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osarina · 8 hours

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ᡣ𐭩 THE GROUND FINDS ITS BRUTAL WAY TO ME

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the moment you've been dreading has finally arrived—there's no turning back now.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: GOOOOOOOOD EVENING LOVEBUGS, HAPPY FRIDAY!!! anyway i hope you guys are excited for this chapter because i AM chapter seven through nine is the reason i started writing this fic, it all goes downhill from here HAHAHAHAHAHAH JKKKKKKK kind of BUT ANYWAY i hope you guys enjoyed, im having the time of my life writing this chapter and the other upcoming ones. im so excited for you guys to read chapter 9 actually and the end of chapter 8, it's gonna be soooo good i swear. anyway!! reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY heheh!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. MAFIA BUSINESS. rather graphic depictions of violence. character death (not anyone major). mentions of human/child trafficking. depictions of dissociation. i used a bit of creative liberty with the depictions of lovecraft, corruption (here in particular), and yosano's ability.

ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in this chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it hasn't been as apparent in the past few, so it might be a bit jarring to read (especially when we get to chapter 9) but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED and that is very apparent with how she acts with a certain member of the ada. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Your foot presses the pedal against the floor as you race down the backstreets of the Kanagawa prefecture. Dazai has been trying to talk to you but you can’t even bring yourself to respond to him. You try but you’re incapable of pushing any words past your lips. He asks you where you’re going and your lips part to tell him but you can’t. He asks you if you’re okay and you try to say ‘I don’t know’ but all that escapes you is a shaky breath. He asks you what’s going on but your mind is on the brink of collapse.

You’re not going to get there in time.

You can hardly keep your eyes on the road and at the speed you’re going, you know you can’t afford to look away. But you can’t stop yourself from looking down at your phone, throat clogged with fear as you wait to see if Chuuya sends another text. You told him not to, told him to wait but he hasn’t even read your text, doesn’t know that you weren’t in Yokohama when he was about to use Corruption.

If he used Corruption as soon as he texted you thinking that you were in the area… it’s already been fifteen minutes. Chuuya has never used Corruption longer than five. He’d be ash and bone by the time you get there if he already activated it. You’re still at least ten minutes away from where he pinned his location even at the speed you’re going.

“Fuck,” you whisper, slamming your hand against the wheel as you urge the car to go faster, watching the speedometer wobble in the red zone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Can you talk to me at least?” Dazai tries again, sounding frustrated. “What’s going on? Why did we have to rush out of the beach house?”

You don’t even know why Dazai is with you.

Well, that’s not true. You know exactly why Dazai is with you. There’s a sick feeling in your gut that leads you to believe that the Guild might know about Dazai already and if that’s the case, you can’t leave him alone at the beach house. You don’t think the Guild would have planned such a blatant attack on the Port Mafia without ulterior motives and with even the smallest reason to believe that their primary goal might be getting their hands on Dazai to back you into a corner… You just can’t risk it.

But you’re risking bringing him to a battlefield where Chuuya might have activated Corruption. You try to convince yourself that he’s safer at your side than he is alone but… is that even true? Chuuya under the effects of Corruption is unpredictable and destructive, you can’t ensure his safety—you can’t even ensure your own. Every time he goes into Corruption, it’s both his life and yours that are most at risk, it’s why he rarely lets himself use it even when in trouble, so that’s how you know things must be bad.

“You’re not going to get wherever you’re trying to get to if you crash the car into a tree,” Dazai says airly, still irritated from how he’s side-eyeing you but none too bothered by the speed you’re racing down windy streets. “How about you slow down and tell me what’s going on?”

You let out a sharp puff of air. You don’t slow down, but you do force yourself to speak.

“Chuuya is in trouble. Bad trouble,” you finally say tightly. “The Guild… They launched an attack. I don’t… he might already be dead for all I know. I have to get to him—couldn’t leave you alone in case…”

“In case the attack was just a distraction to try to get to me?” Dazai finishes for you—as always, too quick and perceptive for a random college student. “Shouldn’t you try to figure out a game plan before, I don’t know, rushing head first into what might be a trap?”

He’s far too sarcastic for your liking. You give him a cold look and to his credit, he does back down for the most part, but he’s still waiting for a response from you.

“I have a plan,” you finally say, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. “I just…”

Need to know the situation. If Chuuya has already activated Corruption, you need to get to him as soon as possible. If Chuuya is dead, you need to figure out which other members of the Mafia are around so you can figure out how to deal with the remaining enemy—although if they killed Chuuya, your chances of winning are bleak. If Chuuya is still alive and hasn’t activated Corruption, you need to figure out the best course of action to take to prevent him from having to activate it. Without knowing the situation, you might as well be walking blind into a lion’s den.

“What do you need me to do?” Dazai asks quietly.

“Stay out of the way,” you say too sharply. Your eyes flit to the side when Dazai winces and shifts back a bit, slowing down just a little to remove one hand from the wheel to grab his and squeeze it gently. “The Flags should be there too… At least Albatross, Iceman and Piano Man… Doc is probably off the field waiting for injuries. You know Albatross—he was the one with me at your apartment and in mine the day you came over while I was drunk—get to him, he’ll bring you to wherever Doc is. If you can’t get to him, Klaus and Akutagawa are on their way… might be there already, get to one of them and they’ll get you somewhere safer.”

Dazai doesn’t look pleased by your directives but he nods.

“What if… what if I can’t get to anybody?” he questions hesitantly after a few moments.

Your eyes meet his for a split second before you let out a heavy breath. You don’t really want to consider what to do if he can’t get to someone because that means he’ll be in much more danger than you’re willing to accept. After a few moments, you nod to the glove box, watching from the corner of your eye as he opens it and freezes up a bit when he sees the gun inside.

“Only use it if you have to,” you tell him quietly, “and if you have to use it…”

Aim for the head, you want to say, but you can’t push the words out because fuck, what have you dragged him into? A few months ago, his biggest problem was figuring out what he was going to use as inspiration for his fucking writing workshop project and now you’re telling him to shoot to kill if someone comes after him while he’s alone and vulnerable.

Chuuya was right. Chuuya was right and you’re a goddamn fool for not listening to him. You should have cut Dazai off right away, right when you realized things were going too far, you never should have let this happen. You knew better.

You knew better.

“I’ll do what I have to.” Dazai nods, throat bobbing as he keeps a steady face, clearly trying to make himself seem unbothered when he sees how distressed you are. You watch as he fumbles to click off the safety of the gun. “It’s okay.”

“You won’t have to do anything,” you say tightly, gaze snapping to the side when ground beneath the car shakes violently and a loud crashing noise comes from the left. Your eyes focus on a dirt path leading deeper into the forests on the outskirts of the Kanagawa prefecture and grimace before taking a sharp left. “But keep it on you just in case.”

Dazai nods, letting out a long breath, dark eyes darting around nervously as you turn off the car’s headlights to continue down the dirt road more inconspicuously. You don’t get more than half a mile before you have to pull over onto the side of the road when you hear fighting in the distance—explosive and dangerous. You stop Dazai before he opens the door to get out of the car and he looks at you curiously, waiting to see what you have to say.

For a moment, you contemplate telling him to wait in the car for you but you can’t, because if anyone happens upon the car then he’ll be alone and vulnerable. So, instead, you reach forward and cup his cheek. His lashes flutter as he leans into your touch and you run your thumb along his cheekbone, watching him with a heavy feeling in your chest.

This is all your fault.

You brought him into this life.

You let them back you into a corner like this.

You ruined his life.

It’s all your fault. You let this happen.

“Get to Albatross,” you say, hating the way your voice cracks. “To Albatross, or Iceman, or Piano Man. Get to one of them and let them get you out of here, okay?”

He nods, keeping his face pressed to your hand as he looks up at you through his lashes. “I will.”

“Doc will probably be three miles out from where the combat is taking place. Whoever you get to—the two of you will head there on foot, they’ll tell you what to do and make sure there’s no one tailing you guys, but you’ll have to be quick.”

Dazai gives you a small, wavering smile. “I almost failed my phys ed class in high school because I couldn’t complete the mile fast enough.”

You snort. “I can’t believe you actually just admitted that out loud.”

Dazai smiles sweetly and then says, “Kiss me before we go?”

Your lips curve up gently as you lean in to press your lips against his. You feel him let out a soft, pleased sigh but even with your lips moving slowly against each other, you can’t help but feel the dread build more and more in your chest.

You pull back to look him in the eyes again as you whisper, “Be careful.”

“No you,” Dazai says with a simpering smile as he leans in so he can brush his nose against yours. For a moment, he looks as if he wants to say something but then he seals his lips shut and gives you another soft smile.

I’m sorry, you want to say but the words just don’t come out. You think Dazai must know what you’re trying to say from the way he squeezes your hand. It’s all too soon and all too long before you push yourself away from him and step out of the car.

The brisk early morning air is almost uncomfortable as you breathe it in. You usually find it refreshing—you like the morning, you’re always more productive at dawn even if most nights you find yourself up until the moon sets in the west trying to get work done. But now, you only find discomfort, a tight feeling in your chest and a prickly feeling across your skin. Your hair stands on end as you reach for the gun holstered at your side, flicking off the safety as Dazai comes to stand next to you.

“Stay behind me,” you tell him quietly.

You can hear the fighting in the near-distance. Can feel it. You can hear the sounds of gunshots and people yelling, some voices you recognize as the Flags and others you don’t recognize at all. The ground is shaking—undoubtedly proof of Chuuya using his ability and you can only let out a sigh of relief now, realizing that he must not have activated Corruption yet.

If he had, the entire forest would be obliterated.

You motion for Dazai to follow you. He’s light on his feet—lighter than you expected from a twenty two year old college student—he’s careful not to step on any twigs and stays close behind you, each step finding where yours had lifted from the ground as soon as you move from it.

You make your way in the direction of the shouting and fighting. Every step forward leaves you more and more ridden with dread—your feet feel heavy like weights are holding you down, your mouth feels like it’s filled with ash. You should be moving faster than you are—your friends, Chuuya, they’re in danger but… but the closer you get, the closer Dazai is to danger.

What are you doing? You think desperately. What are you doing?

You doubt yourself.

You doubt yourself so much that a part of you deep down wants to turn on your heel and drag Dazai back to safety, out of danger, out of this shitty forest, out of your life. It’s not worth it—your happiness isn’t worth his life. He’s convinced himself that he cares about you, that he needs you, that you make him happy but you know it’s not true. You know it’s just your ability at work.

But it’s too late now.

The distant shouts have become near—you see Albatross, Piano Man, and Iceman all crouched beneath rubble, grimacing as they dodge… you don’t know what they’re dodging and quite frankly, you don’t think you want to know but you don’t think you’re going to have a choice.

You don’t even spare a look to the battlefield, reaching back to grab Dazai’s wrist so you can drag him in front of you, pressing your hand to his lower back to make him move faster. You only just barely get him down beneath the metal that the three Flags are using as cover before another… thing (a tentacle?) is snapping out toward you—luckily, Iceman is quick to the draw as always and prevents it from taking off your head.

Piano Man yanks Dazai closer to him, away from the edge of the rubble, and Albatross wraps an arm around your waist with a wild smile. “There ya are, dollface, we’ve been waiting on you.”

Your eyes linger on Dazai for a split second, seeing the wide-eyed expression on his face and how his knuckles are white around the grip of the gun you gave him. The guilt claws to your throat again but you force it away as you focus your attention on Albatross.

“Tell me the situation,” you say, voice rougher than you intended. “What’s happening?”

“The fuckin’ Americans lured us out here,” Iceman says, taking a long drag of his cigarette before laying back down flat against the ground, eye looking through the scope and chin pressed to the stock of the sniper rifle as he prepares for another shot. “There’s only two of them but something’s wrong with one of ‘em.”

“What does that mean?” you demand, looking between Iceman, Albatross and Piano Man. Albatross grimaces and looks away, Piano Man meets your gaze. Iceman pulls the trigger to the gun and Dazai cringes at the sharp noise, but you have to focus on Piano Man’s response over trying to comfort him.

“It won’t die,” Piano Man says, the characteristically whimsical tone to his voice long gone, face pinched. “No matter what we hit it with.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask, staring at Piano Man blankly as you wait for him to elaborate.

“It won’t die,” Albatross repeats, looking equally stressed as he manhandles you to face the other direction, looking in the direction of the battlefield where Chuuya is in combat with an unfamiliar black-haired man whose arms seem to have transformed into tentacles whipping around at a lethal speed, the dismembered bodies of his subordinates littered in pieces across the forest floor. “He has a partner who has taken cover in the forest too. Can manipulate trees. Can’t fucking get to him because of the tentacle monster.”

You suddenly wish you never left the beach house.

“What the fuck,” you breathe out, watching as the man (man?) grows tentacles to reattach his head to his shoulders after a devastating blow from Chuuya that should have sent his head flying. “Where-”

Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention and your head snaps to the side to focus on where four people—one very unfortunately familiar—are taking cover in the tree line, talking frantically amongst each other.

“Yeah,” Albatross mutters, shoulder pressed to yours as he follows your gaze. “The Agency showed up too. We don’t know why, haven’t been able to get over there because of fuckin’ Woody Woodpecker over there.”

“Steinbeck,” you say, voice sounding distant even to your own ears as your eyes tunnel in on Yosano Akiko, the same woman who has been haunting you for over a decade now. God, you’ll never be free of her, of the reminder of your inadequacy. You have to force yourself to look back at the situation at hand. “John Steinbeck. The Grapes of Wrath. An executive of the Guild. Big in the US farming industry but that’s just about-”

“We don’t need an info dump on him, Christ, how do we kill him?” Iceman says dryly and you give him a withering look.

“I was getting to that,” you reply icily. “The vines he controls. They and anything they attach to are extensions of himself, meaning if you attack them…”

“It harms him,” Iceman finishes, the corner of his lips curling up into a slow smirk. “Got it.”

You look over to Albatross. “What types of weapons do you have on you?”

Albatross winks at you. “What don’t I have on me?”

“Can you smoke him out?”

“For you, dollface, I can do anything.”

You roll your eyes but grimace as Chuuya is knocked backward hard, blood spilling from his mouth as he takes a violent hit from the black-haired man that you don’t recognize. He looks exhausted, you wonder how long he’s been fighting trying to protect the Flags and the guilt that’s been hanging over you like a dark cloud intensifies.

“If we can’t figure out any weaknesses, Chuuya is probably going to have to use Corruption against that thing,” you say quietly. “... We need to make sure there are no interfering factors before he activates it to make sure his time in Corruption is as short as possible. We draw out Steinbeck, I’ll go out there and get information from him. Once we kill him, we figure out if those detectives are allies or enemies today. Handle them if they’retheir enemies. Then, you guys need to get the fuck out of the area.”

You need Dazai out of here, you think, teeth grinding together as you look between the forest, the fight between Chuuya and that monster, and then to Dazai, whose face is white and eyes are trained on you, as if he’s trying to keep himself calm by training his attention on the only person in the vicinity that he knows he can trust. You want to reach out and grab his hand but you can’t move.

Piano Man squeezes your shoulder. “As soon as Steinbeck is handled, I’ll get him to Doc. I don't want to bring him through the forest while Steinbeck can pretty much control it.”

You nod and then look at Albatross. His lips curl into a crooked grin as he holds up his fist to you. “Ready? Gotta be quick once I’ve got him panicked running out of the treeline otherwise he’ll get to that fuckin’ squid and we’ll lose our chance.”

You bump your fist against his. “I know what I’ve got to do. You better not fuck up.”

“When have I ever?”

“Too many times to count.”

“... Rude.”

Albatross heads off without another word and you watch with bated breath, waiting for Steinbeck to flee the forest so you can make your move. You’ll have to be careful of the stray tentacles unless you want to lose a limb or two, but you trust Iceman to cover you and you know Chuuya will figure out what you’re trying to do so he’ll be quick to adjust accordingly.

But it just… has too far of a range. The tentacles can reach too far, too quickly. As powerful as Chuuya is, he can’t be in two places at once, so someone else needs to take over the right flank while he handles the left so there are no openings for it to get to you while you interrogate Steinbeck…

As Albatross heads in his direction, you head in your own direction, darting from your safe cover with the other two Flags and Dazai over to where the four detectives are taking cover. Yosano is the first one to look at you, a conflicted expression on her face as she stares at you. You can’t even bring yourself to look her in the eye, instead focusing your attention on the blonde.

“Are you here as enemies or allies?” you ask tightly, getting straight to the point because it’s only a matter of time before Albatross smokes out Steinbeck.

“Until that thing is dead, it’s the enemy,” the blonde says, raising his chin. “We’re here to protect Yokohama.”

You scoff—he says that as if you guys aren’t, you think bitterly, but you don’t have the time to argue. Instead, you nod in the direction of where Albatross left. “One of my comrades went to draw out the Guild member hiding in the trees. Once he’s out, I’m going after him to figure out its weakness. Chuuya can’t handle the right and left flank at the same time, the thing has too wide of a range and he can’t be in two places at once. You guys need to hold off the right flank while he holds off the left so I can get the information from Steinbeck.”

The blonde looks disgruntled by the order, and certainly doesn’t seem pleased by the prospect of working with the Port Mafia, but he steels his face and nods, evidently more concerned with the threat that the monstrous man-creature in the center of the clearing poses more than you and the Mafia.

Yosano says your name quietly, but Albatross finishes the job just in time so you don’t have to acknowledge her—as quick and efficient as ever. As much as you give him shit for everything, he’s always been the most reliable to get the job done. It takes not more than five minutes before the entire northern sector of the forest is burning and John Steinbeck is stumbling from the shrubs, pain twisted on his face as he gasps for air and coughs over the smoke clogging his lungs.

You strike just as quickly to get to Steinbeck before his partner can get him back somewhere safe behind him; he darted out close to where Piano Man, Iceman and Dazai are still taking cover. The blonde doesn’t even see you coming because of the way he keeps rubbing at his eyes. You kick his ankles out from under him hard and drive your foot into his back, slamming his head hard against a flat rock to stun him.

You grab him by the hair to flip him onto his back and press the muzzle of your gun beneath his chin before he can reorient himself. His eyes are still partially glazed over when you drive your knee into his chest and settle above him, giving him a sweet smile.

“You must be Steinbeck,” you say lightly, “I’ve learned a lot about you recently.”

Steinbeck’s expression twists when he recognizes you and instantly, you’re met with a faceful of blood as he spits it on your face. You click your tongue in disgust and whip the barrel of your gun against his jaw, watching his eyes bulge in pain as you wipe the blood off of your face.

“You’re going to tell me all about your friend over there,” you tell him, voice cool. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Steinbeck hisses, cringing at the pain that blooms through him when he speaks. “You and your friends are done. Lovecraft can’t be killed. You’re going to join the rest of your subordinates in pieces on the ground.”

“For your sake,” you murmur, sending Chuuya your silent thanks when he positions himself between you and Lovecraft, “that better not be true.”

“I was told you were cruel, but it’s so kind of you to be worried about my wellbeing,” Steinbeck says, lips slanted upward in a smile too arrogant for your liking, leading you to believe you’re really not going to like what he’s about to say next. You’re proven correct swiftly. “Especially when you really should be worrying about yourself and your little friend over there now that our leader, Francis, has confirmation about his existence. I was also told you were smart, but this was a bit of a silly move on your part, hm?”

You raise your chin, careful to not let your sudden distress show on your face as you look down at him blankly.

Is that what this is all about? Was it not them setting you up to try to get Dazai alone? Did they not even know about Dazai yet? Was Fitzgerald just trying to get confirmation on his existence and you just played right into it like a fool? Or is Steinbeck just trying to get into your head? You don’t know.

“Let me rephrase,” you say flatly, “for your sister’s sake, that better not be true.”

You watch as Steinbeck’s face shifts as soon as your words register through his head. It’s only then that you finally decide to use your ability. You’d been contemplating whether or not you’d get quicker results by trying to ease him into revealing the information or if you should intimidate him into it, but from what you’ve heard about Steinbeck—he’s devoted to the cause and will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

The only thing he’s more devoted to is his family.

“I told you, I’ve learned a lot about you,” you say softly, lips curling up. “Little Eden is turning thirteen this year, isn’t she? A teenager. She’s going to be a high schooler soon. You must be proud… She’s a little above the age range that Paz seeks out for his rings, but I’m sure he’ll find some kind of work for her.”

Paz’s trafficking rings are not to your taste. You’ve never been fond of the business, try to avoid it as much as possible, especially after taking Klaus in, so you’re not going to contribute to them in any way, but Steinbeck doesn’t need to know that. You just need him to believe you will and from the reputation that follows you and the black tendrils of fear curling around his brain courtesy of your ability, you think he’s plenty convinced.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere near her, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you interrupt, tilting your head to the side. “This isn’t on me, Steinbeck. Your decisions will decide what happens to your family. So, you can sit here and be stubborn—I’ll let you live, if only so you can go back to that lovely town you call home in Glidden, Iowa so you can find your parents strung up like the pigs you sell to slaughterhouses and all eight of your younger siblings separated all across the world in different trafficking rings. Or, you can tell me what I want to know and die here so your family can live. It’s your choice.”

Steinbeck’s face is a ghastly pallor as he stares up at you, white and gaunt with eyes void of reasonable thought. “You’re doing something to me,” he says shakily. “I can’t-I can’t think. I don’t-they said you didn’t have an ability but you’re doing something to me. I can’t think.”

You smile. You don’t even have to keep your ability activated—never do, not with fear, it always spirals, the mindkiller—so you’re not even lying as you tell him, “I’m not. I suggest you start talking because if the next words from your lips aren’t telling me what exactly can kill your little friend over there, the next words from mine will be your home address to Octavio Paz.”

“He can’t be killed,” Steinbeck says, expression still painted with fear, pleading for you to believe him. “He can’t. Lovecraft-he’s not-he’s not like us. He’s invulnerable on the outside. He’s not killable.”

That can’t be true. Your breath shakes a little as you lift your gaze to look over at where Chuuya is still ardently trying to defend you from Lovecraft’s attacks, batting away tentacles and taking hits so they can’t get to you, to where the blonde member of the Agency grunts as he takes a painful blow to the side to protect one of the other detectives. That can’t be-

“On the outside,” a familiar voice calls frantically, loud over the fighting but too close for liking. Your head twists around to see Dazai hanging off the rubble that the Flags had been using as cover, ignoring Piano Man as he tries to drag the stupid boy back to safety. “He said that he’s invulnerable on the outside.”

Your eyes widen when you realize what Dazai is trying to get at and when you look down at Steinbeck, it’s with far more malice. You’re tired of this—Dazai shouldn’t be here, you were stupid enough to fall into the Guild’s trap and now Chuuya is at risk because of your incapability. God, you need to end this conflict.

“So, even after all of the threats, you still try to lie to my face to protect him and the Guild. You’re going to die here… you won’t be alone though, your family will join you soon enough.”

Steinbeck’s eyes fly open with panic but neither of you get the chance to say anything else because suddenly, the entire earth is trembling. You gasp in pain as you’re tossed a few feet away, shoulder slamming against the same rock you’d bashed Steinbeck’s head against. The world spins as you stare up at the sky, trying to figure out what happened, but you’re only met with an incomprehensible sight.

What?

You-

You don’t even know what you’re looking at. Your lips part as you stare up at the massive creature that’s suddenly in your line of vision—something so foreign and ungodly that you think it doesn’t belong on the earth. The air around you has become heavy and oppressive, the particles themselves holding you down like weights; it’s early morning so it should be light out, but somehow your surroundings feel dark and gloomy, unnaturally so.

Is that… Lovecraft? You only manage to put it together because the monstrous creature is the same color as the tentacles that had been trying to cut you and Chuuya down. You can’t help but wonder what demon Francis Fitzgerald must have dealt with to get something like this on his side.

You don’t snap out of your dazed, horrified state until you hear a scream of your name coming from your left. You’re too slow to the draw when you realize that Dazai is trying to warn you of an attack—Steinbeck must’ve recovered when you were still stunned by the appearance of Lovecraft’s new form and he’s flung his hand forward, sharp grape vines hurtling right toward you, about to pierce through your chest when-

When the branches wither and crumble to the ground. When a shot rings through the air and finds itself embedded in Steinbeck’s forehead. You let out a breath of relief and turn to thank Iceman but you freeze when you realize it’s not Iceman who protected you from a would-be lethal blow because he’s still scrambling from being tossed several feet away by the blast of Lovecraft’s transformation.

Instead, it’s Dazai standing there, lips parted in shock and fingers shaky around the gun you’d given him for protection, the one you promised him he wouldn’t have to use.

“I’ll do what I have to. It’s okay.”

“You won’t have to do anything.”

“Get him out of here,” you breathe out, horror clogging your throat, preventing you from raising your voice because what have you done? What have you done? What have you done? “Get him out of here, now.”

You feel sick, your stomach twists and turns and your vision blurs. Your fingers feel numb and clunky and you can hardly focus as you try to look over at Chuuya, who’s still staring up at Lovecraft, aghast. You need to focus. Need to get rid of the most imminent threat. Then, you can come to terms with what you’ve just allowed to happen.

Only then.

“Chuuya,” you shout for your friend over the ominous sound of birds screeching as they fly away from the forest. He looks back at you, eyes wide and wild. “It’s weak from the inside. Now’s the time.”

Chuuya’s gaze becomes steely as he nods, turning his attention back to Lovecraft and slowly pulling off his gloves. You turn to run for cover but don’t get more than a step before a familiar black tendril is wrapping around your waist, yanking you thirty yards away just as the entire world begins to shift around you. You land hard against Akutagawa’s chest, grimacing as Klaus throws himself over the two of you when a shockwave rattles the entire forest, knocking down nearly all of the trees in the vicinity.

“Are you okay?” Klaus asks breathlessly. “What’s going on?”

“Long story,” you say as you push yourself into a sitting position. “Just… be ready for the worst case scenario.”

Klaus’s eyes widen but he nods and instead of focusing your attention on Chuuya so that you can get to him as soon as his battle with Lovecraft ends, you find your eyes seeking Dazai out, trying to make sure that he got out of the immediate impact zone with Piano Man before Chuuya activated Corruption.

But you can’t find him. Your gaze becomes more and more panicked as your head swivels around trying to spot them. They shouldn’t have gotten that far—they should still be in your line of vision but-

Shit.

Your throat swells when you finally catch sight of Piano Man’s white and black bob fifteen or twenty yards away to your left. His face is twisted and he’s struggling to lift a fallen tree—your lips part to tell Klaus to get to them but you can’t even push the words out. You can’t see Dazai from the angle you’re standing at, but you can see the frustration on Piano Man’s face and the stress as his eyes flicker up to where Chuuya is fighting Lovecraft.

“Something… is wrong with Executive Nakahara.” You hear Klaus say behind you, voice wavering. You look back at him, seeing the disturbed expression on his face as he stares at the fighting. “He’s not usually this aggressive under Corruption, is he?”

The dread you’ve been feeling all morning intensifies as your head snaps back in the direction of the battle. At first, you think nothing is out of the ordinary—Chuuya is destructive while under the effects of Corruption, always has been. Gravity brings ruin to the land around him, slaughters his enemies and allies alike; it’s no different now, you watch as Lovecraft falls to the destruction of the calamity god Arahabaki and you wait for it to calm down, always does when it realizes all of the immediate enemies in the area have been destroyed.

Or, maybe calm down isn’t the right word but it does become more reckless in its efforts to destroy, blows holes in the ground and laughs at the destruction, is less aware of its surroundings—it’s only then that you approach it to put it to sleep, but now…?

Chuuya—no, Arahabaki is still hunting. It hasn’t celebrated the defeat of Lovecraft, head whipping around and black eyes wide and searching. You don’t know what it’s looking for but you don’t like it, rising to your feet slowly, pulling your wrist away from Klaus as he tries to stop you from moving.

Is it looking for the detectives, maybe? Chuuya would probably consider them his enemies and Arahabaki would feel those residual emotions and he would know they’re here even if they’ve seemingly disappeared. You think maybe you should intervene—if Arahabaki kills the detectives and Fukuzawa Yukichi learns of it, it’ll make messy times even messier for the Port Mafia. But… there is always the chance you can blame it on the Guild.

No, it’s not worth risking making the situation worse than it is.

“I’m going to go to him,” you say quietly. “Be ready.”

“Maybe you should wait,” Klaus tells you hesitantly but you ignore him. “Something’s not right.”

“Each second I wait, the closer Chuuya gets to death,” you hiss. “I’m not waiting.”

You don’t bother listening to the next protest that’s bound to leave both of your subordinates’ lips. You can see Akutagawa’s face twisting so you know it’s coming; instead, you turn around and make your way slowly in the direction of Arahabaki.

God, it’s disturbing, a sight so unearthly that you can hardly stand to look at it. Black guck is splattered all across the forest floor from where Arahabaki had torn Lovecraft apart from the inside out, chunks of the tentacles littered around the area. And Arahabaki itself is there in the middle of it, using the body of your closest friend as a grotesque vessel of calamity—the ground shudders around him, rubble suspended midair as gravity fluctuates precariously. No matter how many times you see Chuuya under the effects of Corruption, you’ll never get used to the way it transforms him: the way his eyes become black voids, empty and haunting, the way his pale skin starts to rot black from his fingertips to his forearms to his biceps.

Destroys him just as much as it destroys everything around him.

You don’t know if it’s just your imagination when you approach cautiously and realize that the rot seems to be spreading faster this time. It’s been less than half of the amount of time he was in Corruption during the conflict with the Inagawa-kai and yet already, the black decay has spread to nearly his elbows. Either way, it only serves to stress you out more.

You’re less than ten yards away from it when Arahabaki suddenly stiffens and goes still, all of the rubble suspended in the air drops to the ground with a thunderous noise. Your breath catches in the back of your throat—Arahabaki has never sensed your presence before, you and Chuuya theorize that it’s because of how comfortable Chuuya is around you. He thinks that parts of it transfer over to Arahabaki when it takes over so it just instinctually doesn’t register you near him or as a threat. It’s the only reason why you’re even able to approach it when it’s in control, otherwise you’d be as dead as any other enemy in the vicinity—you still have to worry about the stray rubble and increased pressure of course, but it’s much more manageable, and survivable, than a God of Calamity smushing you like a bug.

Has that changed? Has something changed?

You can hardly breathe as Arahabaki looks over its shoulder and a shiver runs down your spine at the sight of Chuuya’s warped face. But Arahabaki’s gaze shifts over you like you aren’t even there.

Instead, it looks past you.

Looks past you right at Piano Man and Dazai.

Iceman joined them and with their combined effort, they managed to get the tree off of Dazai’s leg, freeing him from where he was pinned to the ground. His ankle looks bad, twisted in all of the wrong spots, blood staining his tan pants. But the three of them stand frozen, Iceman mid-reloading his gun, Piano Man mid-step, and Dazai standing uncomfortably on his twisted ankle, none of them even daring to take in a single breath as they wait for Arahabaki to look away from them. In the entire vicinity, no one moves, no one breathes, no one even blinks—a bunch of deer frozen beneath the gaze of a predator, knowing that the wrong move would lead to them getting torn to pieces.

And then-

And then Dazai shifts onto his good leg.

The crunching of leaves beneath his foot is so loud in contrast to the stillness that had spread across the area, and it’s the only thing needed to get Arahabaki moving.

“Chuuya, no!” you scream futilely as Arahabaki uses gravity to propel itself forward in the direction of Dazai, Piano Man and Iceman.

The two Flags shove Dazai behind them and brace themselves for the brunt of Arahabaki’s attack but you’re faster and positioned at just the right angle between the three of them and Arahabaki to throw yourself right in Arahabaki’s path. And maybe it’s stupid, you realize that a bit too late when you’re face to face with the god that’s using your friend as a vessel but-

But you can’t let it get to Dazai.

You can’t put Arahabaki to sleep without physical contact—sleep is too strong of a state and Arahabaki is too powerful of a subject. It’s one of the only things you can’t induce without physical touch. If you could just-

Your vision blurs and you taste iron. Something warm and thick pools in the back of your throat and you gag on it, feet suddenly dangling in the air as you stare down at Arahabaki’s empty eyes. You can hear people yelling around you—Klaus and Akutagawa rushing in your direction, Albatross firing off shots at Arahabaki to try to get its attention off of you, Dazai screaming your name.

Dazai.

Shit.

You don’t want him to see this.

You think that Arahabaki must’ve ruptured one of your lungs because every breath you take in is wet and the oxygen just isn’t reaching where it needs to. Your vision swims with black dots and you need to lift your hand—if you could just wrap your hand around his forearm, it would be worth it. You could put him to sleep; you always knew one day you’d probably meet your fate at the hands of Arahabaki, you just wish that Dazai wasn’t here to witness it.

But you can’t. And it’s frustrating, it’s so frustrating, your eyes feel wet and you don’t know if it’s from tears or blood considering the pressure around you just keeps getting more and more intense. His forearm is right there, impaled through your fucking stomach, inches away but you can’t lift it high enough for you to force Arahabaki to sleep, your arms just sway limply at your side until Arahabaki has had enough of you and tosses your body several yards away into a pile of rubble.

You can’t move and the fucking bastard managed to land you at a perfect angle for you to witness what’s about to happen. Even as your vision starts to go out, you’re forced to watch as Arahabaki approaches Piano Man, Iceman and Dazai. You watch as Klaus attacks in blind rage only to get his legs crushed to dust—he’ll be able to heal them through Mephisto (he’ll pay for it, though, he always does), but not fast enough to stop Arahabaki from getting to Dazai. Akutagawa lands the next blow, consuming the space near Arahabaki’s neck to try to land what could have been an incapacitating hit but Arahabaki is faster and Akutagawa suffers for the attempt.

Arahabaki knocks Piano Man and Iceman out of the way, its gaze set on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t even try to run, he stares at where your body is crumpled against the rubble with a wrecked expression on his face. You don’t want to watch but you can’t even bring yourself to turn your gaze away. Klaus doesn’t even wait for his other leg to heal—as soon as one has reformed, he’s throwing himself at Arahabaki again to try to protect Dazai. When Arahabaki knocks him away again, he uses his arms to propel himself forward onto its back.

As Klaus utilizes his ability to try to wrangle Arahabaki away from Dazai, desperately healing himself as gravity crushes him, you become acutely aware of a new presence at your side.

Yosano.

Familiar purple eyes stare down at you, conflicted, breath shuddered. You can’t even fathom to understand what she might be thinking and you want her to get away from you. You think it’s cruel even for the gods to have your last sight be her of all people, the same girl that Mori has held over you since the day he met her, heralding her as the perfect linchpin of his plans and disparaging you as nothing more than a failure.

“Fuck off,” you try to tell her, but the words are garbled over blood.

“I know you hate me,” she says quietly and her words aren’t even registering in your brain, the lack of air makes your ears ring so loud that you can’t hear anything over it and you can’t make out what words her lips are forming because of the blood in your eyes. You think she knows that, but speaks anyway, “but everyday… I wonder how things might’ve been different if I’d gotten you off of Tokoyami Island with me. I couldn’t save you back then, so I will now… Whether it’s the right decision or not, I won’t let you die.”

You feel the effects of Yosano’s dreadful ability instantly, gasping as your lung stitches itself back to better, the hole through your abdomen closing up and the lost blood replenishing in your body. Your body still hurts—the soreness is there and you can feel the ghosts of the wounds, but you feel alive, forcibly pulled back from the brink of death by the last person in the world you’d ever want to save you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, shoving her away when she tries to help you to your feet.

God, if Mori knew that Yosano of all fucking people saved your life it would just be more ammunition against you. You think you’d rather have died. Your eyes feel wet again, but this time you can’t use Arahabaki as an excuse, glaring at the other woman who looks oddly solemn at your reaction, disappointed but not surprised.

You turn your attention back to the more pressing matter, praying to god that you wouldn’t be met with the sight of Dazai’s obliterated body in the near distance. Your breath catches when you see Klaus crumpled on the ground, still alive but healing much more slowly and-

And Arahabaki approaching Dazai.

Dazai doesn’t even seem to notice, staring listlessly at the ground with a haunted expression on his face, like he doesn’t even realize death is approaching him.

Like he doesn’t care.

“Osamu, run!” you cry out, even though you know it’s to no avail, that Arahabaki will hunt him down, but he needs to try.

Dazai’s head snaps toward you, dark eyes wide and relieved when he sees you standing there, wounds healed. But just as your gaze meets his, Arahabaki strikes, hand darting out to curl around Dazai’s thin neck with every intention of using gravity to crush it to dust. Someone screams—you, maybe, though it’s unfamiliar, shrill and piercing, more animalistic than human—and Klaus is still trying to claw his way through the dirt toward Arahabaki to no avail. Piano Man is watching the scene with a shattered arm and leg and Iceman is fumbling for one of his guns, Akutagawa is hurtling himself through the air with Rashomon, holding his bloody side as he tries to sever Arahabaki’s hand before it can follow through with Dazai’s execution.

He’s not fast enough. None of them will be.

But they don’t need to be.

You watch as a strange white and blue color emits from where Arahabaki’s hand is curled around Dazai’s neck, as the black rot recedes and the blackness of his eyes gives way to familiar brown and blue. Chuuya—not Arahabaki—falls limply to the ground, exhausted from using Corruption, and Dazai just stands there, eyes wide and confused.

What the fuck?

Piano Man. Iceman. Albatross. Klaus and Akutagawa. They all look equally perplexed as they stare at what just happened and you fumble for answers to make sense of it. Did Arahabaki exhaust itself on its own? Did it feel Chuuya’s body crumbling under the force of Corruption and instead of letting its host die, it gave control back over? It would make sense if Arahabaki was a parasite that needed Chuuya to exist, but it’s not a parasite and Chuuya is its prison.

And either way, it only happened when he touched Dazai. A light emanated between the two of them like-

Like the activation of an ability, like the reaction between two abilities.

Is… Dazai an ability user?

He can’t be, there’s no way he’s gone his whole life without ever activating it once—or even knowing he has one. It doesn’t make sense. When he asked about yours, it was clearly with the curiosity of someone who’d never encountered an ability before. Unless-

Unless he was lying.

No. He wasn’t. He must not have known, but this changes everything.

You hardly even get the chance to play with your thoughts and come to a solid conclusion, because you realize that Yosano is storming past you in the direction of where Chuuya is unconscious and vulnerable.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask tightly, trying to take a step forward but wincing, so instead, you reach for the gun you’d placed back into your holster, grip firm on the handle.

Yosano doesn’t respond to you, her hand resting on the hilt of her machete is enough of an answer for you. The threat of Lovecraft is gone and the next biggest threat to the city is none other than the vessel of the calamity god lying unconscious in the dirt—if you were her, you would also move for the execution.

But you’re not her, so you pull out your gun and flick the safety off, not wasting any time before you drag your eyes over to where the blonde you’d spoken to before is resting on the ground with a wounded side. You lift your gun and point it at his leg, the gunshot resounding sharply through the air and causing Yosano to stop dead in her tracks, head snapping back toward you in disbelief.

Your gaze meets hers. “A nick to the femoral artery can cause a man to bleed out within thirty seconds… we learned that together, don’t you remember?”

“You-”

“The enemy is dead, we no longer have to work together. I suggest you handle your people and I’ll handle mine.”

Yosano looks frustrated, but her hesitation gave Akutagawa enough time to get between her and Chuuya. He tilts his head to the side as if daring her to try to get through him; she looks distressed as she looks between the blonde and Chuuya, but eventually rushes in your direction to get to her comrade.

She stops as she passes you and you don’t look at her, staring ahead at Dazai as she tells you tightly, “You… really have grown into someone who Mori should be proud of.”

Mori will never be proud of you, so Yosano’s words only serve to make you even more bitter.

“And you haven’t changed at all, Akiko-chan,” you say lightly. “The same scared girl on Tokoyami Island who made the same silly mistakes over and over again. You should have let me die today, just like you shouldn’t have gotten attached to every soldier that passed you by on that island. Your sentimentality will get you killed one day.”

Yosano scoffs. “You never were quite as good at utilizing your ability as I was,” she says coldly, digging a knife into an open wound, “but you did take quickly to his cold-hearted tactics and mentality… I wonder how he feels about your new weakness.”

Your gaze snaps to the side, focusing on her. “Tread carefully,” you say coldly.

“Relax, I’m not you,” Yosano spits out. “I wouldn’t use something like that against you. I don’t need to anyway, you’ll get him killed yourself.”

You don’t have a response to that, cringing and looking away. You miss the way her expression shifts when she sees your reaction; you also miss the way her lips part to say something else, leaving her behind without another word to go over to Dazai and the others.

Klaus is shakily pushing himself to his feet by the time you get there, exhausted and covered in his own blood. You reach out to grab his hand, squeezing it gently. “You did well,” you say quietly, watching how his eyes shine at the praise before glancing over to Akutagawa. “Both of you. You did good. Thank you. I parked my car two miles north of here, go get in there and sleep, I’ll drive you back to headquarters. Go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

The two nod and take off in the direction you gave them; you turn your attention to Iceman, who’s gathering Chuuya in his arms. Albatross helps Piano Man limp over to the group of you.

“We’re going to bring him back to his place to rest, Doc will look over him to make sure he’s alright. Was in Corruption for longer than usual,” Iceman says roughly, looking over you once to make sure you’re okay. “We’ll… we’ll all stay with him for a bit, if he remembers what happened when he wakes up…”

“That’s probably for the best,” you say quietly. Chuuya alone with his own mind after activating Corruption is quite the dangerous thing. You try to stay with him in the aftermath, but this time, you have things to deal with first. “He shouldn’t be alone. He’ll blame himself.”

Iceman nods, making his way toward where Doc must be camped out. As Albatross and Piano Man pass you by, Piano Man squeezes your shoulder with his good hand and says, “I’ll make sure the Boss doesn’t find out about the kid just yet… figure out what happened out here though, okay?”

“I will,” you promise, finally glancing up at Dazai, who looks like he wants nothing more than to just collapse into your arms. You think you want the same. Not yet though. Your voice softens as you address him, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Dazai sits cross-legged on your bedroom floor as he waits for you to come back from whatever meeting you had to attend as soon as you got back. He dragged your comforter off of the bed to wrap around him and he removed his clothes so he could put on a comfortable pair of sweats and a sweatshirt—yours, naturally, because he thinks if he doesn’t surround himself with your scent he might actually start to lose his mind.

He’s been teetering on the edge for hours. His eyes burn because he refuses to let them slide shut—the image of you impaled on Nakahara Chuuya’s arm is burned behind his eyelids. God, he still doesn’t really know what happened—apparently it wasn’t Chuuya from the little you were able to explain before having to leave, but instead some calamity god that uses his body as a vessel.

As insane as it sounds, Dazai somehow didn’t even doubt the words once you said them because only the power of a god could explain what he’d seen. The entire forest had been rendered to ruin in a matter of seconds, he could feel the way the air had come alive with dark, oppressive forces; he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d only ever stumbled upon an ability user once in Suribachi City before Odasaku found him and though he’d been strong—Dazai could tell that much from the way he set half of the slums on fire—it hadn’t felt anything like this. This had been… unnatural.

It had been incredible, he’d never seen anything so… powerful before, so close to divinity—or it had been until you were killed.

Whatever it was—Nakahara Chuuya or a calamity god called Arabahaki—it had killed you. It had killed you right in front of Dazai. It had killed you because Dazai made the wrong move and drew its attention. It killed you because you threw yourself into the line of fire to protect him and he can’t rid himself of the image.

No matter how hard he rubs his eyes, no matter how much he tells himself that you’re alive, he can only see the blood, the hole through your abdomen, the way your body had gone limp and your eyes had become cloudy. You were dead when it tossed your body to the side like it was nothing more than trash to be discarded—or you were close to it, at least, but you were definitely dead when you hit the rubble, body broken and shattered, eyes glassy.

You were dead because of him, that’s irrefutable. It doesn’t matter how you’re alive now—and he still doesn’t know how, you clammed up when he asked you how your wounds had disappeared—because you had been dead, and you’d been dead because of him and his mistake.

He’s hardly even had the chance to talk to you. The drive back to headquarters was quick and quiet; your two subordinates had been passed out in the backseat of your car and you’d been so lost in thought that Dazai could hardly bring himself to badger you with questions. He thought he’d get the chance when the two of you got up to your apartment, but you only sent him up on his own and told him you’d be back soon because you had to report to Mori.

It’s been seven hours since then.

He hasn’t budged an inch, hasn't eaten anything, hasn’t drank anything, hasn’t even wiped the crusted blood off of his neck. Your crusted blood in the shape of Nakahara Chuuya’s handprint wrapped around his throat because he’d used the very same hand that killed you to try to deliver the same fate to Dazai.

A part of him is half convinced that he imagined it—that’s why you aren’t here—and each passing second, he becomes more and more convinced of it. He imagined the fact that you’d been brought back to life after being killed and imagined that you drove him home. The reality is that your body is still split open on the rocks that Arahabaki had thrown you into, you’re still staring emptily up at the sky, blood pooling around you. It hadn’t been you to drive him and the two kids home, it had been one of the men you’d told him to stay by during the battle and he’s waiting here for them to decide what they’re going to do with him.

Dazai is alone again.

Everything he never wants to lose is lost—irrefutable, unchangeable.

It’s his fate.

It’s-

“Osamu.”

He doesn’t move. His gaze flickers to the side and he sees you standing there—you’re still dressed in the clothes that you were wearing when you dragged him from the beach house. The clothes you’d died in. A plain black shirt and black pants. You hadn’t given yourself any time to change once you got the message from Chuuya. As soon as you read it, you were ushering him to the car.

Except now, there’s a hole through the shirt where Arahabaki’s fist had ripped through your body. It’s all crusty with blood, Dazai can tell even if he can’t see the murky redness. Dazai thinks that if he stares long enough, he can see the wound reappear—the way your abdomen caves in on itself, how your skin starts to tear and…

He can’t look at this. His mind playing tricks on him like this, forcing him to see this—he can’t handle it. So, he looks away, breath shaky and fingers trembling beneath the comforter.

“Osamu,” you say again, voice quiet, garbled like you’re underwater. “Osamu.”

He ignores you still—doesn’t want to give in to the cruel imagination of his mind—so he tucks his legs closer to his chest and-

And you touch him.

He feels your fingers, warm and familiar, slide against the back of his head as you turn his head to force him to face you. You don’t let him look down at where the wound had been, forcing him to look up at your face. There’s a concerned look in your eyes, but your lips are curled up in a small smile.

“What’re you doing sitting on the floor?” you ask softly.

His lashes flutter when he feels how you card your fingers through his hair but he doesn’t respond. You’re here. Alive. With him.

He isn’t alone.

(Not yet.)

Your eyes flicker down to his neck, frowning when you see the blood. “C’mon, come with me to the bathroom.”

Dazai doesn’t respond but he does rise to his feet, dragging the comforter along with him as he follows after you, only dropping it when you give it a pointed look before he walks into the bathroom after you. He drops it on the floor before stepping in, letting you guide him to the toilet, sitting him down on top of the closed seat.

You don’t say anything as you step over to the sink, running the water for a few seconds before grabbing a soft rag and soaking it beneath. You ring it once before moving to stand in front of him again, tilting his head back gently before pressing the warm, damp rag against his skin.

“I didn’t think I would be as long as I was,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d just be able to report in and then leave but he had me there for hours with some of the other executives trying to figure out how to proceed with the Guild.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, eyes sliding shut as you wipe away your crusted blood.

“He didn’t even let me change,” you say bitterly. “Think it was meant to be some sort of punishment.”

“Punishment for what?” Dazai asks, voice raspy even to his own ears.

“Failure.”

“But we won,” he frowns, a bit confused.

Your hand stills for a moment before you force yourself to continue cleaning him up, the expression on your face now a bit twisted. You seem to choose your words carefully as you tell him, “I didn’t. Not to him.”

Dazai isn’t quite sure what that means but he knows he doesn’t like the look on your face, so even though his fingers still feel a bit numb and clunky, he reaches out to grab your hand, watching as your expression immediately smoothes out, a small smile replacing the frown.

“I spoke to Piano Man,” you say lightly as you finish wiping off the blood, dropping the damp, dirty rag into the sink so you can cup his face and tilt it up toward you. “We figure that it must’ve been an ability that pulled Chuuya out of the Corrupted state. Your ability… Did you… know you had an ability?”

You ask the question hesitantly, watching him carefully for a response, and Dazai frowns, unsure why you even need to ask that because he would have told you if he had an ability and you should know that.

“No,” he finally says, brows knit together. “Of course not… what is it?”

You don’t respond and the expression on your face is still contemplative—for a scary second, Dazai thinks that you don’t believe him, but then your expression smoothes out as you nod, putting his fears to rest.

“We’re… not sure,” you admit. “Have you… been in situations before where you’ve been in danger?”

You cringe as you ask it like you already know the answer and Dazai gives you a flat look.

“Yes.”

“Situations where you’ve been in contact with the person making you feel threatened?” you prod further and Dazai’s lips curl down into a frown, eyes lowering as he remembers the months he spent in Suribachi and the years after Odasaku’s death.

“Yes.”

“We theorized maybe it could’ve been your ability triggering as a defense mechanism—that maybe you had a similar ability to mine in that you could make people unconscious,” you say, leaning against the sink to look down at where he’s sitting. You tilt your head to the side and Dazai distinctly feels like a specimen being studied by a scientist. “But if that was the case, it likely would have triggered already and you would’ve known about it.”

“I didn’t know,” he says again like he has something to prove. Your expression doesn’t shift, an unreadable look in your eyes as you stare down at him. “I didn’t.”

Dazai doesn’t know why he’s getting so defensive about it, he knows that it’s probably only serving to make you more suspicious. He thinks it’s because he’s upset that you even need to ask that, it’s bothering him more than it should.

“Okay,” you say to placate him. “I have my own theory but…”

Dazai leans forward. “What is it?”

You look conflicted, brows knitting together and then you look away like you don’t even want to answer him, so he tilts to the side to force himself back into your line of vision again. You sigh heavily as your gaze drifts back to him.

“I’m going to try to use my ability on you,” you tell him but your voice wavers and you look pained just by the prospect of it. Dazai’s eyes widen, remembering how angry you’d gotten when he first brought it up to you. “Just to… test something. Okay?”

Dazai nods eagerly, eyes wide and imploring—he thinks that he shouldn’t feel so excited by this when you’re clearly conflicted and unhappy about it but… it’s not even a matter of an ability being used on him in a non-aggressive manner, it’s more just…

It’s a part of you. It’s a part of you that Dazai has never experienced before and he wants to experience all parts of you. Everything. Anything. No matter what it is as long as it’s you.

You reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek and Dazai waits with his heart in his throat and excitement thrumming through his body, pushing away all of the numbness. He looks up at you as he braces himself for something to happen and only begins to wonder if something is wrong when he sees how you tilt your head to the side curiously.

“What do you feel?” you finally ask him.

Dazai blinks and then says, “Excited?”

Your brows furrow. You wait a few moments before questioning, “And now?”

Dazai stares at you. “Nothing has changed.”

Your hand drops from his face and Dazai is pouting immediately, eyes following it as you rest it against your lap. His lips part to protest but before he can say anything, you press: “And now?”

“Nothing has changed,” Dazai says, mind racing as he slowly puts together what your theory is: that no ability can affect him, and the reason why Arahabaki put to sleep after it came in contact with Dazai was because it couldn’t exist while in contact with him. “Wait, are you…?”

“You nullify abilities,” you breathe out. “You… And not just by touch… it seems like any ability—around you? Or maybe if it just targets you?—it just like… gets sucked up into a black hole. Non-existent.”

Dazai feels a bit giddy as he looks at you. “I have an ability.”

You don’t even seem to register his words, staring at him with an expression so wrecked that Dazai is startled, thinking he did something to upset you. He’s about to ask when you speak again, voice sounding a bit distant as you say, “You’ve never been affected by my ability.”

And Dazai remembers. He remembers why you’d been so upset when he asked you to use your ability on him. Remembers how your face had started to crumble, the insecurity that had swept across it: I don’t know who wants to be around me for me and who’s just influenced by my ability.

“I told you,” Dazai says with a teasing smile, “I want you for you.”

“You do,” you agree, taking in a deep breath as you look down at your lap, lips curling up into a small smile that Dazai wishes would remain on your face forever. You look so at peace, so happy—and because of him. “You might be the only one.”

You say the words lightly but Dazai can feel the weight of them, so he reaches out to take your hands into his, squeezing them gently. “I doubt that,” he says, “but even if I am, I’ll love you enough that it won’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

Your eyes widen. Dazai immediately draws back and slaps his hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just admitted out loud. He can feel the heat emanating from his cheeks and he’s sure that he’s probably as red as a tomato. He almost wants to bolt but before he can, your smile softens around the edges and you reach out to cup his cheek again, the look in your eyes so adoring that it makes Dazai’s breath catch in the back of his throat.

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, and it’s with more emotion than when you told him last night—god, it’s hardly been twenty-four hours, all of this has happened within twenty-four hours.

Dazai is suddenly acutely reminded of the fact that he’d almost lost you within those twenty-four hours and his chest feels much heavier. He wonders if you were abruptly reminded of the same thing because your nails dig into his cheek enough to sting, the look in your eyes more intense.

“Can we watch a movie?” he asks, voice wobbling as he holds your free hand between his so tightly that he fears he might break it.

He wants to lay with you, wants to curl up in your arms and pretend he’s watching a movie that he doesn’t care for just so he can bask in the feeling of being loved and pretend he didn't just almost lose you.

“We can watch a movie,” you agree. “Let me go get changed. What are you feeling?”

You take a step away from him and Dazai almost reaches out for you but refrains. “Horror?” he asks, if only because he likes to hide his face in your chest under the pretense of being scared.

You give him a side-eye over your shoulder as you walk into your bedroom and he promptly gives you a sweet smile, knowing that you know exactly why he picked the genre. You only roll your eyes and leave the bathroom and he sighs as he sits back against the toilet, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

A warm feeling that is very quickly pushed away when his phone buzzes.

Professor Ui: Can you stop by the school with Koda-san and Otsuka-kun tomorrow? We received a tip-off concerning the exposé we were working on a few weeks ago. I want to run something by the three of you because we might just have the chance to drive the nail in the coffin.

His throat swells as his gaze flickers up to where you’re changing into a clean pair of pajamas and fixing the comforter that he’d pulled off of your bed, rattling off a few options for him to choose from—all going in one ear, out the other. His knuckles are white around his phone before he fumbles to stuff it in the pocket of his sweats.

He just wants one night with you after everything that happened today and… he remembers the look on your face when you mentioned ‘punishment’ and ‘failure’, and he thinks that you deserve just one night of peace too.

A night of peace that isn’t interrupted by another shitty text.

He’ll bring it up to you tomorrow or… or maybe he’ll handle it on his own. Go to the meeting, figure out what they’ve been tipped off about so he can report back to you… and then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be a liability to you anymore. He could do something to help you and… it’s not like he has to be as worried about danger considering the newfound revelation about his ability. Obviously, there are still other dangers but…

But Dazai could be helpful. Useful. He’s only been a hindrance to you up until now, but he could change that.

He could change it. And maybe—just maybe—if he could learn how to use his ability and you could rely on him for more things… Maybe there’s a chance he could change the fate he thought was inevitable. Maybe he wouldn’t lose you. You love him, so you won’t leave him, and he would be strong enough this time to make sure you wouldn’t be taken from him in the same way Odasaku was.

Things would be different.

He would be different.

“Are you coming?” you call as you pull on a sweatshirt and peek your head back into the bathroom.

“Coming,” he agrees, bounding out of the bathroom and tossing himself right on top of you as you rest against the pillows, curling into your side and waiting for you to start the movie.

One night of peace. It couldn’t be too much for him to ask.

He tries to ignore the ghost weight of the gun in his hand as his arms tighten around you.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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requiemforthepoets · 3 days

Note

Would you be interested in writing something for Oscar? I feel like he would be the perfect guy to have your firsts with, so understanding and cute like imagine having your first kiss with him. He would be so understanding and would kiss you with so much care and ugh I need me a man like him☹️ would you be down to write something like that?

in a world full of wrong, you’re the only thing that’s right 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: the idea of falling in love scares you, but at the same time, you long for it. wanting to experience how it feels like having someone by your side.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for your request! i’m sorry that this one took days, i had already finished the original version of this one, but i was not happy with it so i scraped it off and decided to write a new one. i had also took some creative liberty if it’s alright with you. i hope that this one is up to your expectations. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, no use of y/n, traditional upbringing, reader is an only daughter, overthinking, anxiety, fear of falling in love, and some fluff

You had never been in a relationship before Oscar. In fact, you had no idea what being in love was even supposed to feel like at all. So when your friends came to you, venting about their partners or asking for some advice, you would just sit there, nodding along, and pretending to understand everything that they were saying. But the truth was that you were clueless. You had never experienced the ups and down that they spoke of. No fights over silly things, no making up with heartfelt apologies, no lingering fear of being left behind. Part of you had always wondered what it would feel like to have someone special, someone to lean on, but another part of you was terrified–utterly terrified of the vulnerability, terrified of the idea that maybe one day, that person you end up with could hurt you.

You had been raised in a traditional household, the kind where dating wasn’t just for fun, but that is meant to last with the intention of marriage. Your parents always told you to be very careful, that relationships were serious and sacred. It doesn’t help that you are an only child as well, so your parents can be really overprotective of you. So, when you found yourself daydreaming about having a boyfriend, the thought would always come with a sense of guilt. You’d see your friends with their partners and wish, even just for a second, that you could have that too. But then again, these fears would creep in–what if he cheated? What if he wasn’t who you thought he was? What if you weren’t enough? The doubts swirled around in your head constantly. But then, everything changed when you met Oscar.

You met him in a way that you never expected you would. It was during a vacation in Monaco with some friends. The week had been loud and chaotic–late night dinners, laughter, and a bit of madness here and there. Needing some peace and quiet, you decided to stroll around by yourself. The streets of Monaco were breathtaking, and you let yourself get lost in the gorgeous scenery, with your thoughts floating somewhere far away. So far that you didn’t even notice the guy speeding towards you on his bike. Before you knew it, he swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision, but you lost your balance and tumbled to the ground.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The voice was concerned but soft, and when you looked up, you saw a pair of worried eyes staring down at you. He had already jumped off his bike and was holding out his hand to help you up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Oscar said, pulling you to your feet gently. His touch was warm and cautious, as if he was afraid you’d break.

“No, no, I should have been paying attention,” you quickly brushed it off, though your heart was racing for more reasons than just the fall. Up close, he was…well, you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else, but he was strikingly handsome. You didn’t know if it was love at first sight or from the shock of falling, but something inside you shifted in that moment.

“You sure you’re okay? I feel terrible about this.” He frowned slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. “Let me take you to a hospital, just in case.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m fine, really. There’s no need for that.”

He didn’t seem convinced at all, but after some insistence, Oscar backed off. “Alright, if you’re sure. At least let me make it up to you. How about some coffee? My treat.”

Well, that’s pretty much how it all began. One coffee turned into another, then into long conversations about everything and nothing. You couldn’t quite believe how easy it was to talk to him. Usually you’d find yourself nervous around guys, but he was kind, thoughtful, and never made you feel uncomfortable and pressured. Slowly, those coffee dates turned into something more, and before you know it, Oscar had asked you to be his girlfriend. Though you couldn’t help but cringe when you thought back to the moment you said yes to him. You had never been so flustered, unsure of how to respond, that instead of a kiss like a normal person, you just gave him a hug. A damn hug. You had felt his arms wrap around you tightly, his laughter vibrating in his chest.

“So I take it that it’s a yes, then?” he had asked, his voice teasing but soft.

You had nodded into his shoulder, very embarrassed beyond belief. But Oscar being Oscar, he didn't care. He hadn’t even brought it up afterwards, as if he’d expect nothing more than that simple embrace–and that’s what you loved about him. Oscar never pushed you, never made you feel like you always had to rush into anything. He was patient and understanding in a way that felt comforting. Sometimes, late at night, you would lie next to him, just staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got so lucky. The fears you once had, the doubts that plagued your mind–none of them seemed to matter anymore every time you are with him.

One evening, after spending the day together exploring the city, you found yourselves sitting on a park bench, watching the sunset. It was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that you loved and felt like home.

“Do you ever wonder if this is all real?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. Oscar turned to look at you, his expression gentle. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…sometimes I just can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I’d be in a relationship like this. Felt overwhelming and surreal sometimes.” he smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his. “I get it. I never thought I’d meet someone like you either.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, squeezing your hand lightly. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

At that moment, you knew. You knew very well that all the fears you once had, all the time you had spent overthinking and countless anxiety–they didn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore. With Oscar, you felt safe, loved, and secured in a way you had never imagined. He wasn’t just your first boyfriend, he was your first in everything–the first person to show you what love really felt like.

Six months into your relationship with Oscar, you had managed to avoid what most people would consider a natural part of being a couple–kissing him on the lips. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, hell you definitely do want to kiss him so badly, to the point you had daydreamed about it plenty of times, thinking about how his lips might feel against yours. But every time you thought about it, your mind would spin, and your nerves would take over. You’d never kissed anyone before, and the idea of messing up, of completely not knowing what to do, terrified the shit out of you. Sure, you had kissed him on the cheeks, hugged him endlessly, but never once had your lips touched his. You couldn’t help but wonder how Oscar was so patient with you, how he never complained or pushed for more, he was very understanding in a way that made you feel safe. Sometimes, you even questioned how he could be satisfied or survived with just a few cheek kisses.

Yes, you had been raised in such a traditional household, but Oscar was special–so incredibly special–that the pressure you put on yourself to make the moment perfect felt overwhelming. Still, you knew that at some point, you’d have to gather the courage to just do it. But every time you tried to psych yourself up, you’d just freeze, thinking about it drove you crazy. There would be times where you’d hear people joke about you being a prude, or wonder aloud how anyone could go long without kissing their partner on the lips, but the truth was, you were just terrified.

Then came Baku. It was Oscar’s second win at the Baku Grand Prix, and you had traveled to the race with his family to cheer him on. The excitement in the air was evident as you stood by the barricades at the Parc Fermé, anxiously waiting for him to climb out of his car. Your heart raced as you watched him pull into the P1 space, his car coming to a stop, and pulled himself out of the cockpit.

Your heart nearly stopped when he stumbled slightly as he got on the top of his car, and you had to suppress the urge to vault over the barrier to make sure he was okay. But Oscar quickly steadied himself, he then pulled off his helmet and balaclava in one smooth motion, his hair a sweaty mess, but his eyes bright with victory. Oscar spotted you instantly, a wide grin breaking out across his face as he ran quickly towards you, and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in his arms. You held him tightly, feeling the energy and adrenaline coursing through him as he hugged you back.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his shoulder, the words almost lost in the noise of the crowd. “You were incredible.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands finding their place gently on your cheeks. His thumb brushed your skin softly, and for a brief moment, the noise of the world around you seemed to fade away. He gazed at you with so much love in his eyes, the kind that made your heart flutter. Oscar had always been patient, understanding, never once pressuring you into anything you weren’t ready for. He knew about your fears, about how you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, but you had never told him why. Even without knowing the full reason, he had always respected your space and waited for you to feel comfortable.

But something was different today. The way he looked at you was different, and you felt it too–a shift inside you, a calmness you hadn’t expected. You weren’t scared at this moment, not with him. Somehow, Oscar seemed to sense that change too. He smiled softly, his hands still cradling your face as he leaned in just slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, giving you the chance to back out if you needed to.

Your heart raced in your chest, feeling like it was gonna leap out from your chest, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of love, out of excitement, out of knowing that this was the moment. You smiled up at him, nodding gently. That was all he needed.

Oscar’s touch remained as gentle as ever, his hands caressing your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was familiar, comforting, something he’d done a thousand times before. Then, he kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle softly, your nerves starting to melt away. Then finally, he leaned down and kissed you on the lips.

The world seemed to stop as his lips met yours, soft and warm, and everything you had feared about this moment vanished. It wasn’t awkward or overwhelming like you had imagined–it was simple, perfect. Oscar kissed you gently, not rushing, not pushing for more than you were ready for. It was the kind of kiss that made you feel safe, like he was letting you know that this was just the beginning, and there was no need to rush. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling softly, sharing a private moment amidst the chaos of the race celebrations around you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Oscar teased you lightly, his voice warm and full of affection. You laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I guess not,” you whispered, hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Oscar smiled, kissing your forehead again, and you knew in that moment that no matter how scared you had been before, being with him made everything feel right.

Later that evening, after all the chaos of the podium celebrations, press interviews, and flood of congratulatory messages, you found yourself in a much quieter setting with Oscar and his family. The energy from the race still buzzed in the air, but there was a sense of calm now, a comfortable warmth that filled the room as you all gathered around for a private celebration. You felt so at home with his family, like you were part of the family, and in moments like these, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were to have Oscar and this incredible group of people who treated you with so much love.

Dinner was simple but perfect, the conversation flowing easily between stories of the race and light-hearted teasing. You were sitting beside Oscar, with your hand resting comfortably under the table, something that felt so natural now, like an unspoken connection between the two of you. He would glance over at you every now and then, giving you that boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat every time. The moment you shared earlier at the track still lingered in your mind–your first kiss. It felt surreal, but in the best way possible.

After the dinner, Oscar had asked if he can spend the remainder of the night with you alone, to have some private moment. His family agreed and a few teasing had been made as well, but you and Oscar just laughed. By then, you decided to return to the hotel, to have some private and alone time with each other. Oscar sat beside you on the couch, his arms draped casually around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers played lightly with a strand of your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting on his chest. The bustling noise of the city seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that kiss all night,” Oscar whispered suddenly, his voice low so only you could hear him. Your cheeks flushed, and you turned slightly to look up at him, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Yeah? What about our kiss?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It was worth the wait. I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day I met you. Being it during my win made it more special.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully, though the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle. “You’re just saying that.” Oscar chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “I’m serious. I’m not sure you realize how patient I’ve had to be. But you’re worth every second.”

You felt your heart was about to combust at his words, and you felt yourself melt a little more into his side. There was something about the way Oscar always knew how to make you feel special, how he could say the simplest things and make you feel like the most important person in the world.

You smiled up at him, your voice soft as you said, “I’m really glad it was you. I’ve always been scared of what it would be like, but you made it…perfect.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his eyes full of that warmth and affection you had come to adore. “That’s all I wanted. For it to feel right for you.” Leaning up slightly, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a surge of affection as you did so. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I’d wait a lifetime for you if I had to.” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

For the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 day

Text

Walking the Road for Her

Wanda Maximoff x Gray Witch!Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You can't live without Wanda and you've tried everything else so when Agatha comes knocking on your door you accept immediately, but the teen that's with her...he seems so familiar

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 3 OF AGATHA ALL ALONG! Grief/Loss, hallucinations, death/mortality, emotional distress, supernatural elements, implied self-sacrifice, character death, reunion with a deceased loved one

Authors notes: Thank you @scarlethexelove for indulging in my random Wanda thoughts.

When Agatha asked for you to walk the witches road, you didn't hesitate. She was put off by your eagerness, but never told her why you were walking. You kept that part to yourself she didn't seem to mind. Everyone had a reason, and everyone had their secrets, so no one asked, and you weren't about to tell them you wanted, no needed Wanda back.

You would give up anything and everything to have Wanda back. If it meant to team up with Agatha, you would do it.

So you did. You met up with her and put on the cheery smile she hated. You always assumed she hated you for being a younger witch still full of life, but since Wanda died, you felt like you died too. You got along well enough with the others. You knew Jen the best being closer in age, though you didn't care for her products.

The teen seemed eerily familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. Why does he remind you of Wanda of a life you can't seem to remember.

You're overly protective of him. You don't let him have the wine, and when you hallucinate from said wine, you blink, and suddenly, you're looking at Wanda. Back in her early twenties with the eyeliner, ripped stockings, painted nails, and rings on every finger. You cry over it, cupping her face until it turns back to his.

“Are you okay.” He looks at you with concern. You pull away quickly and wipe your eyes.

“S-Sorry.” You quickly run the ingredients back, trying to escape the feelings. You need to stay strong. You need to get Wanda back.

You end up getting through the trail. Not without its costs. Losing Sharon wasn't something you had in mind, but the witches road is treacherous and has no place for mortals. You never should have let Agatha do that, but hindsight and all that. You knew you had to press on and on the road Teen asks,

“Are you sure you're okay? You and Sharon called out for the same person.” You swallow hard.

“Yeah I'm fine. We all had hallucinations about things. I'll be okay.” You tell him and then mumble under your breath, “Not like I don't deal with it every morning...” his head swivels.

“What was that?” He asks.

“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.”

The further you journey, the harder it gets. Sometimes, you want to give up, to give in, and join Wanda another way. But something stops you every time. You almost think you can feel her, feel her all around you. In the trees, the air, the leaves beneath your feet. With a quick turn of your head, you think you so the soft auburn color you miss so much. The road is playing tricks yet keeping you grounded to your goals.

You make it to the end. Finally passed the last trial everyone who had made it. Their prize awaited them. You waited, didn't see her, and then you heard a whisper in Sokovian.

Your name.

You looked around everywhere. “Over here milaya.” You hear her call. You whip around and see her. She doesn't look like the Scarlet Witch anymore. Back before that. Like when you were on the run. You run into her arms without a second thought.

You can't help as you cry. Burying your face in her neck as your body shakes with sobs. Her vanilla scent invades your senses. “Shhhh sweet girl, I've got you.” Wanda holds you close. Your heart feels whole again now that you're back in her arms.

Your sobs turn into sniffles. “I've missed you so much.” You mumble against her. Her nails lightly scratching at your back. Something she's always done to sooth you. Kissing the side of your head and letting her lips linger.

“I know Detka. I'm so sorry. I'm here now. I'll never leave you again.”

You held onto Wanda tight, afraid to let go as if she'd disappear again if you stopped.

Wanda opened her eyes, looking past your shoulder her eyes widened in surprise and then softened as she saw him.

“Bi-Billy?” Wanda's voice shakes slightly. You pull back but not fully letting her go. You follow her gaze that lands on the teen. Your brows furrow before you look back to Wanda.

“Wanda?” You question her.

She lets go of you when Teen responds to the name. He tries to say something, but the sigil protects him. A wave of Wanda's hand changes that. “Billy?” She asks again.

“Yes, that's me.” You're really confused as you see Wanda's red tendrils come out sending red waves through his eyes before disappearing. “M-mom? H-how did you...?”

Billy runs towards Wanda, slamming into her, but she doesn't budge. She holds him tightly in her arms. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn't know my own son?” Wanda whispers. It's just loud enough for you to hear. Confusion morphs into realization as you look on.

The reason he looked so familiar, the reason he reminded you of her. Of course, it was one of the twins. Sure you hadn't been a part of the hex, but you had seen the recordings of it. Last you had seen the twins, they were 10 inside the hex.

Your heartbeat quickens when you remember what you had seen next as the hex fell the you Wanda had created was destroyed along with the twins. She had held you tightly until you were no more.

It's a shock to see him in the flesh. To understand who he really is. He pulls away from Wanda and turns to you. “Mama?” He's cautious having been giving the memory from Wanda and realizing that you had never got to meet him. Do you even know who he is? Will you accept him as your own?

Your breath catches. It's like waves of memories flood through you as if they had always been there. Everything from the hex coming to life as tears fill your vision and spill over. “Oh my sweet little boy...look at you!” Your arms wrap around him tightly. It had been there, blurry when you thought about it. Of this being your son. “Mama is sorry you had to go through all of this.”

“Mama don't apologize. I'm happy to have you back.” He pulls away slightly keeping an arm around you and opening his other for Wanda. She joins into the hug.

“I'm happy to have both of you back.” You can feel the tears pricking your eyes.

You hug them both tightly. This still left you without one son, but you knew you'd find him. If Billy made it out somehow, then Tommy must be out there, too.

Wanda cups both of your cheeks and looks between you. “Moya lyubov i moy syn (my love and my son).” Tears in her eyes she can't believe she is back and that she had both of you. Her heart is almost complete, but there is still a missing piece to the puzzle.

You didn't need her powers to know what she was thinking, “We'll find him, milaya.” She smiles at you, giving a soft peck on your lips.

“We will. Now that I have you two I know we will.”

This was more than you could have asked for at the end of the road.

#ley writes #ley writes drabbles #ley writes one shots #wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #witch!reader #gray witch!reader #agatha all along

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aurumalatus · 1 day

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𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝟏

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), reposted for formatting lol

summary. a series of random headcanons from the universe! part 1 of many because i have lots of thoughts about these two

author's note. feel free to come scream about some more headcanons with me <3 enjoy!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

kinich and the princess have known about each other for a long time, but it’s only recently that they’ve really talked a lot and become close (since kinich became your guard)

kinich is a bit more open in this universe because although he grew up an orphan, he was recruited into the guard earlier and taken care of by his fellow trainees and the castle staff. he’s still pretty serious and deadpan at his core but he has a bit of silly in him too

the maids especially used to dote on him a lot. they would coo about how beautiful his eyes are and sneak him cakes and sweets from the kitchen

kinich and the princess actually had one key interaction when they were children that she doesn’t remember

the princess came down with a bad illness and had to stay in her room for about a week. kinich was assigned guard right outside her room, but she never saw him. still, they used to talk a lot during that week through her door, and she never quite figured out who her temporary friend was.

princess used to be *very* spoiled and she knows this. kinich is one of the only people who knocks her down a peg, and he also taught her how to do a lot of practical things (i.e. cleaning, cooking, weaving)

kinich takes his shirt off by grabbing the back of his collar and pulling it over his head (idk if i’m describing this well, but the image in my head is INSANE).

once they actually get together, kinich is the type to kiss the princess’s tears away when she cries (i’m going to scream)

kinich secretly has always known he loved the princess in some capacity, maybe since the day he was inducted as her guard (he looked up into her eyes, knelt before her, and felt something burst in his chest). he doesn’t feel like he deserves her love in return and feels so committed to his duty that he won’t do anything about it.

kinich isn’t afraid of dying, but he’s afraid of leaving the princess alone. it’s the reason why he insists on teaching her so many practical things like fighting—he doesn’t trust anyone else to protect her like he can.

there’s a yearly tournament among the guards (and any citizens that want to enter) that is held to win the royals’ favor. kinich is required to participate due to his position, but he tries a lot harder than he lets on—something about letting another guard win kind of irritates him. he wins your ribbon as a prize, a sign of your personal favor, and keeps it on him at all times. he claims it’s just to prove that you owe him.

kinich is a TERROR in the capital marketplace. sellers love him and hate him—he’s fair, but he barters like HELL. you, on the other hand, are any easy target. you will pay pretty much any price they name, and this irritates kinich greatly.

kinich is in charge of training newer recruits to the guard, and older members will warn them not to mention the princess in front of him. last time someone said something disrespectful about her, kinich had them running laps until the sun came up.

most mornings, kinich trains at sunrise. the princess will come out to join him sometimes, either to just lay down in the grass and talk, or to bring out a picnic

many princesses from other nations are attracted to kinich, but he does not return the sentiment—whenever one tries to talk to him, he acts extremely dry and boring on purpose until they lose interest.

kinich has a lot of piercings, but they're not always optimal to fight in—on days when he expects a battle, he wears a pair of studs that the princess gifted him

the castle maids have a running bet on how long it will take you and kinich to get married. sometimes they try to push it along by telling kinich you're looking for him when you aren't, just to pull the two of you together. the pot is over one million Mora, and at some point, the queen joins as well.

#genshin impact x reader #kinich x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x you #genshin impact imagines #pixelprincess!au #adeptus ink

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mindless-existence1 · 2 days

Text

Sub Gojo is a Virgin and you take his card

Summery: When you and Gojo start dating he's definitely acts all experienced, newsflash he's not. So when it comes to your first time he's a bit apprehensive. But eventually you get to rock his world.

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND! REQUESTS OPEN FOR FLUFF AND KINKTOBER AS WELL.

Authors note: This was run to write but took so long istg. This is a reader who has a dick but that's the only thing relating to gender or physical appearance. Enjoy!

For a while now your boyfriend Gojo has been acting....strange. He's always been cocky, calling himself "the honored one" and acting like he owns the world. Even when it comes to dating he seems to be the most experienced in the feild. He sure acts like it.

But a few weeks ago to were making out during movie night- a semi regular occurrence -and you thought 'finally a good time to get steamy with your mega super hot boyfriend which you love dearly'.

But when you attempted to take it further he immediately stopped you. Gojo's infinity went up, which it's never up around you, this caused your hand to be pushed away from him and you stopped having contact entirely. He seemed flush and almost embarrassed by the hand that was moving higher up his thigh.

Gojo quickly rushed out a mumbled excuse about wanting to watch the movie. It took him a minute to take down the infinity so the two of you could cuddle again. What was weird is that you could tell the boner he had was hurting, it was straining against the fabric of his pants as he failed to hide it.

But you didn't wish to push as to not make him uncomfortable. If Gojo didn't want to take the next step then you guys weren't going to take the next step. But it has been weeks since then and you've be together for a while and yet...nothing. What surprises you the most is how he's gone this long without sex.

Before you started dating he seemed to be with a new girl every night and now nothing. You know Gojo isn't cheating on you so how has he been able to hold himself back, and why?

That takes you to now, the two of you were cuddling on his bed just doing your own things on your phones. You couldn't pay attention to whatever you were looking at though. "Hey Satoru, can I ask a question?" You ask turning slightly so you were facing him.

"Well you just did but I'll let you ask another one." He chuckles as you roll your eyes. Gojo puts down his phone and props himself onto his elbow. Despite feeling self continous out of your mind you decide to ask your question straight up.

"Why haven't we had sex yet? Is it something I did or what?" You start to ramble slightly, suddenly everything comes pouring out. After a few second Gojo leans forward and catching you in a kiss the effectively shuts you up.

"You could have just asked nicely you know? Didn't think you were this desperate." He teases you again but this time his voice wavers and he seems unsure of himself, very un-Gojo like. "Well whenever I tried to start something you pushed away." Your basically pouting against his lips now.

"I- well um" Gojo stutters out some nonsense and turns his head away slightly in embarrassment. "I just thought maybe you didn't want to." Gojo's excuse is weak at best and he knows it. You notice his weird behavior but can tell something is going on.

"Well how about now, I want to. Do you?" Your questions makes him fumble but he nods his head. You put a hand on his cheek and lean in to kiss him, Gojo responds but can't match your pace.

When you move to sit on Gojo lap he outs his hands on your waist. After a minute of making out you slowly kiss his cheek and move down towards his neck. "Y-, Y/n wait." You keep kissing the same spot on his neck that you know makes him squirm.

Humming out a response you stop your attack on his neck so he can talk. "I- ummm I've never..... you know." Gojo makes a motion with his hands that almost makes you chuckle, but you feel this isn't a joking situation.

It does take you by surprise tho, what does he mean he hasn't done anything? The Statoru Gojo, the honored one, the one who brags about how much a ladies man he is, who has girls fawning over him day and night, is a virgin? He must have taken your silence as a bad sign by the way he lightly pushed at your shoulders.

"I get it if you don't want to anymore." He rushes out, before he pushes you away you bite down onto his neck. Gojo whines and his arms go slack on your shoulders. "It's ok baby, that just means I get to take carre of you tonight."

He feels your hot breath on his skin and flinches slightly, "Yes- fuck please." Gojo's begging falters in embarrassment but makes your core twist. Your pants start to get tightens and you make a move to slip your hands under his shirt.

Before you can get underneath the fabric an invisible force pushes you away. Although his infinity isn't as big as normal it is still covering Gojo in a way that keeps you from touching him. It takes you by suprise but by the way he reacted he seems suprised to.

"Fuck- please I can't control it I'm sorry-" Gojo babbles out nonsense as the infinity wavers, cutting in and out. "Oh but Satoru I can't make you feel good if you keep this up." You purr near his ear. He chokes on a moan and rambles out more apologies.

"Common pretty boy, don't you want me to make you feel good?" The nickname causes him to falter which results in the infinity falling down as well. The second you know it's off you quickly lean in locking Gojo in a kiss.

He whines in it when he feels your hands rubbing up on his torso. Gojo's breathing gets shaky, he fumbles to taking his shirt off. You chuckle, "It's ok Satoru, just calm down. Let yourself enjoy it." He weakly nods his head.

Gojo's pale chest is flushed a deep red, with a swift moment you brush your hands over his perk nipples. He whimpers at the foreign feeling, "How do you want to do this baby?" You voice is smooth like honey, you're kissing up and down his toned chest.

"I- I want you to" Gojo fumbles to get the words out, embarrassment evident in his words. "Common pretty boy just use your words." Your tone makes him grip the back of your shirt.

He mumbles something under his breath you cant hear. "Use. Your. Words." You voice is sterner than before and it makes Gojo gulp. "Fuck me," after a heavy breath "please."

His desperate voice makes your dick get harder. When you starts to pull at Gojo's pants he lifts his hips to help you. Under your breath you say 'there you go.' “Someones excited” You smile, tracing the bulge through his boxers. “All for me?” You tease into his ear, slowly moving your hands to palm him.

Gojo let's out a deep moan at the feeling. “Hurry up.” He whines, bucking his hips up into his hands. You pull at his boxers, bringing them down past his knees and let him kick them off.

You look down to where Gojo is trying to close his legs but can't with you between them. “So pretty but you gotta keep your legs open baby.” You tell him while puts hands on his knees and keeping them open.

"Sorry.” He whines at being so exposed and keeps his dead down cast. His hands are desperately holding onto you. One griping your shoulder, the other tangled in the hair at your neck.

Gojo vaguely registers the sound of a lube bottle opening but doesn't process it till he feels your slick hand on him. He gasps in suprise but it quickly turns into a wavering moan.

After a minute of prep you line yourself up to thrust into him. "I'll go slow, promise." He nods his head in understanding. You slowly slide in, careful to not hurt him.

"Fuck- so full." Gojo mumbles out more curses while leaning his head down onto your shoulder. He grips your shoulders when you fully thrust in. He arches his back at the feels and you can see the tears bubbling up in his closed eyes.

"Doing so good for me." He whimpers at the praise. You slowly start to thrust your hips faster as Gojo starts to to get used to the feeling. One hand grips his waist and the other starts to pump his length.

He can feel the pleasure bubbling inside him, his legs shake from where they are wrapped around your waist. Gojo can tell he looks pathetic but he can't bring himself to care when you are treating him so well.

Somehow you must know he's about to come from the way you smile and lean in to bite at his flushed neck. After another minute of pleasure he can tell you are getting close to and starts babbling incoherently.

"It's ok, promise. Just let go." He whimpers with a tight grip on your forarm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck I can't. S-so good." A high pitched whine tears through his throat. Your hips thrusts faster into him to match the pase of you hand on him.

The sheet beneath you gets pulled and crumpled from how hard Gojo is gripping it. For a split second you think it might tear, the worry is thrown out the window from how pretty he looks like this.

Tears run from his bright eyes and down his flushed face. There's a light coat of sweat that covers his torso and shaking legs. The moans pouring from his lips are sinful music to your ears. "Cumming- I'm, I'm cumming." He mumbled between gasps of air.

"Good boy just let it go. I've got you." With a final thrust of your hips and hand he comes with a choked off moan. Following suit after him you still your hips, just barley moving your hands to help him through the after shocks.

Your panting breath and Gojo's quiet whimpers are all that can't be heard in the room. You slowly set down the wobbly legs you were holding moments before.

When Gojo doesn't talk you start to worry, "Satoru? You ok?" He nods, moving a hand to his chest where just a minute earlier he came all over. "I feel gross though, aren't you supposed to give me princess treatment after this?"

Although his voice is horse and shaky you can hear the joke in it. You chuckle and shake your head. "Of course only the best treatment for you princess." You joke back giving him a kiss on the cheek with a smile.

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hearts4werka · 3 days

Text

My eyes slowly flutter open while the sunlight pools into my and Matthew's shared bedroom through the curtains over the windows as the morning hours strike, glancing at my current surroundings I see the form of sleeping Matthew next to me with his tattoed arm softly draped over my waist. I can't help but stare at his adorable sleeping face for a few minutes, pbserving and taking in his facial features shadowed by the sunlight occupying the space around us in the moment.

Turning my head to lay flat against the soft pillow sitting currently beneath my head, I stare at the ceiling and come up with an idea to prepare breakfast and since Nick and Chris will be arriving later today to visit before they both have to attend to some meetings regarding their brands, I havent been told much yet but hope to get slightly more educated when they do arrive.

I pull the duvet away from my body, ready to exit the bed and start my day but Matthew’s hand that was previously laying down on my waist tightens its grip and subconsciously pulls me closer into his chest, holding me captive as he slowly stirs awake himself and buries his face into my hair as I hear him mumble something into them but I can’t quite make out the words.

“What was that, sleepyhead?” I ask softly, taking my eyes away from the ceiling and now on him, noticing him slowly coming back to consciousness and waking up from his slumber.

“…five more minutes” He repeats more clearly for me to understand him this time in a slight whine, his face still buried in my hair as I notice him inhaling the scent of them in that moment, still remaining half asleep and not fully awake yet.

When the words ‘five more minutes’ in that whiny tone from sleepy Matthew, knowing very well that in his state right now im not getting far with this conversation so I just chuckle under my breath at how clingy he's being and especially in the morning. Accepting my faith I place a soft kiss on his forehead and snuggle further into his chest, giving into his wishes.

“Only five more minutes, after that I gotta get up. Okay?” I clarified, glancing over at him to make sure he understands me but the only answer I receive is a groan of approval. Nodding his head against the top of my head as he softly pulls me impossibly closer into his chest as he can.

“I love you.” I whisper against his chest as I feel a smile growing on his face thats cuddled up into my hair, our bodies melting together as heat radiates off them and transfers them to the other persons skin, making it slightly tingle.

“Love you too.” He muttered as we continued to cuddle up against each other, suddenly I feel a hand starting to tickle me in ticklish places on my body. Out of instinct my body jerks away from the hand, while Matthew giggles under his breath and continuing his tickle assault.

The sudden tickles make me burst out in laughter as I return them, poking at his chest and starting to tickle him as well. Both of us end up as two laughing messes on the bed after only a few minutes passing by, I adore mornings like these with Matthew laughing next to me.

@hearts4werka

authors note: just a random blurb I wrote today in class out of boredom and while writing the drug dealer Chris fic and I might make it like three parts or two bc I’m writing their meeting rn and I don’t want it to be very long since the first part is already longer that I thought it would be so just say if y’all want it to be two parts of nah, luv y’all so much

Guestlist!

| @sturnioloblues - @sturnsxplr-25 - @deffonotjae - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @klaus223492 - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot |

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robo-writing · 14 hours

Note

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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aemondapologistfrfr · 1 day

Text

Book Club - Pt2

modern!aemond x fem!reader

Part 1

Summary: Aemond allows you to break down some of his walls the more time you both spend together. He’s reluctant to let you dote on him and he thinks you’re too good to be real.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, oral(m), p in v, unprotected, publicish

Authors Note: i just love him so much 🗣️ & surprise i made it a little emo 🖤 🙂

Word Count: 4.7k

ᓚᘏᗢ

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I open my eyes to an empty bed in a room that’s not mine. I stretch and groan at the tenderness between my thighs as I look around the room for Aemond. I slip on one of his shirts and make my way out of his room. When I enter the hall my nose is flooded with the smell of breakfast and I make my way to the kitchen. I watch him from the doorway and let my eyes scan over his toned back, groaning at the sweatpants low on his hips. I start to walk up to him with a smile on my face.

“Go back to bed.” he hums without turning around.

“Then come back to bed with me.” I pout and he chuckles.

“I will when breakfast is done.” he turns and looks at me with a raised brow. His eye scans over my body before it locks to my eyes.

“Hm?” I tilt my head walking over to him with a soft smile as his hands go to my waist and pull me closer. His fingers grip my waist before he turns me around.

“Go back to bed.” he scoots me down the hall and I sigh walking back to his room. I sprawl out on his bed and look around to occupy my time. I look through his nightstand and smile when I see the books. I pull out a book and lay back and start to read.

“Are you comfortable?” Aemond hums walking in with a tray.

“Very.” I set the book down next to me and watch him come over to the side table.

“I was supposed to wake you up with breakfast.” he places the tray on the table.

“I can pretend to be asleep.” I look up at him with a smile. “Go out to the hall.” I wave him off and scoot under the covers.

“I’m already in here with the food.” he tries to hide the smile on his face. I shut my eyes and bury more into the blankets. I hear him sigh and feel him get into the bed next to me. When I feel the warmth of his body I turn and curl into him. He runs his fingers up my arms and I shiver holding him closer. “Wake up, Y/n.” his voice soft and I blink up to him.

“Good morning.” I smile as he shakes his head.

“I made you breakfast.” he hums biting his lip.

“Mm, did you?” I look up at him placing my hand on his chest and dragging it lower.

“Actual breakfast.” his hand grabs my wrist as he looks at me with a blown pupil. He pulls me up with him and reaches across to bring the tray to us. “Let me know what you think.” he waits for me to take a bite and when I do I sigh.

“Gods, Aemond.” I hum taking another bite. “Why aren’t you a chef?” I look up and see his red cheeks. “Look at you.” I coo pinching his cheeks. His eye gets wide as I softly brush against the scar on his face and his hand goes to my wrist.

“You shouldn’t ruin your hand with such an ugly part of me.” he hums, pulling the hand near his scar away and kissing it.

“You’re beautiful.” I scrunch my brows and his eye snaps to mine.

“I’m not.” he shakes his head with furrowed brows.

“You are.” I nod. “You have such beautiful hair.” I hum threading my fingers through it. “A beautiful blue eye.” I swipe my thumb underneath it. “A beautiful voice and thoughts that I would be content to listen to for the rest of time.” he watches me as I ghost my fingers over his lips. “A beautiful-“

“Stop.” his voice strained as he looks at me with a teary eye.

“Aem,” I frown and scoot closer to him, discarding the tray of food.

“I’m sorry.” he shakes his head clearing his throat. I watch him as he blinks away his tears.

“What’s wrong?” I keep my voice soft.

“I’m waiting for you to realize you don’t like me.” he mumbles.

“I think I like you too much.” he looks to me at my words.

“You could do better.” I sigh at his words and cup his face once more so he has to look at me. I place a soft kiss on his lips and he lets out the softest whine. I kiss up his jaw and place featherlight kisses over his eye and make my way up to his forehead.

“Can I take this off?” I look at him as my fingers rest against his eye patch.

“You’ll leave if you do.” his voice broken.

“I won’t.” I look at him and he nods. I slowly remove it and he watches me intently. I place soft kisses at the top of the scar and his hands grip my waist. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Aemond.” I whisper as I continue to kiss down his scar.

“Y/n.” my name falls from his lips as I pull back and admire him fully. He pulls me into his lap and hugs me tightly. He clings to me and I brush my fingers through his hair as he buries his head into my neck. “I’m sorry I ruined breakfast. It’s probably cold now.” he mumbles against my skin.

“Shh,” I hold him tighter and he seems to relax into my arms. “Let’s just lay back down.” he lifts his head up and looks to me with a watery eye again.

“You don’t have to stay.” he furrows his brows.

“Do you want me to leave?” I smooth his hair back.

“No.” he shakes his head.

“Then let’s lay back down.” I kiss him softly and we get back under the covers and I pull him against my chest and he relaxes into me.

“Thank you.” he breathes out.

“For what?” I hum holding him tighter.

“For staying.” his words barely audible as he wraps his arms around me pulling me even closer.

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Y/n: Bring your favorite book to the store so I can read it. I’ll give you mine too.

Aem: Or you can just bring it when you come over for dinner later?

Y/n: I’m coming over for dinner later? 🫣

Aem: I would like you to.

Y/n: What time?

Aem: Tell me when to pick you up.

Y/n: Pick me up in like an hour.

Aem: I’ll see you then.

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I shuffle through the aisles trying to locate my favorite book. I smile when I spot it and pull it from the shelf. I walk around collecting little bookmarks and other things to give him along with the book. When I finally make my way back up front I spot him sitting in the chairs by the windows.

“How are you?” I smile stopping at his side.

“What’s all this?” he grabs the things ready to spill from my arms.

“For you.” he looks up to me confused.

“Why?” he looks to the things in his lap.

“So you can have nice things when you read my book. Look at how cute this book mark is.” I grab it from the pile and he smiles watching me show him.

“This is very cute. Thank you.” he hums with a smile on his lips.

“Let me get you a bag.” I turn and make my way to the counter. I rummage around and throw more miscellaneous things in there along with the book and when I turn he’s standing above me.

“What is all this now?” his eye widens as he takes in the bag.

“Bookshelf decorations and other things I think you would like.” he exhales deeply and nods with a smile.

“You will be in charge of decorating.” he sets the rest of the things I handed him in the bag.

“We can do it together.” I put my hands on my hips looking up to him.

“Yes, of course.” he chuckles grabbing the bag from my hand. “Come, let me make you dinner.” his hand slides around my arm and down to my hand.

ᓚᘏᗢ

“That was spectacular as usual.” I smile up at him as we finish the dishes. “Ready to decorate and trade books?” I grab his hand and start to tug him out of the kitchen. He stops us to grab the bag of items and brings it with us. I empty the bag out onto the couch and start to hand him things.

“Where do you want me to put this?” he looks at the small figurine in his palm.

“Wherever you think it’ll look best.” I hum taking a couple things and starting on the shelf next to me. We spend the next couple of minutes placing small trinkets around his shelf’s and I turn to him. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” he looks around. “Reminds me of you.” he smiles at me and a blush rises up my neck. “Let me get my book.” he brushes past me and pulls a book down. We switch books once we sit on the couch and I smile at his choice.

“Tell me why this is your favorite.” I look at the back of the book before looking up to him waiting for him to talk. He explains it thoroughly without giving anything away and I nod, listening. “I’m excited to read this.” I beam.

“Tell me about yours.” he turns to me with a soft expression and listens as I start to discuss the main idea. His eye never leaves mine as I talk and I finish hoping he likes the book. “Do you want to start reading now?” he tilts his head, skimming his fingers over the book in his lap.

“Yeah, I would like that.” I nod my head, dragging my eyes up to his.

“Tea?” he starts to get up and I grab his hand.

“Let me make it. You always cook for us.” I rise and try to keep him sitting.

“Making tea for you is not a burden.” he cups my cheek as he towers above me.

“What if I just want to do something for you?” my voice soft as I look up at him.

“You do enough for me.” I chuckle at his words.

“Like eat the food you make me? Or maybe talking nonstop for thirty minutes about a book?” he brings his other hand up to my other cheek.

“By giving me a chance. Reading with me. Talking to me. Listening to me. Complimenting me. You simply existing is enough for me.” my breath catches at his words.

“Aem,” my voice soft and he dips down and places a kiss on my lips. He pulls back and I look up to him through my lashes. “Let me make you some tea.” I reach up and cup his cheeks pulling him into another soft kiss. I turn and walk to the kitchen and I hear him walking behind me. “You could’ve started reading.” I chuckle filling his kettle.

“And miss a moment with you?” I turn to him as I let the water heat. I shake my head with a smile before pulling two mugs down. I rummage through his different teas and pull out some honey and sugar. Once I’m done I turn and offer him his cup.

“Thank you.” he hums, sipping on it. He brings us back to his library and we begin to read and slowly curl up with one another allowing each other to enjoy our books.

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I walk around the shop for the last hour waiting for any last minute customers. I work on cleaning the sitting areas and tidying up the drink stations. I make my way to the front when I hear the bell.

“Hi, welcome in.” I greet them coming out of the aisle setting my cleaning supplies down.

“Hi.” Aemond smiles and I look him over. He looks divine in his black suit and I watch him as he slowly walks over to me. My breathing deepens as he steps closer and I tilt my head up to him. “How are you?” his hands wrap around my waist pulling me against him.

“Good.” I nod my head, biting my lip. I press myself closer to him as I smell his cologne. “How was work?” I ask, searching his eye.

“Not good to be honest.” his nostrils flare. “When does the shop close?” I glance over at the clock.

“Now.” his hands drop from my waist.

“Go lock the doors.” I quickly nod and lock the doors and he’s pulling me against him the next moment.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” I look up at him through my lashes. He glances at my lips and I smirk. I pull him down an aisle away from the windows and sink to my knees before him.

“You don’t have to.” his voice like gravel as I unbuckle his belt.

“I want to.” I pop the button and pull the zipper down and have him freed. He sighs above me as I swirl my tongue around his tip.

“Gods,” he pushes my hair back to watch me. I trail my tongue along the sides and he groans. I press wet kisses along his hardening length and slowly start to sink my mouth around the tip. As I suck him into my mouth his fingers dig into my hair. I start to bob my head and he lets out soft curses. I get lost in his noises and look up to him confused as he pulls me off of him. “I need to fuck you.” I nod quickly and he’s pulling me up.

“There’s a breakr-“ I gasp as he bends me over a desk.

“This works for me.” he purrs in my ear as he bends over me. “Does this work for you?” he chuckles as I writhe beneath him while he lifts my dress up.

“Aemond,” I plead, turning my head to look at him and he pushes my legs apart.

“Hm?” he presses his fingers against my panties. “Sucking me off got you this wet?” he chuckles, pulling them aside and sliding his fingers through my wetness.

“Please,” I whine as he dips his fingers into me. He pumps them pulling moans from me before he removes them. “Aemond, please,” I arch my back and my breath catches as he slams into me. The desk groans against the wood floors at his pace. I claw into the desk as he presses me against it.

“Such a good girl for letting me use you.” he grunts and I whimper at his words. His fingers dig into my hips and with every thrust I’m gasping beneath him. One of his hands leaves my hips and lands onto my ass. I clench around him crying out and he chuckles landing his other hand on my other cheek.

“Aemond,” I whine pressing back into him. His pace quickens and he slides a hand around me. His fingers circle my bud once and I burst around him and his fingers dig into my side. His hips stutter and he fills me, collapsing on top of me.

“Thank you.” he kisses the side of my head before pulling out and situating himself. He pulls my panties back to the side and pulls my dress down. He lifts me off of the table and I look up to him still trying to catch my breath.

“Are you feeling better?” my words still lulled with pleasure.

“I am.” he hums, kissing my forehead. “Can I make you dinner?” he smiles.

“I would love that.” my face lights up at his words.

ᓚᘏᗢ

“Do you want to talk about your day?” I hum from across the table.

“Working with my siblings can be insufferable at times.” he sighs looking at his plate. “Tell me about your day instead.” he looks up to me with tired eyes.

“I had a few new customers today. I got to read some more of your book, which I’m enjoying.” his face softens at my words.

“I’m glad you’re liking it.” he turns his attention back to his plate.

“Is there anything else I can do? You still seem so stressed.” I frown at him and he shakes his head. “Are you sure?” I reach across the table for his hand and he looks up to me. I get up and take my empty plate with me and go to grab his.

“What’re you doing?” he turns and looks up at me.

“The dishes.” I smile and grab his plate placing it on top of mine.

“You will not do the dishes alone.” he shakes his head standing.

“I will.” I look up at him defiantly. “Go read and I’ll come in with tea shortly.” I nod him down the hall.

“I will not have you wait on me in my own home.” he refuses to move.

“Let me do this for you. Go relax.” he looks down to me with scrunched brows and I sigh, setting the plates down. I cup his face bringing his lips down to mine. I press mine against his softly before I kiss up his jaw. “Aemond let me just wash these dishes. You deserve to be taken care of too.” I press a kiss against his neck and he sighs pulling me against him.

“Okay.” he nods his head and I watch him walk down the hall to his library. I walk to the kitchen satisfied and begin to boil the water for the tea while I clean up. After the dishes are dried I finish up making our tea and make my way to him. When I turn the corner I see him sprawled across the couch with my favorite book in his hands and his hair spilling over the armrest.

“I have tea for you.” I set his cup on the table in front of him as I card my fingers through his hair. He sighs leaning into my touch and I kneel down and continue the movements.

“Absolutely not.” he grabs my wrist. “You will not cater to me anymore tonight.” I sigh as he turns and pulls me up.

“I will if I want to.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ve barely let me ‘cater’ to you as is..” I trail off sinking into the couch next to him.

“You shouldn’t have to.” his voice soft as he turns to me.

“You had a bad day.” my voice borderline whiny. “Is it so bad for me to wrap my lips around you until you come?” his eye darkens at my words. “Or do the dishes? Or even just brush my fingers through your perfect hair?” I pout looking at him. “Do you wanna use me again?” my voice is soft as he pulls me closer.

“You’re so perfect.” he places his lips against mine. “I don’t get it.” he pulls me on top of him, discarding my book next to his tea. “Why are you so nice to me?” he buries his head in my neck, holding me tightly against him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I run my fingers through his hair and his arms tighten around me. “You are so kind and sweet. So smart and thoughtful. I think you’re perfect.” I hum scraping my nails against his scalp.

“You must be the only person who can see that.” he mumbles against me. “Will you just stay over? To cuddle?” he pulls back and searches my face.

“Of course.” I nod with a soft smile. He brings us to his room immediately and stops to help me take off my clothes. His fingers dance across my skin but never linger too long. His touch is warm but innocent as he removes my layers. I offer him the same heated touches and I unbutton his shirt and slide it down his arms. He steps out of his pants and pushes back the covers for us. We crawl into bed and he curls against me.

“Thank you.” he hums as I hold him against me.

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Y/n: I got you something 🤭

Aem: What is it?

Y/n: A surprise. I can give it to you tonight when we discuss our books?

Aem: I’m still picking you up at seven?

Y/n: Yes, please.

Aem: I’ll see you then.

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I smile to myself as I place the last piece of tape on the wrapping paper. I wait by the door and lock it behind me as I see Aemond walking up. The ride to his house is quick as we talk about our days. We walk up to the front door hand in hand. I’m excited to give him his gift and I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek waiting for the right time.

“Why are you so antsy?” Aemond chuckles pulling me inside.

“I want to give you your gift so badly. I hate waiting.” I beam up at him pulling my purse off my arm. I grab the gift out and hand it to him. He looks at me with flushed cheeks and offers me a shy smile.

“I didn’t get you anything.” he says, holding it in his hands.

“I know. I just really wanted to get this for you.” I nod waiting for him to open it. “Please, Aem.” I look up to him and he nibbles his lip as he slowly starts to pull at the seams of the tape. He reads the title and looks over the book before his eye snaps to mine.

“Is this a-“

“First edition.” I nod looking at it in his hands. “Isn’t it so beautiful? It’ll look perfect on your shelves. Before you say it’s too much, it wa-“ he silences me with his lips. I sigh holding him closer as I smile against him. “Do you like it?” I mumble against his lips.

“You got me a first edition of my favorite book.” he shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing.” his eye searches my face.

“I’m so glad you like it.” I relax at his happiness.

“I can’t believe you did this.” he presses his lips against mine again and I melt into him. “Thank you.” he murmurs before kissing me again. He pulls back and looks down to me.

“You’re very welcome.” I reach up and cup his cheek. He leans into my touch and turns his neck to place soft kisses on my hand. He intertwines our hands and leads me down to his library. He places his new book on the table in front of us and turns to me.

“Your favorite book was so much different than I was expecting.” his words laced with surprise. “I didn’t expect you to hand me a classic.” I fold my legs and fully turn to him.

“The imagery, the detail, it just encapsulates the decadence of the period.” I hum. He talks about what his favorite parts were and I listen as he starts to go off on a tangent.

“What did you think of mine?” he grabs his book from the table.

“I can see why it’s your favorite.” his cheeks tint at my words. “It’s so thoughtful and brings up a lot of insights to the information it introduces to us.” I talk about his book for some time while he admires his book in his lap. “Let’s display it on your shelf.” a smile spreads across my face as I pull him up.

“You do it. You’re better with displays.” he hands me the book. I walk to the shelf where his original book was and start to shift things to make room. I place the book facing outward and push the books back against it. I stand back and look at it. I turn to see what Aemond thinks and his lips are on mine before I can even speak.

He pulls back as we breathe deeply and he tugs me to his room. “Can I?” his fingers skim along the hem of my dress and I nod. His hands cup my breasts once the piece of fabric is discarded. He kneads into them and I squeeze my thighs when he pinches my nipples.

“Aem,” I cry out breathlessly.

“These are perfect.” he dips down and sucks a nipple into his mouth. I hold him against me as he flicks his tongue against my hardened bud as I whimper above him. His fingers slide between my thighs and I groan as his long finger presses into my heat. His mouth moves to my other nipple as he continues to tease me over my panties. I gasp pushing my chest into his face as he nibbles against my chest. I start to pull at his shirt wanting to touch his skin and he pulls back with a blown pupil.

“Look at you.” he towers above me, licking his lips.

“Take this off.” I whine pushing his shirt up. He makes quick work of his clothes and leads us back over to the bed. He sits up against the headboard and pulls me onto his lap. I straddle him, grinding myself down onto his length and he groans, wrapping his arms around me. I press my lips against his as he slowly moves my hips across him. He lifts my hips up and I feel him press against my core. “Aemond,” I mewl as my toes curl while I sink down on him. “Let me see you.” I plead as my fingers slide along his eyepatch. I start to rock my hips and he groans nodding his head.

“If you wish.” he looks up to me slightly worried. I slip off his eyepatch and clench around him at the sight.

“Gods you’re so handsome.” I sigh before attaching my lips to his. I slowly start to bounce against him and he whines into my mouth. His hands slide from my hips up to my breasts as he leans back and watches me. He pinches my nipples and I cry out pushing myself forward on his chest. I roll my hips and his hands fly to my waist. I continue to hump against him while resting my head on his shoulder. “Aem, I’m gunna,” my voice is cut off by a gasp as he starts to swirl around my bud.

“I know, I can feel it.” he purrs as he jerks his hips up. His arm wraps around my waist holding my still as he hammers up into me while still circling my bud

“Yes, like that.” I sob pulsing around him. “Aem,” I dig my nails into his shoulder as he keeps up his pace. He slows our movements down, swallowing my sounds as I tremble around him. He flips us staying inside and whimpers spill from my lips as he rolls his hips into mine slowly. I lock my ankles around his back holding him against me as he pushes into me roughly.

“You’re perfect.” he grabs my wrists and holds them above my head with one of his hands. His other hand is still buried between us allowing his fingers to swirl against my sensitive bud. I arch up into him as I come undone again. He stills inside of me before filling me with his warmth while I cling to him. He slides out and pulls me against his chest as we try to calm our breathing.

“I want to do that again.” I sigh resting my head on his chest.

“You’re insatiable.” he chuckles, kissing the top of my head.

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masterlist 🔌

idgaf i’m making another part bc i’m in love with my little almond joy

book club honorary tags: @anukulee @aeryqueen

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch @hardkiddonut @faenyra @hiimava11 @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @fiction-fanfic-reader @povofjustme @multilover19 @alexxavicry @cedstars @fuckalrighty

#modern aemond #modern aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #x reader #x reader fic #x reader smut #hotd smut

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the-thing-withfeathers · 3 days

Text

watch me

a/n: okayy i was actually holding out on y'all for a little bit with this one but i've been wanting to do a role reversal one shot for a while hehehe

pairing: jock!madison beer x student council president!reader

warnings: SMUUUUUT so much fucking smut. fingering, semi-public sex, cursing, degradation.

summary: madison wants your attention on her.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

your student council meeting usually clashed with your girlfriend's practice, but today it didn't and you finally found the time to watch your girlfriend work her magic on the field.

you sat on the bleachers with one leg crossed over the other with your laptop out, trying to complete one of the reports you needed to do for an event that student council hosted.

madison spotted you, glad that you were here to see her in her element. but she had never been more jealous of a laptop. she loved that look you had when you focused in on your work. you were determined and your drive was unwavered.

but you were dressed too damn cute. your short shirt and blouse sealed at the top with a little ribbon tied into a bow were killing her. your hair tied up in a half pony, exposing just enough skin for madison to almost moan at the sight of you.

when she scored a goal and realised you had just looked away from her, she was fed up. she was panting and the adrenaline was getting to her, she wanted your eyes on her and only her.

she called for a time-out and jogged over to you, jumping up on the barrier of the bleachers.

"get that shit out of here." she was leaning over, yanking your laptop off your lap. she kept it against her chest when you stood up to grab it back.

"mads! i have a report due." you whined, trying to reach over but she was turned away.

"fuck the report." she spat. "watch me." she said, putting the laptop in on the bench where her water bottle was.

you sighed in defeat, you were no match for madison's desire for attention. you stayed standing, your arms supporting you as you leaned on the barricade.

oh. now you knew why she wanted you to watch.

she ran back to the field, ditching her jersey and throwing it to the sidelines.

her skin glistened with sweat. your eyes trailed down to her body, her abs stretching with every step she jogged. you licked your lips, you could devour her with your eyes. she was just trying to get a damn reaction out of you.

you felt your thighs squeeze together reflexively when she shouted an order at one of her teammates. you loved when she showed her authority like that. you knew she was practically the frontrunner for team captain when they would vote this year.

you bit down on your lip as hard as you could to stop the thoughts from running through your head. you had to stop yourself from faking an injury to get her out of practice so you could jump her bones.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

when practice was over, madison made her way to you and handed you your laptop back.

"good girl. did you enjoy the show?" she teased. you rolled your eyes at her.

"of course i did." you pouted a little. "hurry up and get showered so you can take me home!" you whined, you shoved her in the direction of the locker room. you leaned against the wall, using your phone while you waited for her.

minutes passed, you thought that madison would be done by now. but when you received a certain text, you realised she was nowhere near close to being ready to leave.

"come join me in here." she texted. you groaned and walked into the locker room from the field access entrance.

you entered the quiet locker room. it was a little bit eerie with how empty it was.

"mads?" you called out, looking for your girl.

"in here, baby." she said from the showers. you spotted her in the middle one. she was facing the showerhead and her bare back was littered with water droplets. you slowly approached her and she turned around, her full body exposed to you.

your eyes scanned her build. she was perfect in your eyes, she was built for what she loved and you felt your knees grow weak at the visual.

"hey pretty..." she said, walking towards you. she ran a finger down your exposed collarbone and stopping at the ribbon that held the collar of your shirt together. she pulled it open and slowly undid your buttoned up shirt. "i couldn't wait til later." she confessed.

your doe eyes stared into hers, they were filled with desire for you. you knew you were in for it when she pushed your jacket off and discarded the rest of your shirt.

"c'mon, help me out here." she pleaded with you, pouting.

you didn't have to be asked twice before you were undoing your bra and dropping your skirt to your ankles. you stepped out of it and kicked your shoes off, your stockings following directly after.

she pulled you by the hand towards the water, not giving you even a beat to adjust to the running water. she pinned you against the cold tiled wall under the shower head, you let out a gasp as it hit your skin.

"mmm baby, you looked way too fuckin' good today." she moaned into your neck, leaving kisses on your soaked skin.

your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of her sucking down on your pulse point. "oh fuck mads, you did too." your nails dug into her shoulders.

her left hand was placed firmly on your waist, pulling you into her. her other hand was situated on the wall behind you. she pulled away and looked dead into your eyes.

"you look so hot when you dress like that. such a damn goody two shoes, you are." she mocked you, her hand running up your thigh to cup your aching cunt. you whined when you felt a finger run up and down your folds. "but i know what you really are. you're just my little whore, aren't you now."

you nodded, holding a whimper back by biting down on your lip. "mmhm... your little whore." you repeated back to her.

"good." she nodded, leaning in again but this time to take your lips into hers. you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer to you. she tasted the chapstick on your lips when she licked your bottom lip, asking for access. there was a part of you that wanted to drag this along, resist and push her buttons. but you were just too needy.

you opened your mouth up for her tongue to explore you. your soft moans sending vibrations down her throat as she toyed with your folds, teasing your clit by flicking it with her finger every so often.

she pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting the two of you still from the intensity of your liplock.

"jesus, you're so fucking weak for me." she was mocking you. her hand came down from the wall and planted itself on the side of your neck, forcing you to look at her. "you're gonna take my fucking fingers like a good girl, yeah?" she asked you.

"i will, mads. please." you begged, rutting your hips against her fingers, her palm hitting your clit just right.

she plunged a finger into you without warning, your gasp just barely coming out as all the air left your body.

"oh fuck baby, you're so tight." madison groaned softly. "gotta stretch you out." she said, adding another finger in.

your eyes squeezed shut at the stretch. you let out a low groan, your nails digging into madison's skin.

"fuck... oh my god... feels s'good." you said when she started moving her fingers. the sound of her palm hitting your skin bounced off the walls, it made you even wetter.

all of a sudden, you felt yourself stretched out even further.

madison added a third finger.

you had never felt so stretched out before. you cried out in pain for a second but quickly got used to the feeling as madison moved in and out of you. her filthy words only lubing you up further. your head fell back against the tile, your wet hair sticking to it when you made contact.

"watch me." she commanded, your eyes were forced open. you made direct eye contact with her, your mouth hanging open. you let out a soft noise with every thrust she gave you. she added her thumb into the mix, circling your clit with agonizingly slow circles.

but the situation you were in was enough to send you over the edge.

"ah- ah! mads, you're gonna make me cum!" your eyes started to flutter shut again, your head falling back onto the wall. she suddenly halted her movements.

"only sluts that keep their eyes open get to cum." she scolded you, nearly pulling her fingers out. you felt yourself tighten around her fingers as an effort to keep her in. you painfully raised your head, an ache starting to form in your neck from holding it up. you opened your eyes, meeting hers again.

"isn't that better?" she cooed softly, moving her fingers at a faster pace. she leaned forward and kissed your cheek. "i fucking love your eyes, baby. i love when they're on me. they're just for me, yeah?"

"yeah, mads. fuck!" you cried out, quickly reaching your high again. "yeah, they're just for you. nobody else."

"cum for me, baby. you've been so good. you deserve it." she coaxed your orgasm out of you when she felt your walls start to clench around her digits.

you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open, your nails digging into the nape of madison's neck. she let out a soft groan from the pain. as you reached your orgasm, you left out a choked down moan, the sound bouncing off the walls.

your chest was rising and falling as you rode out your orgasm on madison's palm. she let out a condescending chuckle.

"you're such a fucking slut for me." she said, pulling her fingers out of you and licking up your arousal off her fingers.

"fucking hell, mads." you shoved her shoulder back, laughing softly as you felt your legs give out on you. you tried to take a step but quickly fell into madison's arms.

"awh, baby's so fucked out." she just had to tease you, didn't she? she couldn't help herself.

"shut up!" you fought back. "you're the one that wants all the damn attention on you."

"wrong, baby." she tutted.

"i want your attention."

#madison beer #madison beer x reader #madison beer x female reader #madison beer smut #madison beer x reader smut #madison beer x y/n #madison beer fic #madison beer x f!reader #madison beer x fem!reader #jock!madison beer #cheerleader!madison beer

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nadvs · 6 hours

Text

push and pull (part one)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

author’s note finally wrote the zach/rafe twin au!! i won’t be making this a series but it was so fun to write as a one-shot (that had to turn into a two-shot because i ran out of post space lol)

tags college au set in the obx universe. mutual pining. angst. love triangle. miscommunication. no smut. rafe endgame (s2 bangs supremacy) (sorry to my zach girlies)

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post

» masterlist

Everyone can tell the Cameron twins apart by their hair.

Zach’s is short and unkept, always looking like he just ran off the soccer field, while Rafe keeps his a little longer, soft strands hanging over his forehead, every edge neat and clean.

From the moment you first see them together, you can tell that the two couldn’t be more different. And you don’t need to rely on any tricks like looking at their hair to know who’s who.

It’s their eyes that give them away. While they’re the same captivating shade of blue, Zach has a sense of hope in his eyes that Rafe doesn’t.

────୨ৎ────

Your father has been coaching your college’s men’s soccer team for most of his career. When the directors of the athletic department kept pestering him about the team needing a social media presence for the school’s PR, he asked you if you’d be interested.

As a freshman, the part-time job seemed like a fun way to get to know people, so you accepted the position and made a TikTok account for the team.

Since the start of the season, of all the soccer players, Zach has been the most welcoming. He goes along with whatever you need for work, humoring you when you hold up your phone and ask him trending questions for videos, like what his lockscreen is or what superstitions he follows before a game.

As time went on, you felt yourself gravitating more and more towards him, watching him in awe whenever you came by the field during practices and games.

Eventually, he started inviting you to the close-knit team’s hangouts. You quickly and seamlessly joined the friend group within a few weeks.

Before you knew it, you had a serious crush on him. He’s handsome and funny and a total sweetheart. What makes it so complicated is that you can’t read him at all.

He’s nice to you, but he’s nice to everyone. Maybe your feelings are unrequited, but you hold onto hope that he looks at you the same way you look at him.

It’s a Friday night when you visit Zach’s place for the first time. You’re sitting in the living room with a few of his teammates and their girlfriends, your empty takeout containers scattered over the coffee table, the sound of the autumn wind rushing past the windows reduced to a whisper beneath your loud conversation.

Zach had already told you he had a twin brother that he lived with in a loft off-campus, but when you rest your eyes on Rafe for the first time as he comes through the front door, it’s surprisingly jarring to see someone identical to Zach.

The chatter continues around you as you watch Rafe toss his keys onto the end table, drop a duffle bag, and silently walk into the open-concept kitchen. He swings open the fridge, keeping his head down.

His hair is damp, sweat glistening on his skin. His shirt is plastered to his torso, the planes of his muscles angular and sharp, not leaving much to the imagination.

“You haven’t met my less handsome brother yet,” Zach jokes to you. He points to Rafe, then to you, introducing you to each other.

“Hi,” you say kindly.

When Rafe meets your gaze, he stills for a moment, eyes almost imperceptibly widening. A couple seconds of silence pass.

“Hey,” he finally offers with a quick, tense nod.

“How was your workout?” Zach asks.

Rafe pulls a protein shake out of the fridge and swings the door closed.

“It’s so fucking busy in that gym,” Rafe replies, stepping away. He turns the corner and paces up the stairs towards his bedroom.

He and his brother have always lived in different worlds. They host parties sometimes, but that’s usually as close as their social circles overlap.

Right now, though, it’s like his aching muscles are willing him to turn around and keep talking to the pretty girl sitting in his living room. But while he’s never been good at ignoring his impulses, he’s not about to flirt with his brother’s guest, knowing how much it bothers him.

Before Rafe reaches his bedroom to get ready for a shower, he hears Zach come upstairs to stop him in the hallway.

“I’ll make sure they’re out by nine,” he says quietly. “That cool?”

Zach has always enjoyed having people over and surrounding himself with friends. But he’s aware of how much it annoys his moody brother when he just wants to chill at home. Despite how much Rafe parties and hooks up, when he wants quiet, he wants quiet.

Because Zach naturally wants to keep the peace, when they moved out of Tannyhill, he set ground rules. One of them is that they’ll check in with each other to make sure they don’t let guests overstay.

Rafe looks at his watch to see it’s nearly eight and says, “Sure. Whatever. I’m having a girl over later anyway.”

As soon as Zach left the living room, you heard one of the other soccer players, Chance, quietly make a joke about how that was the most words he’s ever heard Rafe say.

It makes Rafe all the more intriguing to you. Everyone here has some sort of history with him, albeit small and meaningless. But you’re still fairly new to the friend group. You know nothing about Rafe. For some reason, you want that to change.

Zach’s eyes meet yours when he comes back into the living room.

“Still a warm and fuzzy guy, isn’t he?” Chance says.

“Like always,” Zach quips with a shrug. And that’s that. Nobody brings up Rafe for the rest of the night.

When the hangout comes to an end about an hour later, Zach trails you all out through the front door. You bump into a girl you recognize from one of your classes.

“Hey,” she says. “I know you.”

“Hi,” you say with a laugh, holding the door open for her when you realize she’s coming into the loft.

Rafe appears behind Zach and by the way his eyes hungrily travel down her body, you quickly surmise she’s here for him.

And for some reason, it stings that she’s physically the complete opposite of you. If that’s Rafe’s type, you definitely don’t measure up.

You’re not sure why your mind is running away from you so fast. Why do you care about Rafe’s type? It’s his brother you’ve been pining over for the last month.

“How’d you do on that quiz?” she asks you.

“The grades are already up?” you reply.

“On time for once,” she laughs.

“Let’s go,” Rafe mumbles to her, his hand finding the small of her back.

You know it isn’t personal. He clearly just wants to hang out with her, not entertain any small talk. But the way he’s acting like you’re not even in the room hurts.

You say bye to Zach one last time before you follow your friends down the hallway towards the elevator. Your shoes are padding over the tiles when you hear your name half-whispered.

Zach stands with a foot out his door, beckoning you. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as you scurry back to close the distance between you. You look up at his warm eyes expectantly.

“Sorry. Don’t take it personally,” he murmurs with a gentle smile. “Rafe’s like that with everyone.”

You’re sure he’s not like that with the girl he just led upstairs. But you don’t know why you even care that much.

Zach’s the one you like. Obviously if you find him attractive, you’ll find his twin brother attractive, too. You figure your brain is just getting used to it.

You return his smile, appreciative. Stuff like this is why you like him; he cares enough to try to comfort you after his brother brushed you off.

“It’s okay,” you reply. Your friends call your name, urging you to get to the elevator before the doors close. “Thanks. I’ll see you.”

Zach watches you rush away, hoping he managed to make you feel better. He loves his brother. He understands why he is the way he is. But he doesn’t like that he made a girl who was nothing but nice to him feel bad.

As he tidies up the mess in the living room, thinking about how sweetly you had offered to help clear the table, Zach realizes that he enjoys not having housekeepers.

He never liked watching people have to clean up after him. Getting used to cleaning took some time after he and Rafe settled in here when the school year began, but now, it feels good.

Moving out was the best thing they could’ve done. Even though Zach’s only minutes older, he always felt protective of his brother, and being at home with their dad and stepmom just messed with Rafe, bringing out his self-destructive tendencies.

About an hour later, Zach’s doing schoolwork at the kitchen island when he hears the front door shut. He’s used to his brother’s habits, having random girls over, never letting them spend the night.

“She’s new,” Zach says when Rafe saunters into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Rafe says, ducking into the fridge. “Do we have any food?”

“I saved some takeout for you.” Zach points to the container by the oven.

“Sweet.”

“What’s she like?” Zach asks.

Rafe shrugs. Thankfully, his hook-up wasn’t interested in getting to know him, either. She just wanted to be physical. Losing himself in the feeling of a girl’s legs wrapped around him, melting into emotionless pleasure, shutting his mind up, is Rafe’s comfort zone.

“She’s cool,” he mumbles. “It’s nothing serious.”

Zach watches his brother pick at his dinner at the counter, not bothering to sit down.

He never understood how he could have these meaningless hook-ups. Zach can’t imagine sharing a bed with a girl he has no connection with. Or never talking to her again after.

He shuts his laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose before he speaks.

“Hey, you think you could be a little nicer to my guests?” he asks. Rafe tenses up.

“This again?” It isn’t the first time Zach is giving him shit for how he talks to his friends.

“It makes them feel unwelcome when you act like that,” Zach replies. Rafe’s temper flares.

“Did they tell you that?” he snips.

“They don’t have to. Just… be decent, okay?”

“I am. You care too much about what people think,” Rafe mutters.

“Maybe you don’t care enough.” Zach’s lips firm into a thin line. “I don’t want to have to apologize for you.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles. “Who’d you have to apologize to? For what?”

Zach mentions your name and how sad you looked as you were leaving. Rafe sighs, but a hint of anxiety pricks at his skin. This happens a lot. He thinks things are fine, and then he finds out later that apparently, he was rude.

“I hope you’re at least nicer to the girls you bring over,” Zach says.

“Not every girl wants a nice guy,” he jokes with a snort. “Can we skip the lecture?”

“Dude,” he sighs in exasperation.

Rafe rolls his eyes. Zach never got that Rafe doesn’t have the ability to read people all that well, that he doesn’t know when he’s expected to tiptoe around feelings. Rafe wishes everyone was just upfront like he is.

Despite the frustration rolling through his body, he hates to lose his temper on his brother. He always regrets it after if he does. So, he relents.

“Fine. I’ll be nicer,” Rafe sighs. He thinks back to the way you looked sitting in the living room earlier tonight, your voice sweet, your smile pretty.

“She’s cute,” Rafe mumbles. “New girlfriend?”

He wonders if Rafe’s mocking him. Or maybe Zach’s just being overly sensitive. His younger brother has teased him in the past for how he’s hardly ever single for very long.

Zach does prefer to be in a relationship, to live in a promise of commitment with someone who wants to love him. But is that so bad?

They deal with their trauma in different ways. Zach runs towards comfort and connection, while Rafe would rather die than be vulnerable with a girl.

Zach would never say it, but he believes he copes much better than Rafe does. But then again, Zach is pretty sure Rafe has mental health issues that he refuses to acknowledge.

“Just a friend. Her dad’s my coach,” Zach replies flatly. “She does social media for the team. She’s off limits.”

“Off limits?” Rafe echoes. “Why? You like her?”

“No,” Zach lies on impulse. It’s not just his brother he considers you off limits to. He can’t pursue you, either. Although he wants to.

But if he admits to not wanting to date the coach’s daughter because it could end badly and leave things awkward for everybody, Rafe’ll whine about how stupid it is to be living life like that, always afraid to upset people.

They’ve had this exact conversation so many times. Zach would say that it’s not stupid to be considerate. Rafe would tell him to be selfish for once. And they’d get nowhere.

“I already told you that you can’t hook up with my friends,” Zach states.

Rafe sighs. He’s done it in the past, had flings with girls Zach befriends, then caught shit for not calling back, even though he’s always clear that he’s not looking for a relationship. Zach hates losing friends as a result of Rafe’s impulses.

“I know,” he finally says. “Relax.”

It frustrates Zach how much his brother acts like he’s high-strung. In reality, he is relaxed. Among his friends, he has a reputation for being chill and fun.

But with Rafe, he has to play this role. He’s had to since they were kids.

Zach stands, taking his laptop with him as he paces towards his bedroom. It’d be nice to talk to his brother about how much he likes you, about how excited he gets when he sees you coming to talk to him, even when it’s just to film a video.

It’s not like he can tell any of the guys on his team. As close as he is with them, he’s sure it’d spread and get back to you.

Rafe’s the only person he’d gush to, but he’d rather not listen to him whine about how Zach needs to stop giving a fuck about consequences. Because that’s who Rafe is.

“Night,” Zach says curtly.

“Hey, I’m sorry, alright? I don’t try to be a dick,” Rafe says. “You don’t want any more of this?”

Zach looks at the food.

“I’m good.”

It’s another lie. He still has an appetite, but he’d rather let someone else eat if they’re hungry. Because that’s who Zach is.

────୨ৎ────

“Whoa,” you say, scrolling through your notifications.

“What’s up?” Zach asks, leaning closer to you.

You’re sitting in a loud and overcrowded on-campus bar with your friends. It’s been a few days since you hung out at Zach’s, being pulled out of the conversation from your phone buzzing incessantly.

Zach’s chin is almost touching your shoulder as you drag your thumb over your phone screen. He smells like soap and warmth, making your heart race.

“This one video randomly blew up,” you say. “From like, two weeks ago. It has almost ten thousand likes.”

“Which one?” Chance asks, sitting across the table from you.

“The one where I asked you guys what’s on your lockscreens,” you tell them. “I’ll send the link.”

Your friends gaze at their phones around the table after you share the video in the group chat, but Zach stays in his spot, preferring to watch over your shoulder, closer than he’s ever been to you.

It’s stuff like this that makes you think he’s crushing on you, too.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Zach offers. “Makes you look good if you get us viral.”

You breathe a chuckle as you read through the comments.

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’re all kind of getting objectified.”

“What?” Kacey, Chance’s girlfriend half-shouts.

“Oh, that explains why I’m getting all these random follow requests,” Chance laughs. He looks at his girlfriend. “I’m not accepting them. Don’t worry.”

“Sunrise guy is so pure,” Roy, the goalie, reads a comment aloud in a teasing tone. “102 likes. Jesus.”

“Am I sunrise guy?” Zach mumbles to you.

You smirk, finally turning your head to meet his eyes. In the video, Zach said his lockscreen was ‘a cool picture he took of a sunrise.’

“I think you are,” you reply. Admittedly, he looked adorable in the video, just coming out of the locker room after a game, his hair messy and his skin flushed.

“Pure,” he repeats, his lips twisting. “Is that good?”

“I’d say it’s good,” you shrug.

“Sunrise guy is fine as hell,” Roy reads, laughing. “And there’s a whole thread under trying to find your Instagram.”

You swear you notice Zach blush as he shuffles to take his phone out of his pocket.

“What are they saying about you, huh, Roy?” Zach teases. “Share with the class.”

“Nobody’s saying shit about Roy,” Chance laughs, scrolling.

“Shut up,” Roy says, punching Chance’s shoulder.

Your stomach twists with unease when you see Zach open Instagram, the red message bubble mocking you.

Sure enough, a few girls dm’d him. He opens a message from a girl with a pretty profile photo.

Hiiii :) please don’t think I’m a stalker lol I just saw you on tiktok and I’m wondering how I haven’t seen you around campus?

You look away, feeling guilty for snooping. It’s a girl who goes to the same college. A girl he could very easily meet and date.

He’s not your boyfriend. You have to remind yourself that he owes you nothing. But jealousy doesn’t care if you’ve claimed someone as yours or not. It still finds a way to seep in.

You shift in your seat, pretending to continue to read comments while your heart squeezes in a vice.

────୨ৎ────

The next weekend, Zach and Rafe are hosting a party. As you get ready, you put extra time into getting pretty. You wonder if you haven’t been obvious enough.

You’ve been flirting with Zach like always, but he might think you’re just being nice, so if the air feels right tonight, you’ll try to make it more clear that you’re interested.

You arrive at the loft, trying to act unfazed when Zach pulls you in for a quick hug. He does it with everyone, though, so you’re not sure if you’re special to him at all.

Rafe notices you walk in. He’s standing just outside the kitchen, a cold beer bottle in his hand. You’re even prettier than he remembers.

Zach leads you to the kitchen where drinks are laid out on the counter, then quickly gets pulled away by the doorbell ringing again.

You pace into the bright space, gazing over the ridiculously large array of alcohol. Ever since you saw the size of this place, you’ve wondered if Zach comes from a wealthy family.

Regular college students couldn’t afford a home like this. And they wouldn’t so generously buy all the many drinks scattered atop the counter.

You meet sharp blue eyes. Rafe raises his beer bottle slightly in greeting. You offer a smile in return, your body numbing.

You notice yet another difference between them. Zach dresses like most other guys on campus, while Rafe is in a crisp button-up, a small logo stitched on the front. You know that brand isn’t cheap. Neither is his watch.

They must be well off. Zach doesn’t seem to want to show it. Rafe does.

You find a drink you can stomach, picking up the cold glass bottle and looking around for an opener.

“Apparently, I was rude to you the other day?” Rafe’s voice cuts over the music.

You look up to see him stepping a bit closer, putting his beer down on the marble with a clack and gripping a metallic bottle opener. You take his silent invitation, handing him your drink.

“You weren’t not rude,” you reply.

Rafe’s dimples cave into his cheeks when he chuckles, looking down, popping the lid off with ease. He likes that you call him out on it, instead of appeasing him.

“My bad.” His voice is husky, his words said with a drawl. He hands your drink back to you. “Zach’s always giving me shit about my manners.”

“He’s right to,” you joke.

You take a small sip from the bottle, your face pinching with a hint of distaste, and Rafe finds it ridiculously cute.

“Don’t like it?” he asks, eyes glinting.

“Just a little bitter,” you admit. You look out at the crowd, some faces familiar, some faces not.

You’re not close enough to the girl in your class, the one you saw Rafe with, to have asked her what their deal is. The curiosity has oddly been gnawing at you.

It’d be weird to mention it to her. Or to him. But you do notice that she’s not here. You take another drag from the bottle, tapping your nails against the counter to the familiar song.

Rafe can’t tear his eyes off of you, noticing the way you’re slightly mouthing the lyrics. If he wasn’t this close, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“You know this song?” Rafe asks.

“You do, too?” you say, looking up at him again as he towers over you.

“It’s my playlist.”

“Oh,” you laugh, surprised that you have something in common with him, that you both like this fairly unknown artist. “Yeah. This whole album is good.”

Rafe nods. You try not to stare. He has a magnetizing pull that you can’t really make sense of. There’s something so naturally dominating about him, like he’s silently demanding your attention.

The night Zach mentioned your job, Rafe looked through the account you run for his soccer team. Truthfully, he wished you were in the videos instead of behind the camera, but at least he could hear your voice.

You intrigue him. There’s no way to ignore it. His brother doesn’t want him hooking up with his friends, but what’s the harm in talking?

“So, you do TikTok stuff for my brother’s team?” Rafe asks. Zach has obviously talked about you to him. You wonder what else he said.

“My job description technically says ‘content creation’,” you reply. “But I guess ‘TikTok stuff’ works.”

Rafe can’t stifle his smile. He thinks Zach’s an idiot not to like you.

Maybe he’s lying. But it’s unlike him to lie when it comes to girls. He always wears his heart on his sleeve, so much so that it confuses Rafe why, after growing up around so much instability, he’s still so open to being hurt.

“You’re not into soccer?” you ask. He shakes his head no. “Do you play something else?”

“Nah,” Rafe says. “I golf sometimes, but that’s it.”

You can’t help but breathe a chuckle. Of course a rich guy like him would play golf of all sports.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

“What’s funny?” he teases, his stare penetrating.

You have to look away, heat flushing through you. Everything about him, about his appeal, is overwhelming.

“Come on,” he beckons, teasing.

“I was going to say that I’m not surprised.” Your eyes dart down to the small logo on his shirt. “You would play golf.”

Rafe’s amused. Zach never liked making it obvious that they come from money because he says it’s in ‘bad taste.’ It’s another thing about his brother that never made sense to Rafe.

“Really? Who’s being rude now?” he asks.

You look up at him with doe eyes. Right now, it’s really hard for Rafe to give a fuck about you being off limits.

“Still you,” you reply. He laughs.

It’s a surprise, the way Rafe’s not as cold as you first thought. He has a guard up and he doesn’t smile much, but he has his own type of charm.

You continue to chat with him about music and school and even your dad being the soccer coach. Zach must have mentioned that, too.

Thankfully, you’re not quite drunk yet, because if you were, you might ask him what else Zach has said about you, and that could be a giveaway of your feelings for him. And if you show interest in Zach, that would probably kill your chances with Rafe.

Uncomfortable realization pools your senses. While these men are complete contradictions of each other, unalike in so many ways, you like them. Both of them. Shit.

You down the tiny bit left of your drink, a sign of just how long you’ve been standing here talking to Rafe. Time with him has a way of slipping.

You gaze out at the party again, noticing that the living room has gotten much more crowded. And then you see Zach, sitting on the couch, beaming brightly as he talks to a girl.

Rafe catches the way your face falls. When he sees your eyes on his brother, he’s sure of it. You like him. And here you are, making conversation with him while you’re pining over Zach.

He thought you were having fun together. He felt a spark. The sting of rejection tears into him. His gut reaction is to be spiteful. To say you should just go talk to Zach if he’s boring you. Or to really make it hurt, to tell you Zach said he doesn’t like you like that.

Truthfully, as much as he loves Zach, he’s always been a little jealous of him. Everything just seems so easy for him, while every minute of Rafe’s life feels like a fight he’s losing.

Instead of hurting you, he swallows down his words with a swig of beer. Maybe all of Zach’s scolding for his lack of manners is finally working.

“Enjoy the party, yeah?” Rafe says to you. He steps away before you can reply.

Later on, you’re chatting with Kacey when you feel rhythmic buzzes in your pocket. You pull your phone out to see Zach’s name on your screen.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Finally,” he laughs. “Can you open the front door for me? I got locked out.”

A moment later, you meet Zach on the first floor, wishing your heart didn’t skip the way it does when he smiles at you through the glass door.

“I’m an idiot,” he says once you let him in. “I forgot my keys. Thanks.”

“Sure,” you laugh.

“You know, you’re the fourth person I called.” Zach puts an arm around your shoulders as you walk through the lobby. He’s never touched you like this and it’s comforting, but then again, everything about Zach is comforting. “Nobody else answered.”

By the way he’s being more affectionate than usual and slurring his words, you can tell he’s drunk.

“Why were you outside?” you ask.

“I walked someone down,” he answers. “Actually, a girl I met because of that video you posted.”

Likely the girl you saw messaging him just a few nights ago. He must have replied and liked her so much that he invited her tonight. Your heart aches.

“How’d it go?” you ask, feigning indifference.

“Good,” Zach replies. “I think she had fun.”

Of course he answers selflessly, more concerned about what she thought of him. You enter the elevator and he parts from you, pressing the button.

“Was Rafe being nice?” he asks. He obviously noticed you talking to his brother.

“He was actually telling me to leave,” you reply. Zach’s eyes widen and you laugh. “Wow, you’re gullible. I’m kidding. Yes, he was nice.”

He did leave your conversation pretty abruptly, but you’d rather not tell Zach in case he feels the need to apologize for his brother’s behavior again.

“Okay. Good.” Zach looks up at the changing numbers on the screen, smiling proudly as he leans back against the elevator wall.

His younger brother can be brash and reckless, but Zach knows it’s all because his feelings overwhelm him. He sees right through Rafe’s attempts to hide it from everyone, including himself.

Everyone thinks Zach is the emotional one. He isn’t. He doesn’t even come close to how sensitive and unstable Rafe can be.

“He’s a good guy,” he says. “I love him to death. We’ve been through a lot together and when our mom left, he…”

You look over at Zach’s profile, his lips curved into a frown.

“He took it hard and I don’t think he ever really got over any of it,” he finishes his sentence.

His inhibitions have clearly been silenced by alcohol, and you’d ask for more information if it didn’t feel like you were taking advantage of his drunken state.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. Rafe’s standing in the hallway, holding his phone, having just caught up with Zach’s missed notifications.

“Where were you?” Zach says, mocking offense. “Do you even care that I was left out in the cold? You know I don’t like being alone.”

“Alright, come on,” Rafe says, shaking his head in disapproval as he pulls Zach forward by the shoulder. He meets your eyes for a second. “How much did you drink?”

“Relax,” Zach says, then laughs. “Wow. For once, I’m telling you that.”

The three of you walk down the hallway towards the loft. Your arms are crossed, still confused about your feelings for Rafe, still hurt that Zach doesn’t see anything worth pursuing in you.

“I love you, you know?” Zach mumbles to his brother. “I was just saying how much we’ve been through and how much I love you.”

Rafe’s body goes cold. He glares at you.

“What did he say?” he asks you, tense.

“I could barely understand him,” you fib. You don’t want to embarrass either one of them.

“You’re not gonna say you love me back?” Zach says to Rafe.

“Dude,” Rafe scoffs. “You cannot hold your booze. You’re going to bed.”

“Never,” Zach murmurs.

After everything that’s happened tonight, you feel too disoriented to be able to laugh.

(part two)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader

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trippinsorrows · 1 day

Text

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be.

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no.

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home.

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication.

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be.

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that.

But, all of that is easy.

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong.

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it.

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else.

Her standards must be so low.

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous.

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity.

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too.

The company easily and quickly made its name known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did.

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness.

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated.

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl.

A virgin.

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for.

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain.

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this.

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through.

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened.

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got.

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side.

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting.

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately.

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red.

He steps forward.

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.”

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.”

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?”

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.”

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!”

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.”

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!”

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness.

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin..

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall.

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son.

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier.

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men.

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts.

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first.

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that.

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana.

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now.

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one.

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.”

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Solana needs to get away.

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him.

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy.

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana.

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging.

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving.

Something healing almost.

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.”

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce.

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples.

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants.

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that.

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her.

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back.

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.”

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset.

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is.

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown.

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?”

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since.

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed.

She lays her head on his shoulder while he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table.

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included.

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference.

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing.

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such.

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time.

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause.

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family.

Especially his kids.

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them.

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them.

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.”

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation.

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings.

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?”

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.”

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good.

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more.

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix.

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more.

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious.

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer.

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut.

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again.

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else.

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..”

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.”

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?”

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies.

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours.

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically.

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.”

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him.

“Wh—what?”

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.”

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….”

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself.

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment.

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.”

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right.

And so was Solana.

She’s not ready to come home.

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs.

And what she needs is continued professional help.

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get.

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit.

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason.

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes.

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it.

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say.

Even if does feel the same way.

So, he says nothing.

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred.

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence.

But, it’s a necessary absence.

Solana needs help.

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child.

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally.

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health.

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true.

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention.

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.”

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process.

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound.

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles.

Oh, revenge is so so sweet.

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement.

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done.

Samantha won’t.

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors.

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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gimmebackmyskeeball · 3 days

Text

Just friends? Fuck no.

author’s note: I love enemy!jj and I’m a hoe for an enemies you lover arc but I just want me a flirty best friend jj so bad so I had to write his headcanons (?). I don’t even know what this is actually. There’s hc and small little blurbs all together so it’s definitely a little longer than a blurb but not a one shot either. I’m confused but I hope ur not. Enjoy!

summary: just some hc(?) about best friend!jj !!

pairing: best friend!jj maybank x pogue!reader

First of all, you can’t convince me that this man isn’t clingy with his best friend. And honestly not just with you and Kie but with Jb and Pope too. So picture this, divorced parents, your dad lives in another country with his new wife and your mom lives with your sister whilst you stay in the château. Your best friend John B offered you a room after his father made it clear that he wasn’t going to be back soon if never. So now you’re practically living in the château, stopping by your own house to check on your mom and your sister every couple of days. That also means you’re practically living in the same house with the one and only Jj Maybank.

At that point you were familiar with the lines such as; “How can you wake up that early? What’s the deal with that?” or “Y/N open the door! I don’t care that you’re changing, I left my lighter in there!”. He would wake up in the spare room with his messy hair and in his John B’s shorts. No shirt, obviously. He has to show off those muscles. “Yeah, you know, this is what happens when you’re god’s favorite.” He act’s like this is totally from his genes and just basically from carrying stuff to help his dad and shit but his dirty little secret is that he works out for it. Not a lot but enough to keep him in shape.

He’d walk around the château looking for some kind of food, any kind. He’d see Jb standing in the hallway, fresh out of shower, hair wet, of course he wouldn’t miss the chance to make some kinda flirty comment. “Hey, Jb. Morning shower? Too bad, wish you had invited me.” John would scoff, rolling his eyes, “Stop saying shit like that, Jj.” But Jj being the Jj he is, of course he wouldn’t stop. “Cmon gimme a hug, babe.” “Get away from me.”

“Don’t be shy.” He’d playfully caress his shoulder, with a smile on his face. “I’m literally throwing up in my mouth.” John took a step back, replicating gagging noises. “Cmon, John B. Don’t hide the infamous John D from me.” The brunette boy would pick up a pillow from the couch, shoving it right in the middle of his face before speaking, “Dude, you creep me the fuck out.” In that moment you’d walk in door from the porch, you’d woke up early to enjoy to morning breeze because you knew you’d be burning and melting and suffering thanks to Jb who kept putting off getting his AC fixed. “There she is! Hey, peach.” he’d say smiling, walking over to you before grabbing your face and giving your cheek multiple wet sloppy kisses.

“Gross.” you’d mumble. You’re tripping if you think this boy wouldn’t call you some kinda cheesy lame nickname like ‘peach’ or ‘sugar’ or ‘cupcake’ that’s suddenly music to your ears when he says it with that crooked southern accent of his. “Okay, rude. You lookin’ mad cute today. Don’t wanna kiss?” you pushed his face away, not able to stop the smile growing on your face.

Since when did you pushed him? You made the blonde mad. He’d wrap his arms around your neck, placing his head on top of yours. He’d pull you towards him until your back was completely leaning against his chest. He was heavy, you had to give him that. He was hot too. Not that way. I mean, yes, that way, he was hot, everyone knew that, including him. But he was the type of guys whose body heat was always high. The heat from how he wraps his arms around you, hot. He’s hot. In every way, shape or form. “Jay, get off! You’re hot!” He’d raise an eyebrow, pretending to be impressed by your sudden compliment that he knew was not a compliment, “Oh, I’m aware. But too bad I’m not gonna get off of ya.”

Definitely the kind of guy that would get offended if you told someone he wasn’t your boyfriend, “No partners over! This is my house and y’all are using it as a motel six!” John yelled to Kiara who had just been walked in by the owner of that very house. “That’s not fair! Y/N and Jj stay here all the time!” Kiara bit back. You crossed your arms over your chest, furrowing your brows, “What does that even mean?” Kiara sighed, “It means that boyfriend and girlfriends do stay here together and that I’m allowed to too!” you gave her a disgusted look, okay, to be completely honest, it was kinda cute she said that but you couldn’t act like you find it cute. Obviously. “We are not!” you whined. Jj shot you a look, “I mean, you don’t have to say it like that…” he frowned. The man actually frowned.

“Huh?” you were genuinely confused, was he upset? “You didn’t had to sound so aggressive about it…”

Sometimes he’d come up to you in the middle of the night, tv noises coming from the living room, meaning Jb wasn’t asleep either. “Peach?” you saw his figure on your doorstep,“Yeah, Jay?” you sat up on your bed. “I can’t sleep.” he walked over to you, sitting on your bed. “Why?”

He pouted, “Hot.” Oh how the tables have turned, “Thank you.” you spoke as he’d grin, scooting over more to your side. “I always appreciate a self aware girl.” “Okay, back off playboy.”

You scooted back, closer to the head of your bed now. “I’m just being honest.” he kept moving to get closer to you as much as he can. “Well, keep your honest ass over there.” you gently pushed his knee, trying with everything you have in you to keep your distance.

Sometimes you’d wonder if you were really only best friends. You knew how you felt about him but this is how he was with everybody, so he was ridiculously confusing. All the long weed sessions in the Twinkie, the way he’d beg to be the one rubbing your sunscreen, how he’d get visibly happy every time you’d pick him to sit next to on the couch. He is cheesy. And he isn’t embarrassed of it. If anything he knows he’s cheesy and I feel like he’s proud of it.

He’d yawn and gently stretch his arms, one of them slowly going over your shoulders and he’d end up caressing your arm. You know what he’s doing, he knows you know what he’s doing. Is he ever going to stop? No one knows. The way he’d rest his hands (definitely and totally not gripping them like you’re gonna jump off the bike and run away) on your thighs on red lights whenever you’re on his bike for him to drop you off for you to see your mom.

How he’d wrap his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder despite your whines about how you want him off of you. It’s just him, it’s just Jj Maybank and you don’t know if he’ll change or not. Not that you want him to, anyway.

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hoe4hotchner · 18 hours

Note

Hi! Congrats on 3k love! So well deserved.

Stressor with Professor!Aaron Hotchner who have to deal with one of his students (she/her!Reader) which is a complete brat during his classes 🫣 ❤️

Thank you!!! ❤️

The art of provoking | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: Smut, MDNI, 18+, power play, age gap (consenting adults), Hotch is the king of consent, also the minister of making sure you're okay, bratty behaviour, teasing, piv, student/professor relationship, authority. WC: 4.5k

Summary: Professor Hotchner navigates the challenges of a bratty student who tests his patience while concealing a deeper desire beneath their banter.

I'm sweating, i'm panting, my nose is suddenly not stuffed anymore!!!! I'm laughing uncomfortably in a good way. I went so overboard with this one that the only thing i can say is bon appétit, enjoy this very delicious meal i'm serving for you.

Join my Profiling 101 - 3k follower celebration here

The lecture hall was quiet as Professor Hotchner stood at the front, his voice steady as he explained the finer points of criminal law. His presence was commanding, as always, and his students hung on to his every word - well, almost all of them.

You sat near the back, arms crossed, your notebook untouched before you, except for the occasional bored doodles. You hadn’t written a single word, and the look of disinterest on your face hadn’t gone unnoticed. You always found a way to test him, whether arriving late to class, challenging his points with sarcastic remarks, or simply tuning out altogether.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the material - you were one of his brightest students, in fact, you somehow managed to ace every single test despite your lack of attention in class - but you enjoyed pushing his buttons. There was something about the way his jaw clenched when you interrupted him, or the way his eyes would narrow whenever you challenged him. You liked getting a rise out of him, watching his usual exterior crack, even if only for a moment.

Today was no different. As Professor Hotchner continued his lecture, you slowly raised your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips.

“Yes?” he asked, pausing mid-sentence, his eyes locking on yours with that same unreadable expression.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning innocence. “I was just wondering, Professor,” you began, your tone laced with mockery, “how much of what you’re saying actually applies in real-world scenarios? Or is this just another theoretical debate you like to have in your ivory tower up there?”

The room went silent. A few of your classmates exchanged glances, but no one dared to laugh. They knew better than to cross Professor Hotchner, but you? You thrived on it.

His jaw clenched slightly, but his expression remained calm. He stepped away from the podium, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you with a cold stare.

“Care to elaborate on that thought?” he asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

You shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “I just think maybe we should focus more on what actually happens out there,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “rather than talking about hypotheticals all the time.”

Professor Hotchner nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So you believe this class lacks practical application?”

“Maybe just a little,” you replied, biting back a smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

There was a brief silence, the tension thick in the room as he considered your words. Finally, he took a slow breath and walked toward the edge of the stage, his hands resting on the edge of the desk next to him.

“Let me clarify something for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Everything I teach in this class is rooted in real-world cases - cases I’ve worked on personally. If you’d been paying attention instead of trying to undermine every point I make, you’d understand that.”

You felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sharpness in his tone. He was getting annoyed. Good.

“Of course, Professor,” you replied, feigning contrition. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might snap, might finally lose that calm, composed exterior he always wore. But instead, he straightened up, his gaze never leaving yours.

“See me after class,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected that. Usually, he just brushed off your comments and moved on. But today… today was different. Something had shifted in the air, and the weight of it settled in the pit of your stomach.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t even remember what he was talking about. All you could think about was what would happen after class. You’d pushed him too far this time, and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

When the lecture finally ended, your classmates filtered out, casting curious glances in your direction. You stayed seated, watching as Professor gathered his papers at the front of the room. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it felt like he was taking his time just to make you wait.

Eventually, the room was empty, and Professor Hotchner glanced up, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

“Come here,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

You hesitated for a moment, then stood, walking down the aisle toward the front of the room. Your heart was racing now, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you neared him.

He didn’t move as you approached, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure of yourself, but you weren’t about to back down now.

“Do you enjoy testing me?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. He was towering over you, his presence even more intimidating than usual.

“I think you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you was thick with tension, and you could feel your pulse quicken as Professor Hotchner loomed above you, his eyes locked on yours. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to make you realize that you may have pushed him a little too far this time.

His gaze was intense, scrutinizing as if he were trying to peel back the layers of your defiance to see what was really the root of it. You didn’t back down, though. You couldn’t - after all, this was the game you’d been playing for weeks, and retreating now would feel like defeat.

“Testing you?” you repeated with a hint of mockery in your voice, though it wasn’t as sharp as before. “Maybe I just like seeing how much it takes to get under your skin.”

His jaw tightened slightly at your words. He hadn’t expected you to admit to it, and certainly not with such brazen confidence. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned serious, a subtle shift that sent a thrill through you.

“I think you enjoy this far more than you’re willing to admit,” he said slowly, his voice was calm. “You push and push, hoping to see where the line is. But what happens when you cross it?”

Your breath hitched at the implication in his words, but you quickly recovered, masking your unease with a smirk. “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

Professor Hotchner's eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place - frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him. He was always so controlled, so precise. Even now, standing this close, he hadn’t lost his composure.

“You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His tone was quiet, almost too quiet, but there was an edge to it that made you shiver.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you entirely. His voice dropped lower, more intimate, as he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

“You’re not,” he murmured. His breath ghosted against your ear, sending a shockwave of heat through you, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “And it’s about time you realized that.”

The challenge in his tone hit you hard, stirring something deep inside, but you refused to give in so easily. You weren’t going to back down, no matter how intense the tension had become.

You tilted your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You sure about that, Professor?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with defiance. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve been getting exactly what I want.”

His eyes flashed, getting darker, and for a brief moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far. He wasn’t just some professor to toy with - he was Aaron Hotchner, a man who commanded respect and had little patience for insolence who had climbed the ranks ever since he got his first position within the FBI. Yet, here you were, pushing him to the limit.

But instead of snapping, his lips curled into a tight, almost predatory smile. “You think this is what you want? You’re playing a dangerous game.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. You swallowed, suddenly feeling the anticipation between the two of you shift in a way that you couldn’t control, and the power dynamic you’d been clinging to started to slip through your fingers.

Professor Hotchner took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours as he surveyed you, taking in your defiance, your composure - everything you’d used to mask what was really happening beneath the surface. The authority he commanded in the classroom extended here, too, as if there was no escape from the weight of it.

“I think it’s time you understood something,” Hotch said, his voice low but firm. “You can’t keep walking into my class acting like you can undermine me and expect no consequences. If you think this is all just a game to push boundaries, you’re wrong.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in. There was no denying the power he held in this moment, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control of what was happening between the two of you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

“Do you have anything to say?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable authority behind it that made it clear he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of your defiance.

Your pulse raced as you searched for a response, but the smirk you usually relied on had faded. He watched you closely, waiting for you to either respond or break under the pressure, but you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

After a long, tense silence, you finally managed to speak, though your voice was softer than before. “And what if I don’t stop?”

Professor Hotchner's gaze didn’t waver, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something darker, something that sent a thrill through you even as it made your stomach twist. His expression remained unreadable, his tone firm but quieter than before as he replied:

“Then we’re going to have a problem. One that you’re not prepared to handle.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, the reality of what you’d been toying with began to sink in. You’d pushed him far enough to break through the facade he kept up with the rest of the class, but in doing so, you had unleashed something far more vicious than you’d expected.

And now, you had to decide if you were going to keep playing this game - or back down.

He took a step closer again, his presence overwhelming as he looked down at you. His voice was calm, but the edge of authority was unmistakable.

“Because if you don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll make sure you do.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as the full weight of the power play between the two of you settled in. The tension crackled in the air, and it was clear that whatever happened next was entirely up to you.

You had crossed that line - now the question was whether you’d be able to handle what came next.

The air in the room felt suffocating, it was thick with unspoken words and the electric pull between you. Professor Hotchner's eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze as he stepped even closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sense of control you’d been clinging to slipping further away with each passing second.

Without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist firmly but not painfully, pulling you forward. Before you could react, he backed you up against his desk, the hard surface pressing against the small of your back. His grip was commanding, as though this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

“Enough is enough,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against your skin.

The words barely had time to register before his free hand came to your waist, pushing you back onto the desk in one swift motion. You gasped, your other hand instinctively reaching out to brace yourself on the edge as he towered over you, his presence was overwhelming. Your heart raced, but you weren’t afraid - if anything, the surge of adrenaline coursing through you made everything feel sharper, more exhilarating.

His hand tightened slightly on your waist as he leaned down, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The weight of his charge pressed down on you, but instead of cowering, you met his gaze with equal fire. The challenge in your eyes hadn’t faded.

And then, before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours in a searing and desperate kiss.

It wasn’t gentle - it was rough, a battle for dominance as his lips claimed yours with the intensity that had been building between the two of you for weeks now. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, your mind going blank as you were consumed by the sensation. You tried to pull back, to push him away, but the second your hands came to his chest, something shifted.

Instead of shoving him off, you pulled him closer.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. The tension between you exploded in that moment, your lips moving against his in a way that felt both angry and frantic, a clash of wills as neither of you was willing to back down. You felt his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you further against him as the kiss deepened.

The sound of your own ragged breathing filled the air as you pushed yourself up from the desk, your body arching into his as you deepened the kiss, parting your lips slightly to let him in. You felt his hesitation for a split second before he gave in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that made your head spin.

The intensity was overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as you kissed him harder, needing more. You felt his hands slide up your sides, gripping you tighter as he responded to the challenge, the kiss turning even more heated, more desperate.

It was a power play in its rawest form, neither of you willing to give an inch, both of you consumed by the battle for control. The push and pull between you was intoxicating, and for the first time, you weren’t sure who was winning.

Your lungs burned as you both finally broke apart for a split second, gasping for air. The room spun, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss, and you barely had time to process before Professor Hotchner moved. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he flipped you over, your stomach coming to rest against the wooden surface of his desk.

The movement was swift, almost effortless, and you couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp that escaped your lips. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the desk, your chest pressing against the smooth surface as the world tilted beneath you.

Your legs hung over the edge, toes barely touching the floor, but before you could shift your position, you felt his hand on your lower back, firm, keeping you in place. The pressure of his palm was grounding, heavy with control as he leaned in close, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

You shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. The tension had reached a fever pitch, and you could feel it in every inch of your body.

Without a word, he slid his hand down your thigh, only to pause halfway, gripping firmly before nudging your feet apart. His touch was assertive but not rough, guiding, commanding. You felt a flush of heat as your legs spread slightly, feet planted more firmly on the ground now, creating just enough space for him to step closer, his presence looming over you.

Your breath hitched as you felt his hand press firmly against your lower back, keeping you pinned in place. Every nerve in your body was on edge, the authority in his touch overwhelming yet thrilling. His warmth was so close, suffocating in the best way, and when his voice came again, low and commanding, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out before you could stop them, breathy and submissive. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, there was only silence, but you felt him stiffen behind you, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, he chuckled softly, a dark, mocking sound that sent a jolt of heat through you.

“Oh, so you do know how to follow orders,” Hotch murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And here I thought you were incapable of it.”

His words dripped with sarcasm, and you clenched your fists against the desk, torn between the need to snap back at him and the overwhelming desire to submit. The way he mocked you, the condescension laced into every syllable, made your pulse race. He knew exactly what he was doing - pushing and prodding at the edges of your defiance, breaking you down piece by piece.

His hands moved with a sharp precision, gripping the hem of your skirt as he flipped it up over your stomach in one swift motion. The cool air of the room hit the bare skin of your thighs, sending a jolt through your body as the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

He stood still for a moment, and you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense as if he were taking in every detail.

“So quick to submit now,” he murmured, his voice dark and almost mocking again. “I wonder where all that attitude suddenly went.”

His fingers grazed along the edge of your hips, teasingly light, and you had to fight the urge to arch back into his touch. Every movement was calculated, designed to remind you of who was in control now, and you knew he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

Professor Hotchner's lips curved into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look at you," he whispered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the edge of your panties, feeling the dampness that had gathered there.

"You really are a brat, aren’t you?" he teased, his voice low and sultry. The way he pronounced each word made your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding your senses.

His gaze lingered on you, taking in the flush that crept up your cheeks and the way you squirmed under his touch. "I didn’t expect you to get so worked up, but it seems you’re enjoying this a little too much," he continued, the smirk never leaving his lips.

You could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the reality of the situation crashing over you. He had you right where he wanted you - vulnerable, exposed, and ready to follow his lead.

Professor Hotchner's hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair as he pressed your body further into the desk. The sudden pull made you gasp, a rush of excitement coursing through you. He leaned over you, his weight settling against your back, creating a pressure that heightened the thrill of the moment.

“You’ve been a real distraction in class,” he murmured his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held your hair firmly yet gently sent a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration through you, amplifying the tension in the air.

With his body hovering above yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him, and it sent your heart racing. The cool surface of the desk contrasted sharply with the warmth of his presence, and you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

“What are you going to do about it, Professor?” you challenged, your voice laced with desire.

A smirk played on his lips as he tightened his grip on your hair, forcing you to arch your back slightly. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice thick with promise.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending tingles throughout your body. “But first, you need to learn how to behave,” he whispered, the words igniting something deep within you.

As Professor Hotchner pinned your body to the desk, his free hand snuck down to your waist, slowly maneuvering your panties down to your knees. You could feel him as he rubbed himself against your pussy. Jolts of excitement ran through your veins with each teasingly slow thrust.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension had reached a boiling point, and he felt an overwhelming surge of desire pulse through him. He stepped back, allowing the space between you to grow, and a low growl escaped his lips, reverberating through the silence of the room as you tried to move, it was enough to keep you in your place.

You felt the sudden shift. The sound of his belt unbuckling broke through the stillness, each metallic click sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the intense focus in his eyes, the way he held himself with an authority that both thrilled and terrified you.

The soft hiss of his zipper being pulled down followed, and you felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as the anticipation built within you. You were acutely aware of the overwhelming silence surrounding you, punctuated only by the sound of your own heartbeat and the rustling of fabric.

With every sound, your body responded, craving the connection you knew was coming, and the knowledge that he was just behind you, poised and powerful, left you utterly captivated, longing for what was to unfold.

“Do you want this?” he murmured, his voice husky and laced with an edge of dominance that made your stomach flutter. It was both a question and a command, and the way he said it made your heart race even faster. The thrill of his control was intoxicating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You nodded instinctively, unable to form words, the desire bubbling just below the surface, threatening to overflow. The anticipation was a sweet torment, your body aching for his touch. The fluttering in your stomach intensified, the heat pooling deep within you, urging you to surrender completely.

“Use your words,” he teased, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Tell me what you want.”

The challenge in his voice ignited a spark of defiance within you, making you shiver in anticipation. You knew he wanted you to submit, to give in to the pleasure that hung in the air between you like an unbroken promise. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the power dynamic shifting and swirling around you like a tempest.

“Please…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with longing. It felt like an admission of vulnerability, and yet the act of saying it sent a thrill through you, a reminder of the power in your own submission.

“Good girl,” he replied, his voice low and velvety, sending another wave of heat coursing through you. The praise wrapped around you like a warm embrace, reinforcing the tension that filled the room. "Will you behave?"

"Yes sir, please I need it!" You begged.

And with that he lined the tip of his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly pushing against it, filling you up with a shared moan resonating off the walls in the lecture hall. He set a slow pace as he rolled his hips against you, watching you squirm underneath him as you tried to push back against him to quicken the pace.

It wasn't long before Hotch started thrusting into you harder and harder with each move of his hips. His thrusts were painstakingly harsh. You grabbed at the edge of his desk, whimpering with pleasure as jolts of pure bliss overtook you. You felt every part of your body respond to him.

You felt as both of your releases washed over you, the warmth of his cum coating your walls as he filled you up.

As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Professor Hotchner slowly pulled away, his breath still heavy against your skin. The room was filled with the remnants of what had just transpired, an electric pulse lingering between you both. He shifted his weight, allowing you to turn over, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the office.

Your heart raced, still echoing with the thrill of the moment. There was a vulnerability that hung in the air, and despite the heat of passion, a sense of intimacy enveloped you. You caught your breath, letting the silence settle as you and Hotch shared an unspoken understanding, one that transcended the physicality of what had just happened.

His gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. The authoritative demeanor was replaced by something more tender, a gentleness that surprised you.

You nodded, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you came to your senses. There was a lingering shyness between you now, a recognition of the boundaries you had crossed together.

His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that held promise and warmth. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before, but it spoke volumes of the connection you shared.

After pulling away, Professor Hotchner hesitated for a moment, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. “This can’t happen again in class,” he said, his tone serious but softened by the affection that lingered in his eyes. “It’s not professional.”

You could only smile at his earnestness, knowing deep down that this was more than just a fleeting moment. “I know,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe outside of class…”

His laughter was deep and rich, filling the room with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Maybe,” he mused, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “But we’ll have to navigate this carefully.”

You both shared a knowing look, a blend of excitement and uncertainty swirling between you.

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simplygojo · 3 days

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The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 7

Authors Note: GUYS my laptop crashed last night I am SO SORRY! But now its out and ready for y'all to read it...this chapter is lowkey like a filler episode but it was necessaryyy! Also y'all are so funny messaging me after I posted that this chapter would be up in 2hrs and then I was MIA, LMAO! Anyways, I LOVE Y'ALL <3 lemme know how you like it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After battling with multiple special grade curses, y/n spends some time in the hospital so Shoko can run some tests to get to the bottom of the burning question: what was that cursed energy? With all of these thoughts swirling around y/n's head, she decides to discuss the incident with Gojo.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: mention of d*eath, nightmares, pain, protective satoru

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“We’ve made our decision,” Gakuganji said, his voice flat. “For the safety of all sorcerers, y/n is to be executed by the end of the week.”

A silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. Yaga’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. Utahime’s face was pale, her jaw set in anger and disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re going to kill her for something she hasn’t done? Based on hearsay from a cursed spirit? This isn’t justice—this is murder!”

Gakuganji’s gaze didn’t waver, and his words didn’t hesitate. “This is protection.”

Yaga’s voice was a low growl. “This is cowardice.”

Utahime stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she turned to Gakuganji, eyes blazing. “Do you really think Gojo is going to stand by and let this happen? You’re sentencing her to death, and you know damn well he won’t allow it.”

Naobito’s smirk widened. “Let him try. No one is above the rules. Not even him.”

Yaga stepped forward again, fists trembling with barely contained rage. “This isn’t over. There’s still time to change your minds.”

But Gakuganji remained unmoved. “The decision is final. The execution will proceed as ordered.”

Yaga’s shoulders sagged, a mixture of anger and helplessness washing over him. Utahime stood frozen, eyes filled with disbelief, before she turned and stormed out of the room, unable to bear it any longer.

As the doors slammed behind her, the weight of their decision settled over the room like a shroud. Yaga stayed behind for a moment, his eyes burning into Gakuganji’s, before he finally turned on his heel and left.

The clock was ticking. And now, the countdown to your execution had begun.

—

Gojo was walking down the hall, on his way to meet with the second-year students for training. He was flipping through something on his phone when Utahime turned the corner in a hurry, her face twisted with anger and urgency.

"Satoru!" she shouted, her voice sharp and breathless. "We need to talk. Now."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his face. "Utahime, is there a spider in your equipment locker?" He teased her, not yet understanding the severity of the situation.

Her glare could cut through steel, but there was no time for banter. "They’ve ordered y/n's execution."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His smile faltered, slipping away completely as her speech sank in. His heart did a sharp, painful pang in his chest, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Execution.

For a split second, he said nothing, and Utahime watched his playful facade crumble as the realization settled in. His eyes widened with fear as his emotions bubbled up inside him.

“They—what?” His voice was dangerously low now, barely concealing the anger simmering beneath. His fingers curled tightly into fists, drawing blood which dripped onto the wooden floor. “Who?”

"Gakuganji. The higher-ups. The clan leaders. They’ve decided she’s too much of a threat, and they have sentenced her to death—by the end of the week," Utahime replied, her tone desperate but harsh. "I came to tell you as soon as they decided. We have to do something, she doesn’t deserve to die…"

Gojo’s mind raced, but the burning anger inside him was sharper than anything else. "Of course, they did," he muttered, and forced a bitter laugh. "They really think they can get away with this again, don’t they?"

Utahime watched him closely, worry flickering in her eyes. "You can’t just charge in there, Gojo. You need to be smart about this."

Utahime’s words still rang in his ears—execution—but all he could see was red.

He had faced cursed spirits, fought beings that would bring terror to most, but the idea that they thought they could kill you? That they believed they could take you from him—from this world, was nothing short of absurd.

His mind was made up. He wouldn’t waste time marching down corridors—with the clap of his hands, space bent around him.

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over him, and in a blink, the meeting room came into sharp focus.

—

The room was exactly as Utahime had left it earlier—Gakuganji, Naobito, and the other higher-ups still seated, discussing plans that would never come to actuality.

They barely had a moment to react before Gojo materialized before them, his presence sucking the air out of the room.

The tension was immediate.

All eyes snapped to him, the weight of his overwhelming power pressing down on every corner of the room. Gakuganji, seated at the head of the table, locked eyes with Gojo, his face hardening.

"Gojo," Gakuganji began, but Gojo cut him off.

"You made a decision without consulting me. You actually think you can kill her?" Gojo’s voice was ice, sharp and dangerous. His sunglasses were now his hand, and his anger-filled eyes scanned the room.

Naobito shifted in his seat, a smug smirk forming on his lips. "You’re too late. The decision is final. Even you—"

"Shut up, idiot." Gojo snapped, his voice a razor's edge. His gaze was cold and unyielding. "You think this is about rules? You think I’m going to stand by and let this happen, you people are all cowards, I’m not worried about dealing with you."

The atmosphere in the room shifted, like the calm before a storm. The pressure of Gojo’s Infinity (which he was amplifying on purpose) began to fill the space, growing heavier, suffocating, pushing down on the higher-ups until they could barely breathe.

Gakuganji, for all his pride and authority, felt it too—a bone-deep fear creeping up his spine.

"I’m not asking you to reconsider," Gojo continued, his tone terrifyingly calm. "I’m telling you. This execution order? It’s not happening. If you try to go through with it, I’ll personally make sure that none of you live through that day."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Naobito, usually one to revel in conflict, remained quiet, his fingers tapping nervously on the armrest of his chair.

Gakuganji’s voice, however, remained steady, though there was a hint of something less certain beneath the surface.

"Gojo, you’re walking a dangerous line. You may be powerful, but even you can’t defy the entire jujutsu world! The consequences—"

"Consequences?" Gojo let out a bitter laugh. "You really don’t get it, do you?”

His words lingered, thick with intent, and the threat was real. Everyone in the room knew it.

Gakuganji, Naobito, all the higher-ups—they may have held their positions for years, but no one, not even them, was foolish enough to believe they could challenge Gojo and come out alive.

For a moment, Gakuganji held his ground, his gaze locked with Gojo’s.

But Gojo didn’t flinch. His cursed energy was a crackling storm, barely contained, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. One wrong word, one defiant move, and he would obliterate them all without hesitation.

"You may be strong, Gojo," Gakuganji finally said, his voice low and measured, "but strength alone doesn’t make you invincible. Y/n is dangerous. If her power continues to grow unchecked—"

"Her power isn’t the problem here," Gojo interrupted again, stepping forward. The very air seemed to ripple around him, warping with the sheer force of his presence.

"You’re just scared of what you don’t understand. But killing her won’t solve anything. You did the same thing with Okkotsu and Itadori. How has that been working out for you, hmm?"

Naobito scoffed, but even he didn’t meet Gojo’s gaze.

"And what would you do, then? Let her walk free while her cursed energy spirals out of control? What happens when she becomes a threat to all of us? We don’t even know what she is—A special-grade curse addressed her directly, that will not go unnoticed!"

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening.

"I’ll deal with her. Not you. Not any of you cowards. Me." His voice dropped, lower and more menacing than before.

The room grew even quieter, the weight of Gojo’s declaration pressing down on the higher-ups like a physical force.

"And if you do not cancel, or at least defer her execution?" Gojo continued, his smile returning, but this time it was pure danger, laced with the promise of violence. "I’m siding with y/l/n."

He turned and began walking slowly towards the door. Before leaving, he paused, casting one last look over his shoulder, his voice dripping with promise.

"Consider this your only warning. Try to execute her, and there won’t be a Jujutsu world left to follow your orders."

And with that, he left the room.

—

Gojo stalked down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps drowned out by the whirlpool of thoughts crashing in his mind.

The faint light from the overhead lamps reflected off the polished wood floors, casting faint shadows that danced across the walls, but Gojo was lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him. It was rare for him to be in this state—this quiet, this uncertain.

For someone as powerful as him, doubt wasn’t something he entertained often. But now, that doubt gnawed at him, an insidious presence that had wormed its way into his mind.

Execution. By the end of the week.

The words rattled around in his skull like a curse of their own, echoing with a cold finality he couldn’t shake.

No matter how many times he tried to reason his way out of it, the same truth remained: they had sentenced her to death.

You.

He let out a sharp breath, his chest tightening painfully as his mind spiralled.

Gojo was many things—arrogant, cocky, reckless—but he was not naive. He knew exactly how the higher-ups operated. He had dealt with their politics, their cowardice, their obsession with control for years—he dealt with Itadori’s execution sentence and Okkotsu’s…But this? This was different.

His usual air of ease and invincibility felt strained, replaced by a heaviness he wasn’t used to carrying. The decision of the higher-ups was gnawing at him, and for the first time in years, he felt... uncertain.

As he rounded the corner, lost in thought, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Satoru?"

The soft sound of his name pulled him from his thoughts, and his heart skipped a beat as his worried eyes met yours.

The way you said ‘Satoru’ just now, gentle and familiar, struck something deep inside him. When his eyes met yours his heart fluttered again—-there you stood, your eyes bright, practically sparkling in the dimly lit hallway.

He felt a pang in his chest that caught him off guard like a dull ache he hadn’t noticed until now. But your gaze—those sparkling eyes—seemed to hold the light, a warmth he hadn’t truly appreciated before.

‘When did I start noticing such small things about her?’ He thought to himself.

The smile he plastered on was instinctual, a façade to hide the turmoil inside. "Hey," he greeted, his voice lighter than how he felt. "What brings you here? Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?"

But you weren’t fooled, not even for a second. Your eyes narrowed, observing him with that sharp intuition you always possessed, though a soft, breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Hey…is everything okay? You looked like a dear in headlights for a second there."

Your words pierced through the casual wall he had built up, and he felt exposed under your gaze.

You could read him too well. It didn’t help that this was the first time you’d crossed paths since that moment on the bench, heightening the already charged tension between you.

He tried to brush it off, letting out a short laugh. "Wrong? Nah, everything’s fine. I’m just, you know, dealing with the usual—saving the world, being ridiculously good-looking, that sort of thing."

Another breathy laugh left your mouth. Your eyes softened as your gaze met his again, your presence grounding him in a way he didn’t expect. "Are you sure? Please don’t lie to me—there is already so much going on…"

For a moment, Gojo stood there, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.

His instinct was to shield you from the truth, to protect you from the weight of what was looming ahead. But looking into your eyes, he couldn’t lie to you—not about this.

His smile faded, and for the first time, you saw the worry etched in his expression.

"The higher-ups," he started, his voice quieter now, "they’ve made a decision. One that... involves you."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but the concern on your face grew. "What do you mean? What decision?"

Gojo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"They’ve ordered your execution," he said, the words heavy on his tongue. "By the end of the week."

The hallway seemed to grow colder as the gravity of his words sank in. Your eyes widened, the colour draining from your face as you felt your stomach drop.

"Execution? But... why? I haven’t done anything—"

"I know." Gojo’s voice was firm, his gaze locking with yours again.

"This isn’t about what you’ve done. They’re scared of what you might do, what your power could become. It’s all paranoia and fear—they do this a lot—and they’re using it as an excuse to get rid of you before they even understand."

You took a shaky breath, and your hands trembled slightly. "And—um—you’re telling me this because...?"

"Because I won’t let it happen," he said, stepping closer, his voice growing sharper with intensity.

"They think they can decide people’s fates like this—this is the third time they've tried to dictate when someone’s life ends, and I’m done with it. I’ll protect you—those cowards can’t beat me."

For a moment, you just stared at him, your emotions swirling beneath the surface—fear, confusion, but also trust.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "I believe you."

Gojo felt that pang again, a deeper one now, knowing what he had to do to keep you safe. The stakes were higher than ever, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure how this would end. But as long as you were involved, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

And he wouldn’t let them take your youth away.

—

The night was still, but your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You sat at the edge of your bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting pale shadows on the walls. Every thought seemed to tighten the knot in your chest.

‘How could I stop this?’ You thought, with your execution day looming over you like a dark cloud, suffocating every plan you tried to form. Running wasn’t an option… was it?

You clenched your fists, your knuckles white. Each idea seemed to spiral into a dead end, no matter how much you turned it over.

Could you appeal to the higher-ups? Or should you run before the inevitable happened? Each option left you trapped—an inescapable fate drawing closer as your chest began to tighter with each failed idea.

Finally, exhaustion weighed heavy on your eyelids, pulling you into sleep. But sleep wasn’t an escape—The nightmare returned.

This time, it was different—darker, more vivid.

You were back in the forest, the same one from that night. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing down on your skin like a weight.

Soon enough you felt the pain creeping in slowly, building in the pit of your stomach until it felt like fire burning through your esophagus. You stumbled forward, struggling to breathe as the searing heat spread through your limbs. But then… you saw him.

The figure from the dream wasn’t a blur anymore. His face was clear.

He wore a long, dark robe, his black hair tied back loosely. His appearance was calm, almost serene, but there was something sinister in the way he carried himself.

His robes shifted slightly in the wind, the wide sleeves brushing against his side. A slow, sickening smile spread across his lips, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the pounding in your head, the pain radiating through your body. It felt like your bones were cracking under the weight of his presence.

The agony became unbearable, and you screamed—high and desperate.

Your eyes flew open, and you shot upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat.

The scream had escaped your throat, ragged and raw. Your body was trembling uncontrollably, the phantom pain still lingering in your spine as if his cursed energy had left its mark.

Before you could steady your breath, there was a knock at the door, sharp and urgent.

“Y/n—are you alright?”

Gojo’s voice, usually playful, was unmistakably laced with concern. The sound cut through the haze of terror clinging to you.

You sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding in your ears, your mind still caught between the nightmare and reality. The pain, although fading, still clung to your nerves. You heard the knock again—firmer this time.

"Hello there? Y/n? I'm coming in."

"Uh—No! I'm okay!" You stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. But it was too late. The door creaked open, and Gojo stepped into the dimly lit room, his figure casting a long shadow on the floor.

His usual air of confidence followed him in, but there was something different this time. His bright blue eyes, often filled with mischief and amusement, now gleamed with concern as he took in your state—sitting on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, body trembling from the remnants of the nightmare.

“Satoru! I could have been naked!” You shouted at him.

“I couldn’t be so lucky,” he joked, but his tone quickly changed,

“You just screamed bloody murder, I doubt you’re okay, and with this whole execution thing, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He said softly. Without waiting for permission, he closed the door behind him and walked over to your side, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I… I had one of those nightmares again. That's all,” you whispered, your gaze shifting down to your trembling hands. It felt ridiculous to admit, but the dream had shaken you to your core, and no amount of forced composure could hide that. That pain…

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. He crouched down beside the bed, bringing his face level with yours. His presence, as overwhelming as it always was, somehow brought you back to the present, pulling you out of the lingering haze of fear.

"You’re still shaking," he noted quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What was it about? The same thing as before?"

You hesitated. How could you explain? You didn’t want to admit the truth—the figure, the pain, the overwhelming sense of dread that had seeped into every part of you.

You didn't want to sound weak or paranoid, especially not in front of Gojo. But then again, this was Gojo—he had a way of seeing through you no matter how much you tried to hide.

“It was… him. The same man from the forest,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This time, I could see him. It was clearer, and the pain—God, it felt real.”

Gojo’s expression shifted slightly, something hardening behind his eyes, though his voice remained gentle. “What did he look like?”

You swallowed, the memory flashing vividly in your mind. “He was wearing a dark robe, his black hair was tied back. His eyes—they were so cold, almost… empty. He looked at me like I didn’t matter, like I was nothing.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, Gojo remained silent. He stood up slowly, his hands slipping into his pockets, as though he was trying to make sense of what you had just said.

The moonlight caught his profile, casting his expression in shadow, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

His silence unnerved you. You weren’t used to Gojo being anything but playful and brimming with confidence. This quiet, almost contemplative version of him sent your mind spiralling further into doubt.

“Gojo?” you ventured softly, your voice fragile in the stillness.

His eyes flicked toward you, sharp and calculating, as if weighing whether to say what was on his mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and serious. “This man—he’s not just in your nightmares, is he?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t wanted to admit it—not to yourself, not to anyone. But Gojo’s words peeled back the thin layer of denial you’d been hiding behind.

“He… he feels real,” you whispered, the confession trembling on your lips. “Every time I dream about him—-the forest, it doesn’t feel like just a bad dream.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. "And the pain?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “It feels like it's happening all over again, like he’s reaching into me, twisting something inside. I don’t know how to explain it… but it’s more than just a dream.”

Gojo took a slow, deliberate breath, then turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his proximity grounding you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“Do you think…” You hesitated, unsure if you even wanted to ask the question. “Do you think it’s a curse? That he left something behind?”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering over his temple as if trying to dispel a headache. “It’s possible,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “If he’s who I think he is, then this isn’t just a nightmare. It’s a memory.”

Your breath hitched. “A memory? You think this is real? The the man—and this pain?”

Gojo finally looked at you, his expression hard, more serious than you had ever seen him. “Y/n. If he marked you in that forest, then this pain, these dreams—they’re not coincidences. He’s using them to get inside your head—-causing you to relive memories.”

The thought made your blood run cold. "But why?"

Gojo straightened up, his eyes flickering with something dangerous, something protective. “I don’t know yet. But don’t worry, nothing will happen to you any time soon.”

His words should’ve brought you some comfort, but the weight of it all pressed down harder. “What if this is beyond even you?”

Gojo’s expression softened, but there was a steely resolve in his voice as he replied, “Y/n, I know it feels overwhelming. But remember, I’m the strongest.” He leaned closer, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. “No one can touch you while I’m around. Trust me.”

Your heart raced at his declaration, the conviction in his tone wrapping around you like a shield.

But—no matter what he said, you couldn’t shake away the overwhelming emotions you felt rising in you. Nothing you did could stop the hot tears that were pricking at the corners of your eyes.

You looked from your lap up to his icy blue eyes, your own filled with the tears threatening to fall.

“Satoru…I’m so scared.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper in fear of it breaking as tears began to roll down your flushed cheeks.

For all his bravado and playful banter, seeing you in distress ignited a protective fire in his chest.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern. He leaned closer, taking in the way your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the quiver in your lips that spoke volumes.

In that instant, he was reminded of humanity—of how fragile life could be—how easily joy could be overshadowed by fear. It was a feeling he often masked with laughter and teasing, but now, facing you, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all.

His expression softened, and for a moment, the playful facade slipped, revealing genuine concern.

“Hey, hey,” he said, brushing a thumb gently beneath your eye, catching a stray tear.

“It’s okay to be scared, but you have nothing to worry about with me around…”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at his reassurance and your skin burning under his touch.

His closeness was intoxicating, each heartbeat echoing in your ears as you focused on the way his gaze held yours, a mixture of intensity and something deeper.

Gojo's thumb lingered a moment longer, the connection between you crackling with unspoken words. There was a tension that thickened the air, a magnetic pull urging you closer despite the chaos swirling around. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, the familiar scent that grounded you yet made your pulse race.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, almost husky tone that made your breath hitch. “No one is going to touch you. Not now, not ever.”

The way he leaned in just a fraction more, the heat of his breath brushing against your skin, made your heart pound louder.

“I don’t want to die.” You confessed, your voice shaking, and more tears fell from your eyes. The admission hung in the air, raw and exposed, filling the space between you.

His gaze intensified, and for a moment, you could see the concern etching deeper lines on his face.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone fierce yet tender. “Not on my watch.”

Gojo’s smirk returned, hinting at his playful teasing, but beneath that was an intensity that promised more. He was strong, powerful, and yet here you were, baring your fears to him, leaving you feeling vulnerable yet safe.

You wanted to pull back, regain control, but the moment was intoxicating—everything around you fading away, leaving only the depths of his blue eyes and the promise of something more.

He leaned back, a cocky grin returning to his face. “Besides, did I mention I’m the strongest?”

Your heart fluttered at his confidence. “Yeah, I how could I forget.” You said, letting out a small laugh.

“Good! Now, wipe those tears away!” he said with a playful look plastered on his face.

“I’m going to be up for the next while, so if you need someone to sleep wiitthh you, just yell for me.” He said before walking out of your room with a small wave.

As the door clicked shut behind Gojo, a mix of warmth and anxiety settled in your chest. You hugged your knees, feeling the weight of your fears creep back in, but his words echoed in your mind—’Trust me.’

Clinging to the flicker of hope he had ignited, you wiped your tears and took a deep breath, reminding yourself that you weren’t alone in this fight.

With that thought, you closed your eyes, letting the promise of his protection guide you into a restless sleep.

—

The next morning dawned heavy with an unspoken tension. You walked beside Gojo as you made your way to the rendezvous point—an abandoned shopping mall on the outskirts of the city.

The rising sun cast long shadows across the crumbling structure, its shattered windows reflecting fragments of light onto the cracked pavement.

The once-bustling space now stood eerily silent, a shell of its former life. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and the distant groan of metal filled the heavy air. But it wasn’t the mall's haunting emptiness that had your nerves on edge.

It was the conversation ahead.

Gojo’s usual carefree attitude seemed slightly subdued as you both walked in silence. The steady rhythm of his steps beside you was the only thing grounding you in the moment.

You could feel his presence like a buffer against the dread curling in your stomach, that unspoken tension between you two hovering just beneath the surface.

It was a quiet intimacy that neither of you acknowledged, but it was there—palpable, real.

Without a word, Gojo’s hand brushed lightly against your back as if offering reassurance—an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

His touch lingered, warm and solid, sending a wave of comfort and something else—something deeper—through you. You didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

His fingers grazed your spine, then slipped lower to rest against the small of your back, his hand staying there, the weight of it subtle yet unmistakable.

The gesture was almost protective as if reminding you that he was there, and no matter what happened, you weren’t alone. Your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears.

As you continued walking, Gojo slowed down beside you, his hand sliding from your back to rest lightly at your waist. The contact was brief but intentional, his fingers curling just enough to hold you close. You glanced at him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him.

Gojo had lifted his blindfold without a word, the black fabric slipping up to reveal his piercing blue eyes, startling against the morning light. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away.

His expression, usually so teasing and carefree, had softened, and in the intensity of his eyes, there was something deeper—something unspoken that made your pulse quicken.

Neither of you said a word. There was no need to.

He gave a soft, almost wistful smile before letting the blindfold slip back into place, the casual mask he always wore settling back over him like a second skin.

His hand lingered at your waist for another fleeting second before he finally moved it away.

The moment passed, but the warmth of his touch stayed with you.

As you reached the central atrium, you spotted the others—Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, joined by Maki, Panda, and Inumaki.

Their expressions were somber, eyes scanning the area as if expecting trouble. They had sensed something was wrong when Gojo called for a private meeting at such an unusual location.

Yuji raised a hand in greeting, his usually carefree smile missing. "Hey, y/n. What’s this about, Gojo-sensei? You’ve got us all gathered like we’re about to face a special-grade curse or something."

Nobara crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as they flitted between you and Gojo. "Yeah, spill it already. This place gives me the creeps."

Maki remained silent but alert, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Panda and Inumaki exchanged glances, their postures tense as if bracing for bad news.

Gojo stepped forward from your side, his tone deceptively light despite the gravity of the situation.

"I won’t sugarcoat it. This isn’t a mission. It’s about her." His gaze flickered briefly back to you before scanning the group. "The higher-ups have ordered her execution."

The words hung in the air like a curse, and you felt the weight of the moment press down on you as all eyes turned your way.

Yuji’s eyes widened in shock. "Execution? What for?"

Nobara’s voice was sharp with outrage. "What the hell? Are you serious?"

Maki’s eyes narrowed as she pieced it together. "This is about that cursed energy inside her, isn’t it?"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight. "I…I think so. I can feel it in me—it's like a separate entity that I can’t fully control." Your voice wavered slightly as you met their stares.

Panda’s calm voice cut through the rising tension. "So, what’s the plan? There’s no way we’re letting them go through with this."

Gojo smirked, though the usual playfulness didn’t reach his eyes.

"That’s where you all come in. We need to figure out how to get the higher-ups off her back. Either convince them she’s not a threat, or we buy enough time to find another solution."

Nobara clenched her fists, fire in her eyes. "Screw convincing them. Let’s just storm the place and tell them where they can shove their execution order."

Maki snorted and rolled her eyes. "That’ll go over well, Kugisaki."

Before anyone else could respond, a sudden, oppressive wave of cursed energy washed over the mall, freezing the air.

The sheer force of it made your breath hitch, an ominous pressure settling over your chest like a vice. Even Gojo tensed, the usual carefree ease in his posture evaporating as he lifted his head, sensing the disturbance.

Megumi stepped forward, his demon dogs stirring, responding to the dark energy. "That’s not normal. Its presence is overwhelming."

Yuji’s reaction, however, was the most telling. His face had gone pale, and his fists clenched at his sides as he whispered, "It’s him…"

You barely heard the words, but the look on Yuji’s face—the fear in his eyes—told you everything you needed to know.

Nobara reached for her hammer, her grip tight. “Who the hell is it, Yuji?”

Yuji’s voice shook as he spoke, his eyes locked on the darkened hallway ahead. "Patchface. He’s here."

The cursed energy surrounding you wasn’t just powerful. It was dark, malicious, and suffocating. The air felt thick with malevolence, pressing against your chest as if daring you to move.

Suddenly, your vision swam, and the world seemed to warp for a second. You blinked, your heart racing, and then—you saw him.

That grotesque figure, pale and scarred, with that same patch of disfigured flesh sewn over his face like a grotesque mask. He stepped from the shadows, his smile sickly and twisted, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

“Ahhhhh, perfect, perfect, just perfect!” The patchface curse’s voice was sickeningly joyful, his tone unnervingly light, like a child about to unwrap a gift.

“I get to fight my natural enemy, Yuji Itadori, the famous Satoru Gojo…” He paused, his eyes darting to you, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“And you… the new experiment…I don’t think I can touch your soul…but oh god, I wonder how your soul feels, y/n y/l/n,” he purred, his voice dripping with twisted curiosity. “Oh, this will be so fun!”

His grin widened, and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of something darker, something far more dangerous than his playful demeanour.

His gaze flitted between the group, but it kept landing back on you.

“Let’s see how well you break.”

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