waited for his response, time seemed to suspend in your lungs, but you forced yourself to breathe, waiting for any sign that he shared your regret, that he shared the same longing, knowing Harry had always been a constant undercurrent pulling at the back of your mind.

"I don't think I can answer that for you, love," Harry finally divulges. "Only you know what was right for you at the time. We were young, you know, we were in different places in our lives. Long-distance is hard under the best circumstances. I would have never asked you to stay...because I probably would have lost you forever."

"Do you not think we could have made it work?" you asked, as desperation crept into your voice. "If we had tried harder, if I had been braver—"

"Love, it takes two people to make a relationship work," he reminded you gently. "And two to let it fall apart. I wasn't perfect either. I had my own issues, my own fears. It wasn't just you..."

As you let the word settle, you forced your eyes closed, remembering the arguments, the tears, the painful phone calls across time zones when you were exhausted and frustrated. The memory was a cruel contradiction playing on the hurt of wanting the one thing you know you couldn't have right now because, yes, you knew it hadn't been all sunshine and roses, you knew that. But the good had so outweighed the bad, your connection so deep that even now, years later, you felt its absence like a phantom limb.

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me," you said quietly. "And I threw it away for... for this. For a life that looks good on paper but feels like dying a little more every day."

"Then change it," Harry urged. "Not for me, not for anyone else. For yourself. You deserve to be happy."

"Harry, I don't think I remember how to be happy anymore," you answer, really believing the words falling from your mouth. "I don't know who I am anymore without all this... this fucking performance I've been putting on...God—It's so pathetic..."

"You're not pathetic, love...You're still in there. I can hear her clearly," he assured you. "The woman I knew—she was strong, passionate, full of life. That doesn't just disappear. It gets buried sometimes, but it's still there, waiting. Trust me...I know the feeling."

And maybe he was right.

Maybe you couldn't feel it now, but there was a sense of peace tingling up your spine. Here he was putting faith back in your world. This was new for you both, evidence that time could heal old wounds, that people could become better with distance. This Harry was wiser, more mature, and you wondered what else was new. What else about him had changed? Who was this man on the other end of the line now? The thought was overwhelming, and all you could do was let the tears flow, silent rivers of grief, of gratitude for the man who was giving you permission to grieve, who was holding space for the loss of the life you thought you wanted.

For the life you had forged without him.

And then you're letting it all go, hot, messy tears streaming down your face as every ounce of your being gets lost in the chaos of emotions shuddering through you, but you didn't stop. How long did you sit there, letting the sobs wrack your body, while Harry listened in silence? Occasionally, he would murmur a tender reassurance which seemed to help lessen the hurt, but eventually, the storm passed, and you found yourself feeling strangely lighter, as if you had shed some of the layers, some of the heaviness that had been weighing you down.

"Thank you," you whispered. "For answering. For listening. For being here...for being you."

"Always," he replied, his answer simple, but you knew he meant it.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy? I don’t know…like, truly happy?"

Maybe you knew the question was selfish, but you needed to know. You needed to hear that at least one of you had found peace, built a life worth living.

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I'm... getting there," he said carefully. "Some days are better than others. But overall, yes, I think I am."

Something in his tone made you pause, and you wondered what he wasn't saying, but before you could question the feeling any further, he sighed, the sound unnaturally loud through the phone.

"To be honest...I just broke up with my girlfriend," he began, his voice taking on a new quality—cautious, almost sorrowful.

And your heart stuttered at the news, instinctively bracing for the impact of where this conversation might go. "Are you okay?"

Harry let the line go silent this time, his breath shallow on the other end. You could almost see him running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had always had when his nerves got the best of him. Where was he? What was he doing when you called?

"I actually ended it last night..I don't know...it's all kind of fresh," he confessed, "For some reason I just had this feeling like it wasn't right...like I wasn't meant to be with her."

"Then you called this morning...and maybe it's crazy. But I think it might be a sign..."

And it was like the world stopped spinning for a moment. Of course, the universe would do this. Of course, it would happen this way--a cosmic joke exposing the perfect punchline with cruel timing—Harry finally free just as you were realizing your own captivity. It felt like a taunt, the stars aligning only to illuminate the path you could have taken, should have taken, the road now visible but still impossibly distant.

You hated this about the universe sometimes, its depraved sense of humor, dangling possibility before you only after you had convinced yourself to stop reaching, stop wanting, stop dreaming of those green eyes and the London rain. This reality wasn't a door opening, no, because that's too good to be true; this was only a view from the universe's window of possibilities, allowing only a glimpse of what lay just beyond these prison walls without offering escape. 

"Oh..." you somehow managed, the single syllable becoming the lack of words building in your chest. You knew this was too complex to answer in a single line. "I don't know what to say..."

"I know—I'm sorry—that was a lot..." he said softly, and you knew he wasn't apologizing for his blunt statement, but was sorry for adding to the pain on this already tricky night.

"Don't be...I'm just processing, that’s all," you insisted, forcing brightness into your voice. "It's just that I've thought about this before...if we ever got the chance—"

"To try again—" he interjected, his sincerity unmistakable as he finished your sentence. "It's a bit overwhelming, yeah? A bit scary?"

"Scary...yeah..." you whispered.

There was a comfortable stillness that nestled as you both began to process the weight of what had just been said, how it threatened the very foundation of the lives and choices you had settled for in each other's absence. It was shaking up your foundation now, the life you were no longer willing to settle for, and in the silence, you let your broken spirit reach for him in the ways you had been longing for this whole time.

In your heart, you knew this wasn't supposed to happen like this. You weren't supposed to get a chance to repair this ache. There had always been this unspoken agreement—a pact between you that you both honored when you said your final goodbyes, that no matter how much it hurt, how impossible it felt to walk away, you both needed to do it in order to move on, to heal the damage.

But then, here you were, back in this moment, back in this conversation, and the very thought of the possibility of a second chance was enough to send your head spinning.

Because what if...?

What if this was the sign you had been waiting for all along? What if this was the universe's way of telling you that you were meant for something more, something bigger than the cage you had built around yourself?

The cage you could break free from at any point.

What if...

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he was terrified to voice the question out loud.

And you knew your answer before the words even left your lips.

"I'm thinking about you...about us," you breathed.

"About coming home."

He lets out a breathy laugh, "Was England home?" He asks.

"You were home..."

It would never be as easy as deciding that, of course. Rebuilding any relationship takes time, patience, and a hell of a lot more maturity than the two of you possessed when you were last together. It would require unraveling years of hurt, of regret, of lessons learned. But for the first time in longer than you could remember, the prospect didn't fill you with dread. There was hope, a spark of something you had nearly forgotten—a flame that could reignite, burning bright if you let it.

"Harry?" you spoke up, your voice steadier, more sure.

"Yes, love?"

"I think...I think I'm ready to come home."

You swore you could hear the smile in his voice as he replied, "Good, I'll be here waiting."

"It's going to take a while..." You force tears now welling in your eyes.

"I know," he says. "And I'll wait however long you need me to, my Love."

And with that, you knew in your heart, this was the beginning. The start of reclaiming your life, your voice, your freedom.

"Harry...where are you?" You whisper.

"I'm watching the rain fall outside my office window..."

And you squeeze your eyes shut, picturing the view from his window, "I loved the rain in London," you laughed, sniffling away the last of your tears.

Harry cleared his throat, "I know you did, love. I haven't forgotten."

Then you nod, even though he couldn't see it. "Harry...I have to go...it's late."

"I figured that was coming..." he murmurs, "Don't forget what I said. Be brave and take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy. I'm here whenever you need me, anytime, I promise."

"Okay…" you breathe, holding the phone a bit closer, holding it as tight as you wished you were holding him, "I'll call you soon."

"I'll be here."

And you nod again, knowing that if you said another word, you would lose it all over again, and as you swallow past the lump in your throat, you pull the phone away from your ear, your finger hovering over the "end call" button for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, you press it, and your lifeline to Harry disappears.

A/N: This story was inspired by the song Romance by Ex:Re . If you haven't listened to it, it's brutally haunting and beautiful, and sad, but the message is powerful and if you haven't listened to it, please give the song a listen. Let me know what you think!

Taglist Open<- My Growing Matserlist<- Talk to me<-

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @harryyloverrr @panini

@unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw

@dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc

@iloveharrystyles04 @mema10 @harryyloverrr

@avas-queen-black @starshollowgazette

[nanamiskentos]

touch me there! gojo satoru. minors dni.

prologue. who knew that the strongest man to walk the earth, the closest thing humanity had to a god, was this weak just from your touch?

warnings. handjób, óverstimulation (m. receiving) and gojo being a slút for you

mp3. touch, touch, touch. thought about you way too much! — touch, katseye (2024)

a/n. made my own gifs for this one! i actually really enjoyed that 😭 today i learnt the difference between a web-dl file and a remux file. gifmakers are so strong...

you know that gojo's power is an indomitable force, and with a snap of his fingers, mountains would crumble, the seas could part, and the skies themselves would darken in his wake. no mortal, no force of the heavens above, no...nothing can touch him or shake his resolve. or at least that's what people say when they whisper about him. when other sorcerers point and wonder what it must be like to be the most unshakeable man on the planet.

well you've had your hand around his pale berry-pink cock for an hour, and you can say with full clarity of mind that there is one thing that can undo the divine power that is satoru gojo.

his thick shaft is slick with pre-cum, and the skin is smooth yet taut, supple and throbbing. his head has fallen back in exhaustion, frustrated from your teasing just as he gets so close to his release. hates how you draw your hand back suddenly leaving him high and dry, and aching furiously

but its just not enough for you yet, and he sees something soo godly within you right now. how is it that you've just undone him so easily, had him squirming and shaking like a whore?

he thinks its your nails that have him so delirious, for they reach for the underside of his cock and gently grasp his heavy balls, so painful that they ache, running the light tips of your fingers over the folded skin

"baby - please, no more. i don't think i can - can," and he's twitching under your touch. and yet despite his words you see the flush of amusement still dancing on his face, red brushing over his cheeks and leaving a rosy dawn behind on his gorgeous face

"ohh, satoru, so messy today aren'tcha?" and he bucks his hips up at the way you just purr out his name, a staccato tempo of him fucking himself up into your clenched fist, absolutely leaking a thin, milky fluid that leaves the both of you dizzy

its intoxicating for you too, starting at the base of his cock right where light curls of pale hair tickle at your knuckles. then you slowly drag your hand up, until your thumb comes to rest on the fat mushroom tip, a glowy-red as you lovingly run the digit back and forth, drinking in at how gojo is practically whining, chest heaving and littered with the marks and bruises left from your adoring teeth

but the killing blow, the one that leaves him feeling like he's been cleaved in half (too soon?) is when you dip your hands to the moist sheen between your legs, the slick gloss that has gathered from you, coating your fingers liberally. and how you use that same hand, still covered in your arousal to pump him more furiously

in the end, he's got tears pricking his eyes when he reaches his climax, beading in the corners of his brilliant blue gaze, weepy and leaking. and you're left to marvel at how thick, white seed shoots out and plasters all over your hand, over your torso as you had been leaning over him and before you can blink, he's beaming up at you, muttering about sensitivity but still positioning your hips right above his freshly milked cock for round two, no, three? four?

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what are you doing to me now?

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — wrote this bc of this thought and this ask . ( i got carried away, prob doesn't even flow )

♡ word count — 5.4k

♡ content — College AU!, all characters are 18+ (21), Kaiser is a jerk, kaiser and isagi both play on the university's soccer team. YES they still hate each other, tutor! reader, some cussing, pregnancy mentioned (once), isagi and reader are best friends, fem! reader, could be gn but fem! bodied reader, heavily based on OTH haley and nathan's relationship, fluff, nicknames 'tutor girl' and 'my girl' used

♡ synopsis — you only started tutoring michael kaiser so he would leave isagi alone, but now you're starting to feel like it's more.

── .✦ i never could have seen you coming, i think you're everything i've wanted

The tutoring center always smelled faintly of coffee and stress.

You’d carved out your corner near the back, tucked between a wall of dusty anthologies and a window that barely opened.

It was quiet there, undisturbed — a pocket of peace in the chaos of campus life. Tuesdays were your favorite.

You had Yoichi, a venti iced coffee, and a stack of highlighters in your favorite shades.

Routine.

Comfortable.

“Okay,” you said, tapping your pen gently on his notebook. “What’s the limit as x approaches infinity?”

Yoichi groaned like you’d asked him to recite Shakespeare backwards. “I swear this made more sense last night.”

You bit back a smile. “Because last night, you let me explain it to you without making faces.”

“I don’t make faces—”

“You do. You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am in pain,” he argued. “This class is actually trying to kill me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you said, still grinning.

That’s when it happened.

A shift in the air. A low ripple of murmurs. The kind of disturbance that came with someone too loud, too confident, too seen. Your eyes flicked up, instinctively, and froze when they landed on the cause.

Michael Kaiser.

He walked in like the room belonged to him — chin high, hair tousled, blue eyes sharp and scanning. His uniform jacket hung off his frame like a tailored threat, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off the tattoos you tried very hard not to look at. Not that he noticed you.

Until he did.

Until he noticed Isagi.

Then you.

You didn’t like the way he smiled — all ego, all teeth.

And worst of all, calculated.

He didn’t approach you that day. Just walked past slowly, a predator pretending to be casual, before choosing a desk three rows down.

You felt his eyes every now and then, lingering like smoke.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You were here to help Yoichi.

Whatever game Kaiser was playing, you weren’t signing up for it.

But Michael Kaiser had a way of turning no into a challenge.

It was the next day — gray skies, your hands full of books — when you heard the voice behind you.

“Hey, tutor girl.”

You turned slowly. “Please don’t call me that.”

Michael Kaiser stood there with his usual smirk, walking backwards to keep up with you.

“You don’t even know my name,” you said, dryly.

“Don’t need to,” he replied easily. “Everyone knows who you are. You’re the genius who babysits Isagi through every core class.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you’re trying to insult me, you’re going to have to do better.”

“Oh, I’m not insulting you,” he said, mock-offended. “I respect your work. That’s why I’m here. I need a tutor.”

You stopped walking. “You’re serious?”

“Deathly.”

“And you want me?”

“You’re the best,” he said simply, with a shrug. “And I’m drowning. My coach is two bad grades away from benching me, and if I don’t fix this, I’ll get benched during qualifiers.”

“So this is desperation.”

“Exactly.”

You stared at him, arms crossing. “Then go ask someone else.”

His expression didn’t falter. “Can’t. Already tried. They're all scared of me.”

You gave him a look. “And you think I’m not?”

“I think you’re smarter than that.”

You blinked. Okay. That was... not the response you were expecting.

Then he leaned in, just a little, voice lower. “Tutor me, and I’ll leave Isagi alone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No more trash talk. No more cheap shots during practice. I’ll stop getting in his head. You help me pass, and he gets peace.”

You hated how tempting that sounded. 

You’d seen Yoichi’s mood spiral every time Kaiser made a comment, took a jab, twisted the knife just right. 

You weren’t blind. You knew what kind of war the two of them waged on and off the pitch.

“This isn’t some bribe,” you warned. “If you so much as look at him wrong—”

“Cross my heart,” he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest.

You stared at him for a long moment. “One hour. Twice a week. That’s it.”

“Knew I could count on you, tutor girl.”

“Call me that again and I’ll flunk you on purpose.”

He grinned, triumphant, like he’d won the best prize of all.

And that made you hate him a little more.

Michael Kaiser didn’t act like someone who needed help.

He sprawled across the library table like he was at home, foot bouncing, pencil in his mouth, looking up at the ceiling like he could will the answers down.

You tried not to look at the way his shirt bunched around his arms, or how he chewed on his pencil when he was stuck.

“It’s a miracle you’re passing,” you muttered.

“That’s all you, baby,” he replied, voice muffled by the pencil.

You threw a highlighter at him. “Stop calling me that.”

“You’re no fun,” he said, dodging it with a grin. “But seriously. You’re good at this.”

You paused. That wasn’t sarcasm. It was... weirdly sincere.

“Thanks,” you said, cautiously.

A beat of silence. A rare one.

Then you looked up and froze.

Isagi.

Standing at the end of the row, arms stiff at his sides. His eyes darted from you to Kaiser and back.

Nothing was happening — no touching, no laughing, no whispered secrets. But still, your stomach dropped.

“Yoichi—” you stood quickly, knocking your chair back.

“This guy?” Isagi cut you off, voice low. “Anyone but him.”

“We’re not— I’m his tutor,” you said, trying to close the distance. “That’s all.”

Kaiser watched with interest, head tilted, lips twitching like he wanted to say something.

“God,” Isagi muttered, looking away. “Go find someone else, you prick.”

“Well, I quite—” Kaiser started, but Isagi stepped forward, finger pointed hard against your chest.

“I thought you were smarter,” he snapped. The words hit harder than they should.

You watched him turn and walk away, tension bleeding into every step. And then there was silence.

You didn’t realize you were shaking until Kaiser stood up, gently pulling the chair upright.

“He’s got a flair for the dramatic,” he said, quietly.

You didn’t answer.

Because the worst part wasn’t what Isagi said.

It was the tiny, traitorous part of you that wasn’t sure he was wrong.

You didn’t mean to lose Isagi.

It just… happened.

One day, you were laughing over half-priced pastries and solving calculus proofs over FaceTime, and the next — you were passing each other like strangers.

You kept waiting for it to go back to normal.

For him to sit in your usual spot in seminar, for him to send you a link to some dumb meme at midnight.

But every time you reached out, even in silence, he recoiled.

Like you’d betrayed him.

And maybe, in his eyes, you had.

Because Michael Kaiser wasn’t just anyone. He was Isagi’s rival. His irritant. His shadow. You knew this. You’d seen the fire between them on the field — the teeth-gritted remarks, the way they pushed each other past the edge, the way neither of them ever backed down.

So maybe sitting beside Kaiser, laughing quietly during a tutoring session, was the final straw.

But you never meant for it to be like this.

A week passed. Then another.

Your texts stayed unread. Your usual seat in seminar stayed empty. You stopped bringing two coffees in the morning. And the ache — the dull, pressing kind — lodged itself in your chest like something unfinished.

But Michael Kaiser stayed.

He showed up on time. He took notes. Sometimes he even tried. It was strange, the way he began to settle into the space Yoichi had left behind. Not replacing him — that wasn’t possible — but filling something. The walks after tutoring, the shared silence while flipping pages, the way he sometimes brought snacks and pretended he didn’t.

The problem was: it started feeling easy. Not in the way it had with Yoichi. But in a new, unexpected way.

And that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

It was a Thursday.

Gray skies again, soft rain tapping the windows. You were both seated at the same table as always, your books stacked neatly in front of you, your notes open and highlighted. Kaiser was tapping his pencil — not anxiously, just rhythmically — like he was thinking.

You weren’t.

You were spiraling.

The silence stretched too long. The ache in your chest was louder than ever. Your mouth moved before you had the chance to stop it.

“I can’t tutor you anymore.”

The words landed softly, like snowfall. But they cut deep.

Kaiser blinked, slowly. “What?”

You inhaled, then shook your head. “I just— I can’t do this.”

“Did I do something?” he asked, frowning for real this time. No teasing. No smugness. Just confusion. “Because if this is about the derivatives test, I told you I studied—”

“It’s not that.”

You stood up, then sat back down, palms pressed to your thighs. Your voice cracked before you could steady it. “It’s Isagi.”

His eyes flickered. “What about him?”

“We’ve been best friends since high school,” you said, quietly. “He was there for me when everything else wasn’t. When I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. He believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.”

Kaiser was still now. No tapping. No shifting.

“And now he won’t even look at me,” you continued. “He avoids me. Takes different routes to class. Won’t answer my messages. And it’s because of this. Because of you.”

You didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation. But it hung in the air like one.

Kaiser’s gaze dropped for a moment. Then he looked up, something raw in his voice.

“I need you.”

You blinked. “You’re passing now. I mean—”

“Only because of you,” he said, quiet but firm. “You think I give a shit about tutors? About studying? I could’ve coasted through this semester like I’ve done every other one. But you— you made it impossible to just sit back and let myself fail.”

You swallowed hard.

“You made me try. And I don’t do that for anyone.”

There was something so unguarded about him in that moment, it knocked the breath from your lungs.

“But this… this thing between you and Isagi,” you murmured, the words trembling now, “it matters. He matters. I don’t want to keep choosing someone who makes him hate me.”

“I’m not asking you to choose,” Kaiser said, softer this time. “I’m just asking you to stay.”

You stared at him. At the quiet plea buried in his voice. At the way his usual arrogance had melted, just for a moment.

And the worst part?

You wanted to.

You wanted to believe that Isagi would come around. That this mess would untangle itself. That friendships as old as yours didn’t just dissolve over misunderstandings and misplaced loyalty.

Maybe that was foolish.

But somehow, sitting there with Kaiser watching you like the world would shift if you walked away — it felt like something worth holding onto.

So you nodded.

“I’ll stay,” you said.

And weirdly, that felt like the beginning of something.

Not a replacement.

But a new page.

It had been almost a month.

Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. Nearly 672 hours since Yoichi Isagi last looked you in the eye.

And maybe that made you dramatic. Maybe it made you sensitive. But when someone had been your best friend since you were sixteen — when they’d held your hand through breakups, failed exams, breakdowns and birthdays — their silence was louder than anything else.

You waited.

You gave him time.

But it was clear now that if you didn’t do something, you’d lose him entirely.

And you weren’t ready for that. Not yet. Not ever.

So you did the only rational thing a desperate, emotionally volatile girl could do when she knew her best friend’s post-training routine like the back of her hand.

You marched straight into the men’s locker room.

The sound of your sneakers hitting tile echoed like a war drum.

Conversation halted.

Steam curled from the showers in thick clouds, and you were immediately met with a variety of reactions: screams, curses, frantic scrambling for towels. A few guys dove behind lockers like it was enemy fire. One or two stared at you in stunned silence, not even attempting to cover themselves — and you tried really hard not to look.

Really hard.

“Jesus Christ!” someone yelled.

“Yo— what the hell, are you lost?!”

You ignored them, eyes scanning the rows of bodies and benches and half-zipped bags until you saw him.

Isagi Yoichi. Pulling a shirt over his head, still damp from the shower, hair messy, body tensed like he’d heard a ghost.

Perfect.

You stomped toward him, rage in your throat, grief in your heart, and grabbed the hem of his shirt mid-motion — trapping him inside it.

“Sorry, boys! Just need to borrow him!” you announced, flashing a tight smile over your shoulder.

Then you yanked him — quite literally — out of the locker room.

Isagi stumbled behind you like a hostage, half shirted, half stunned, and entirely too quiet.

You didn’t let go until you hit the hallway, just outside the doors. And by then, he’d managed to finally pull the shirt down over his torso.

His eyes found yours immediately. Wide. Angry.

“What the hell?!” he snapped.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “Stop avoiding me.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, bullshit, Yoichi!” you shouted. “You switched seats in every single class, you take the longest damn route to lecture, and I haven’t heard your voice in weeks—”

“Well then stop hanging out with him!” he shouted back, louder than you expected.

The hallway went silent.

The ‘him’ hung between you like smoke. You didn’t have to ask. He meant Kaiser.

Of course he did.

Your mouth opened, defensive, too fast. “You don’t—”

“Know him like you do?” he shot back, bitter. “Whatever. I don’t need to. I know he’s a good-for-nothing bastard who—”

“He’s not like that with me!” you snapped, voice cracking halfway through.

That stopped him.

Isagi stared at you.

Really looked at you.

You were flushed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with everything you hadn’t said in a month. And maybe it wasn’t even about Kaiser anymore. 

Maybe it was about the way your heart ached every time you passed an empty seat or an unread message. 

About the fact that you still poured two coffees every morning out of habit.

“...You can’t be serious,” he said softly, like the words hurt him.

You stared. “What?”

“What now, Yoichi? What can’t I—”

He cut you off.

“You like him,” he said, breathless. “For fuck’s sake, you like Michael Kaiser.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

But the words didn’t come.

Because suddenly, maybe you did. 

Maybe it wasn’t love, but it wasn’t nothing. 

Maybe it was the way he made you feel seen. 

The way he paid attention. 

The way he told you he needed you, and for once, meant it.

“I never…” you tried, but your voice cracked on the first syllable.

You blinked hard. The tears were right there, balancing like glass.

“I just…” you swallowed, “…I just want us to be okay again.”

Isagi exhaled.

Long and slow.

His face softened, but only just. You could still see the hurt underneath — the cracks that hadn’t healed, the disappointment lodged in his chest like a splinter.

And for a moment, you thought he’d say something awful. Or maybe something kind.

But instead, he gave you neither.

Just a quiet, “...Just be careful.”

That was it.

He turned and walked back inside, not sparing you another glance.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving you alone in the silence.

Not forgiven.

Not forgotten.

But maybe, maybe, not entirely abandoned either.

And for now, you’d take that.

You had been avoiding him.

Kaiser.

Like he was a loaded weapon and you were one wrong look away from pulling the trigger.

It started with skipping a week of tutoring — a text sent an hour before your usual meeting time, saying something vague about being busy. 

Then another. 

Then another. 

Eventually, you just stopped answering altogether.

You didn’t go near the library.

You didn’t walk past the fields.

You even rerouted your entire morning routine just to make sure you wouldn’t see that flash of blond across the quad.

Because you couldn’t look at him. Not after what Isagi had said — no, what you had practically confirmed.

You like him. For fuck’s sake, you like Michael Kaiser.

The words still echoed in your head when it was quiet.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure he was wrong.

Which made this all so much harder. You weren’t trying to hurt Kaiser. But avoiding him — pushing him away — felt easier than admitting how tangled things had gotten inside you.

But when the results of his next test were on the line…

You couldn’t just ghost him completely.

Which is how you ended up here, in the farthest, emptiest corner of the library, sitting stiffly at a table with a strangely large amount of space between you. Distance you made sure was there.

The silence was… unbearable.

Your head was down, eyes scanning the same sentence for the third time, and you were halfway through pretending to care about an algebraic equation when he finally broke it.

“I missed you.”

You froze.

“What?” you practically yelped — voice far too loud for a library. It echoed back at you in betrayal.

Kaiser laughed, and God, even with a full foot and a half between you, his laugh had a chokehold on you. Like it reached out and grabbed your ribs and squeezed.

“I said,” he repeated, a smirk tugging at his lips as he scratched something off his paper, “I missed you. Where’d you go?”

You blinked. Your mouth opened, but your brain was still buffering.

“Oh, I just—”

But what excuse could you even give?

Sorry, my best friend kind of exploded my entire emotional world and now I’m avoiding you because I think I actually might like you and it scares me more than I thought possible.

Not exactly tutoring-appropriate.

You opened your mouth again, but nothing came out.

That’s when he spoke again.

“My dad used to get quiet before he got really angry.”

Your eyes snapped up.

He wasn’t looking at his notes anymore. He was looking at you. Head tilted slightly, mouth pulled into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I don’t like silence,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”

The request didn’t sound like a demand.

It sounded like a plea.

And you… you couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself.

He stared for a second longer, expression unreadable — and then the smile turned real. Gentle. Bright enough to make your chest ache.

“You’re cute when you’re shy, you know that?”

Your jaw dropped half a second before you remembered how to close it.

But before you could sputter a protest, he reached across the table, grabbing the workbook from your hands and flipping it back to a problem he’d half-scribbled through.

“So how do you do this one again?”

You blinked.

Twice.

Because that was it. Just like that, he’d let you off the hook. No push. No interrogation. No emotional ambush. 

He’d just asked you to talk, heard what you could give, and met you where you were.

The smallest thing. But it hit like a truck.

Because Michael Kaiser was supposed to be cocky. Confident. Self-serving.

But this version of him — the one who missed you, who laughed when you yelled, who told you things about his dad of all people — he was soft. Kind in ways you didn’t expect.

You stared at the worksheet in front of you, eyes glazed over, heartbeat loud in your ears.

He didn’t know it.

But you were dangerously close to falling in love with him.

God help you.

Because at this rate, Michael Kaiser was going to be the death of you.

It was already dark by the time the two of you packed up your things.

Kaiser slung his bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing, waiting as you slowly gathered your books — still trying to steady the pulse in your throat that hadn’t quite calmed down since the moment he smiled at you across that table.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said casually, like it wasn’t the most dangerous sentence you’d ever heard in your life.

You blinked. “You… don’t have to.”

“I know,” he replied, already heading toward the exit, glancing back with that trademark smirk. “But I want to.”

Of course he does, you thought as you followed him out into the quiet campus night. Of course he wants to.

The air was crisp, carrying that subtle warmth of spring trying to break through the last grip of winter. The sidewalk gleamed slightly under the streetlamps. You walked slowly — side by side — not touching, but close enough that you could feel the shape of him beside you.

And strangely… it didn’t feel tense.

It felt easy.

He talked about the weird German sitcom his roommate liked to blast every morning before practice. You talked about the TA who always had something passive-aggressive to say about your notes. 

He laughed. You rolled your eyes. 

He asked you why you always wore two rings on one finger. You asked him if he ever got sick of all the attention. 

He hesitated before saying, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t flirty.

It was soft. Domestic. Like something you’d done a thousand times before — even though you hadn’t.

You glanced up at him while he was mid-sentence — something about being forced to join a karaoke night he definitely did not sign up for — and you caught it.

The way he looked at you.

Not like he was looking at you. Like he was seeing you.

Like he had been this whole time.

You quickly looked away, heart climbing into your throat. You were close now. Your dorm building just down the path. You should say something. You should end the night.

But your mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

He stopped walking first.

You were at the steps of your building. Just the two of you now. The world unusually quiet.

“Well,” you said, clutching your books a little too tightly. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He nodded slowly. His hands were in his pockets now, but his eyes were still on you. Intense. Steady. Gentle in a way that made your knees weak.

“Of course,” he murmured.

“I guess I’ll—”

You didn’t even finish the sentence.

He leaned in.

Softly. Without warning.

And kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t demanding. Just his lips meeting yours, warm and slow, like he had all the time in the world to figure out exactly how you tasted.

And you…

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

The kiss lingered, something sweet and aching and impossibly quiet blooming in your chest. You could feel the heat of his palm against the side of your neck — you didn’t even remember him reaching for you — fingers gentle, almost reverent, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

But you didn’t.

Because all you could think about was how good it felt.

And how terrifying that was.

When he finally pulled back — just enough to breathe — his forehead rested against yours, your noses still brushing, eyes closed.

“You didn’t run,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You opened your eyes.

“Didn’t want to,” you whispered back.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Good. Because I think I’d chase you.”

That made you smile — involuntarily, too wide and too real. He grinned back, the kind of smile that could level a room.

You didn’t say good night.

You didn’t have to.

You just turned and stepped into the dorm building, one shaky breath at a time, hands trembling, lips still tingling.

And once you were inside your room — door shut, back against the wood — you touched your mouth with your fingertips, like you couldn’t believe it had happened.

Michael Kaiser kissed you.

And you kissed him back.

And somewhere, tucked beneath the adrenaline and confusion and guilt, a quiet little truth stirred in your chest:

You didn’t regret it.

Not one bit.

The moment you saw Isagi, you knew this was going to go horribly.

He was already sitting at the little corner table you always claimed at the café near campus, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of him and his hair still damp from a morning shower. 

He gave you a tired smile as you slid into the seat across from him.

“You look weird,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I kissed him.”

You didn’t mean to say it.

Really.

But your brain short-circuited the moment you saw him, your guilt bubbling to the surface like it always did when it came to Yoichi. And before he could even blink, you said it — voice too loud, too fast, crashing into the quiet atmosphere of the café like a poorly thrown brick.

Isagi choked.

His mouth practically exploded his coffee back into the cup, some of it splashing out and hitting the table. A few drops even hit your notes. You flinched as he coughed, wiping at his mouth with a napkin and staring at you like you’d just told him you were moving to Mars.

“You what?”

“I mean—he kissed me!” you corrected, hands flying up as if to defend yourself. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“And you let him?” he sputtered.

You froze.

“Well… yeah.”

There was a moment of silence so thick you could practically feel it squeezing your lungs.

Isagi stared at you. His jaw tensed. His eyebrows twitched upward. And in that one painfully long look, you knew exactly what he was thinking:

I love you, but I genuinely do not understand how you’ve survived this long.

“I didn’t plan it, Yoichi,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “It just… kind of happened.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Right. ‘Kind of happened.’ Like when you ‘kind of happened’ to flood your dorm bathroom freshman year or ‘kind of happened’ to adopt that stray cat and hide it in your closet for two weeks.”

“Okay, first of all, Pumpkin needed a place to stay. And second, this is different.”

“How?” he asked flatly.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

Then whispered, “It felt real.”

That caught him off guard.

He blinked, some of the sarcasm slipping off his face like a mask.

“Real?” he echoed.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t know what it means yet. But when he kissed me, I didn’t feel confused. I didn’t even feel scared. It was like… everything stopped for a second.”

Isagi looked down at the mess on the table. He dragged his thumb across a coffee droplet absently.

“I just want you to be okay,” he said, quieter than before.

“I know.”

“And I want you to be sure. Because Michael Kaiser? He’s not like me.”

“I know that too.”

He met your eyes.

“And you’re still gonna fall for him?”

You hesitated.

Then: “I think I already have.”

He looked at you like he wanted to shake some sense into you and pull you into a hug at the same time. A sigh escaped him — long and tired and full of the kind of affection that doesn’t just vanish because of a boy.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “You’re going to break your own heart.”

You smiled weakly. “Maybe. But I think I’d rather try than spend the rest of my life wondering.”

He didn’t say anything right away.

Then, finally, after a beat too long: “You’re still paying for my coffee.”

You snorted. “I just emotionally traumatized you, and you’re charging me for caffeine?”

“I should charge you for emotional labor.”

You threw a napkin at him. He laughed — reluctantly, but he did — and it eased the ache in your chest a little.

He was still upset. Still hurt. Still not okay with it.

But he wasn’t gone.

And maybe that was enough for now.

It started with a hand on your lower back.

Just light enough to be polite, just firm enough to make a statement.

The university was holding some stupid post-match celebration — another win for the soccer team, another excuse for half the campus to drink and pretend they knew anything about offside rules. 

You hadn’t even planned on coming. But Isagi had sent a dozen texts begging you to show up and his friend Nagi mumbled something about “free food,” and before you knew it, you were standing in a crowded lounge in jeans and a hoodie, nursing a soda, when Michael Kaiser found you.

He didn’t say hi.

Just that hand on your back, followed by a whisper of breath near your ear.

“You look good.”

You froze. “Kaiser—”

“Michael,” he corrected, low and smooth. “If I’m gonna be yours, you better start using my name.”

You turned, ready to hit him with some witty rebuttal — but then you saw the way people were watching.

Not at you. At him.

And more specifically, at him with you.

It wasn’t just that he was standing close. It was the way he tilted his body toward you, the quiet confidence in his touch, the little smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing. You felt heat crawl up your neck.

“Kaiser, what are you doing?” you hissed.

He just blinked, that lazy grin still on his face. “Introducing you.”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but he was talking to one of his teammates. A midfielder, maybe? You barely remembered his name. But Kaiser nodded toward you like it was obvious.

“This is my girl.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Your girl?”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Loud. Too loud. The guy he was talking to blinked and made a weird exit, clearly sensing the storm approaching.

Kaiser turned back to you with that same maddening smile. “Well, yeah. I—”

“Since when?”

He paused.

“…Since I kissed you?”

You gawked at him. “You oaf, you kinda have to ask.”

He looked genuinely confused. “Ask what?”

You folded your arms. “Ask me to be your girlfriend, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“…Do you wanna be my girlfriend?”

You stared.

“That’s it? That’s your big follow-up to claiming me like some high school jock in a romcom?”

“Well,” he said, voice slow and amused, “you are standing at my game-day party, drinking soda like a nervous little housewife while wearing my hoodie.”

You looked down.

It was his hoodie. You hadn’t even realized you’d grabbed it from your dorm before heading out. The sleeves were too long, and it still smelled like his cologne.

Your face flushed. “That doesn’t count—”

He leaned in.

Closer.

That smirk softened into something less smug. Something more real.

“I’ll ask you properly if you want. Flowers, kneeling, the whole nine yards. But either way,” he murmured, voice dipping just for you, “you’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then you whispered, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you muttered, half hiding your face in your sleeve.

Kaiser grinned, wide and brilliant.

He tugged you forward just a little by the hoodie strings and kissed your forehead like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Good,” he said. “Now the whole world knows.”

You were still standing in the bathroom, feet cold against the tile, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you on this planet.

You and Kaiser had been together for eight months now, even sharing an apartment for your senior years of university.

And because timing is the cruelest and most theatrical of all forces—you heard the door crash open.

“I have news!” came the all-too-familiar, all-too-loud voice of Michael Kaiser echoing through your shared apartment like a firework set off indoors.

You stepped out of the bathroom slowly, like you were walking into a dream, or maybe a trap.

Kaiser was already kicking off his sneakers, practically vibrating with excitement, one hand still holding his phone. 

His grin was blinding—boyish, wild, the kind of smile that once made you think he could never be serious about anything.

He looked up and saw you, and the joy in his face grew tenfold.

“I’m going to Bastard München!”

Oh.

“I’m pregnant,” you said.

Oh.

wrote this from 3AM to 5AM be nice with how bad it is.

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