#TW: visit from the dead

[danascullysjournal]

If You Will Let Me

A Post-Milagro X Files Fic

TW: Medical trauma, near death experience, sedation, visit from the dead, mentions of demons

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Chapter 20: Tethered

There is a plane between death and life, a haze of struggling where the soul is suspended.  Battered by tempests unseen, haunted by visions of what was and what could be, the spirit is tethered to a silkworm’s thread, swung on a pendulum.  

Toward the darkness.

Toward the light.

In the darkness, velvet waves pummel and formless voids gape in hunger. The stench of death wafts from their depths.  They wait.  Ravenous.  They beckon in earnest. 

They promise peace.  But they have no peace. 

 They promise safety.  They are not safe. 

But what can the spirit do, adrift in this ocean, without a compass, without a rudder, at the mercy of currents and the strength of the thread?  The soul cries out for an unseen savior, a way to be pulled from mouths that would devour.  To be gathered and bound up, a castaway returned, restored to what was.  Pulled safely, securely into the folds of light. 

The hours passed.  The pendulum swang.

It was disorienting.  The space in which Scully found herself was not truly anywhere.  She knew that much. 

But the voices enveloping her, or inside of her, were insistent.  Insistent and real.  

Their desperation, their hunger spurred her on.  Giving in to the darkness would only guarantee her damnation.  And his victory.  As much as the cavernous spaces yearned to pull her in, she wouldn’t go.  God, she couldn’t. 

The thread wavered, drawing her along aimlessly, a faceless soul through battering gales.   

She felt him near, somehow, even though he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, manifest as he had in her apartment.  How much of himself had he woven into her?  She was infected.  Stained.  

She tried to cry out, but found her throat was sand.  

The cord twisted.  It spun.  

She saw a hint of light.  

Pale, thin glimmers on an otherwise formless, shrouded horizon. 

Another voice began alongside the sounds of hunger.  Calling to her.  Intent, but with a different tone than the mouths that wanted to consume.  

This sound was kind. This voice had hope. 

Dad?  Dad!  

How many years had it been?  She tried to reach out, but had no control of her arms. Tried to call to him, but could not find her words.  Tried to find him- somehow- but her body felt nothing save the emptiness of this barren plane of existence.

She choked, the absence of breath, the absence of self striking panic. 

Dad!

“I’m here, Starbuck.  I’m here.”

She wanted to yell for him.  Cry out to him.  Hug him, one last time. 

But he was nowhere and everywhere, and her mouth was mute.  

Are you real?  She wanted him to be.  More than anything. 

“This part of me is.”

You… pulled us out of the house.  You came for me.

“How could I not?  How could I not come for my little girl?”

The flood of loss, of undying love was overwhelming.  It suspended them both in a cocoon of bittersweet silence.  

Dad.  How did you know?

“You will be amazed, someday, at what we get to know. What we get to see, and do, when we are needed. That’s why I’m here now.”

I do, I do need you, Dad.  I’ve missed you so much, I thought I could never talk to you again… and you’re here and I just…  

She felt like a desperate little girl.  She wished she could cry, just to ease the torment inside herself.  But she was bound up, inside and out.  Powerless.  It made her ache all the more. 

“You won’t stay here.  You’re my fighter.  Remember?”

How can I fight what I can’t see?

His voice seemed nearer, somehow.  She could almost smell his aftershave, she thought.  

“You don’t.  Not alone.   You have to decide, Dana.  Decide what you’re willing to fight for.  And I hope you make the right choice.”

What is the right choice?    

“I always chose myself, Dana.  And my orders, and my job. All the accolades, all the rewards, remember?  And I was given permission to come to you, to tell you that is not enough. Not to really live.”

That doesn’t make sense. 

“It does.  You’re just still afraid to admit it.  I left with things undone, sweetheart.  I was certain that what I did was enough.  I was strong, your mother was strong, I made you kids strong.  You were strong because you had to be.  Because I wasn’t really there for you to rely on.”

If she could breathe here, if she could speak, she would have screamed at him.  As much as she knew his words were true, his confession tore open a flood wall inside her.  The sudden deluge of denial and bitterness was too great.

Don’t say that!  You were there, Dad, you were.

“I tried to be, sometimes.  But I was torn.  Blinded by what I thought was important.  But ask your mother, when you get home.   Ask her about the forgotten anniversaries.  And the birthdays I missed, for trainings or ceremonies.  Remember who helped you with your homework, and your big projects.”  His voice was sad.  “I had a lot to do… a lot I thought was more important… She was always so, so good.  Forgiving.” He paused, his silence pained.  “Service has a cost.  Service to our country.  Or to the FBI.   We choose where to place our time, our trust.  That’s what shows love.   I didn’t give your mother… or you kids… I didn’t give the time you deserved.  When you go back, please tell her I’m sorry.  You have to tell her that.  I’m so, so sorry.”

If a voice could carry weight, if it could bear upon another with a touch, she would swear she felt him holding her with only his soft timbre. 

She desperately wished she could hug him back. 

I love you, Dad. 

“I love you, too.  So much.  Listen to me, Starbuck, I want you to know, it is possible to love and be strong.  What you’ve been doing, carrying all this.  Fighting alone… you don’t have to.  Sometimes being strong alone… it isn’t possible.  It isn’t what’s best.  I wish I had known… wish I had acted on it more.  I wish I had shown you all how important you really are.” 

You sound like Mulder.

“And I can tell you don’t think that’s a bad thing.  Make the right choice, Dana.   Don’t wait till it’s too late.  You can't get the time back.  And don’t forget, I’m here.  Always.  In your corner.”

But Dad, wait—

The pendulum swung. 

The silk thread snapped. 

____________________

Opening his eyelids fully was too much effort.  Instead, Mulder settled on cracking them just enough to make out the golden glow that surrounded him.  

His neural networks processed haphazardly, firing thoughts at random as he regained full consciousness. 

Good color.  Scully would like it.  

His fingers felt next to him, where her body had been resting with him the past nights.  He wanted to wake her, to show her the strange tangerine light that enveloped them.  

His fingers found cold sheets. 

Scully should be here.  She’s not.

He fought to force his eyes open, his heart rate climbing as the confusion and panic took root.   His pupils registered the plain, sunset stained hospital walls.  The heart monitor pads on his chest.  The IV lines anchored in his veins.   The nurses running into the room. 

His mouth became cotton.  His forehead grew hot with a strange, chilled sweat and his stomach turned without warning.  He bolted upright and managed to twist his body in the hospital bed before he vomited onto the floor, and the shoes of a nurse. 

“Oh…gaw..m’s’ry…”  The apology slurred out.  His tongue felt thick and unfamiliar.  

The dark haired nurse smiled slightly at him.  “It’s okay, really.  Not the worst thing I’ve had happen.”  While the other nurse helped clean him up and lay him back on the pillows, the dark haired nurse wiped her shoes off with a towel.  

“Fox, is it?  My name is Beth,” she continued.  “And this is Abby.  We’re here most nights.  When they brought you in, they told us we have to keep an extra eye on you.  They had to sedate you to get you to rest.  Sounds like you’re trouble.”

Mulder couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.  Even if she were serious, he couldn’t form a coherent rebuttal.  He managed a shrug instead.   Yes, he did seem to be trouble, he supposed.  His bosses and exes would all vouch for that.  

Abby was changing fluids in the IV drip.  Mulder eyed her.  Her hair curled, like Samantha’s.  He found himself suddenly leery of these two strangers.  They could be another demonic ruse, for all he knew. 

“So we will be just outside your room at the nurse’s station, and will come in and bother you, probably more than you want.  They said you can’t be alone.” There was a strange tone in Beth’s voice.  Irritation, Mulder decided.  Or distain.  “Anyway, ER bandaged you up nice, so we’ll just be here to change gauze, check your fluids.  You’ll be out of here in no time.”  Beth patted his hand and turned to leave. 

“Where’s’ssshhh,” he managed.  

Beth blinked.

“Wurrrss’shee,” he tried again.  

“Oh, oh.  Where is she…”  She glanced at Abby, a pensive look on her face.  

He felt his panic building again.  

Abby scrambled to tamp down his worry.  “Sir, we have to keep all patient information confidential.  But I promise you she’s alright.”  She offered a kind, reassuring grin. 

Beth pursed her lips and gave Abby a disapproving look, then glanced back at him.  “And that’s all we can tell you, sir.  We shouldn’t even tell you that much.”  Her glare settled back on her colleague. 

Mulder’s heart rate slowed on the monitor.   He nodded, a small smile on his lips. 

Scully is alive. 

“Get some rest.”  Abby finished making notations and both nurses turned to leave.  “You’ll feel much better tomorrow.  Promise.”   She offered another polite smile over her shoulder.  

He was so, so tired.  Sedated?  Given how his body felt, it was entirely plausible.  As his eyes drifted closed, he heard Beth from the hallway.  

“They told us it’s a DV case!  Everyone’s been talking about it!  What were you thinking?”  Her words hissed through her teeth. 

“He was worried, Beth.”

“Maybe.  Or maybe he’s acting.  Don’t give any more information or you’re gonna get yourself fired.” 

“Yeah…” 

“I’m serious!  You do it again and I’m reporting it.  I’m not going down with you just because you think a guy is nice.” 

Though his head was still foggy and stomach still swimming, Mulder’s mind was clear enough to register the weight of their words.  So much for getting help from anyone here.  Maybe once his brain fog lifted he could…. 

The fresh dose of sedatives in the IV took over as dusk began to settle into the corners of the room.

Fox Mulder fell into a dreamless, leaden sleep. 

____________________

“Dad!”  Scully’s hoarse voice cut through the monotonous beeping of the monitors.  Her eyes flew open as she gasped in air.   It was sick-sweet and plastic.  

Her fingers found an oxygen mask.  Beeping monitors behind her hammered out her elevated heart rate.

Fumbling, she pulled at the mask.  It caught, hindered by her hair tangled in the elastic.  A nurse ran into her room before she managed to remove it.

“Dana?  You okay?”  The panic of inexperience stained the young man’s voice.  He hurried to her side in an attempt to calm her.  Once he secured the mask once more, he eased her back down to the pillow.  “It’s good to see you awake, at least.”

“I heard- I swear he was here.”  Scully’s eyes searched the dimly lit hospital room.  

“Who?”

She blinked back the emotion she felt bubbling to the surface.  

“Who was in here?” 

She shook her head.  “It must have been a dream.”

There was certainly no way she could explain what she had just experienced to anyone else. 

“That would make sense,” the nurse said.  “You’ve been through a lot, bad dreams can come from that.  It’s good to see you so alert.”

Scully felt ill at ease.  Her medical mind struggled to process, to make sense of where she was and what had happened.  She didn’t remember going to the hospital, but she could deduce why she was there easily enough.   What she couldn’t reconcile to herself was the fact that she was alive.  After feeling them entering her body… after deciding she was too tired to fight anymore… she should be… dead?  Part of them?  Definitely not sitting here, she was sure of that much.

She knew that she had her father to thank for that. 

 “Could I… Can I talk to a doctor, or at least see my chart?”  She tried in vain to sit up.  “Please, I’m a doctor.”

The young man studied her face seriously.  “You have been through a lot,” he repeated.  “And you’ve been unconscious.  You are really lucky.”  He nodded toward the mask on her face.  “Oxygen, obviously.  Keep it on. Keep resting.  Your body needs it.  The doctor will be in to make rounds in the morning, and you can talk to him then.  The last thing you need is more stress on your mind or body right now.”

“You said I’m lucky.”  She sounded strange to herself, muffled through the mask.  “What about my partner?”

“Partner?”

Her stomach dropped.   She took a breath to steady herself.  “Yes, Fox Mulder.  He would have been with me.”  

The nurse shook his head apologetically.  “I don’t know that name.  I’m sorry.”

Panic seized her.  “I have to find him, you have to let me go!” 

She began pulling at the mask again, but the nurse grabbed both of her hands.  His face bent down to hers, his eyes serious.

“Listen.  This is a big hospital, and you’re in the intensive care unit.  Your partner is probably in another area.  You need to stay here until we can be sure you’re alright, okay?  You’ve been unconscious for a couple days.  You lost so much blood they had to do a transfusion.  But they don’t know how on earth you lost it.”  His brow was furrowed with worry, or pity.  “I don’t know what all you went through, but I can tell it wasn’t fun.”

Scully shook her head slowly, reeling at this new information.  “No.  It wasn’t.”  As he let go, she let her hands fall to her sides.  Bewildered.  Defeated.

“My name is Jordan, I’m here all night.  I can stay here for a bit, till you go to sleep?  Would you like that?”

He was no Mulder, but she didn’t want to be alone.  She nodded softly. 

“Yes, please.” 

Jordan pulled a chair close to her bedside.  She sighed, irritated that her body was so weak and worn.  Still, she was thankful for the company.

“How long have you been working here, Jordan?”

The nurse ducked his head in a boyish fashion.  “This is actually my first year working.  But I completed my clinicals here, too.” 

“Mm, good for you.”  She smiled at him.  “You chose a good line of work; you'll help lots of people.  So you're pretty familiar with the hospital then?”

The nurse nodded. 

“Would you do something for me, please?”  In spite of herself, Scully felt her eyelids getting heavy again.  Her body felt utterly spent.  

“I’ll try.”  His voice was wary. 

“Can you find out if my partner is okay?  Fox Mulder.”  Her eyes were desperate.  “I need to know.  We were attacked, and I want- just, please find out if he’s here, if he’s alright.”  Her jaw clenched tight against tears that threatened.  I need him to be alright.

Jordan nodded, holding her gaze.   “You know I can’t give you personal information… but I can see if he’s here.” He gave a smile. “I promise.” 

The relieved grin she returned was faded from fatigue.  “That’s all I want, thank you.  Just to know he’s safe.  He’s… he’s a good friend.” 

Her father’s words wavered in her subconscious as she began to drift off. 

You’re right, Dad.  I know you’re right. 

____________________

Footsteps on the tile floor roused Mulder.

He took great care to turn his head like the hour hand, wary of startling the staff or making himself throw up again.  

“How are ya feeling?”  Abby’s kind face studied him through the dim light.

He rolled his dry tongue in his mouth as he stared at her.  His eyes darted toward the doorway, then back.  She was alone… which either meant the nurse was really here alone, or… He felt a low panic begin to creep in.  If it was indeed the demons again, he was hardly in a position to resist.   He swallowed thickly, moving his mouth in an attempt at words.  

“Behht?”  He groaned to himself.  Stupid sedative.

Abby grinned.  “Beth?”

“Mh- hmm.”  He kept his eyes fixed on her, watching for a shift, a telltale murmur in the planes of her face. 

She let out a small laugh.  “She’s not your favorite, is she?”

Mulder grunted.

“She’s on break,” she shrugged.  Her long brown curls moved with her shoulders. “I figured now was a good time to check in on you… I dunno.  She’s a good nurse.  She just makes her mind up about people pretty quick.  But I like to decide for myself.  Just because you hear something about someone doesn’t mean it’s true, ya know.”  She offered another smile.

Mulder licked his cracked lips.  “No more.  No, no more sedttiff.”  He glared at the IV bag to make his point. 

She shook her head.  “No, we don’t do that unless it’s absolutely necessary.  That was supposed to be the last round.   As long as you promise not to go crazy and try to hurt anyone again.”

He scrunched his nose and brow in confusion. 

“You don’t remember?”

He slowly shook his head.

“Huh.  Well, I wasn’t here when they brought you in, but the report was that you were pretty upset.  Fighting the paramedics.  Saying crazy things.”  Her eyes were filled with sympathy.  “You must have been in shock, I guess.  You look like you’ve been through a lot.”  She studied the cuts on his face, his bandaged hand. 

“Mhm.”  He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Padgett’s hollow, hateful stare, Scully’s terrified face…  the darkness filling him.  “T’ tried’t’take us.”

Abby’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Take you?  So you- you didn’t hurt the other patient.”  The relief was evident on her face. 

“Never.”  He wished he could explain himself more, so this nurse could understand.  Scully was his only reason to keep going.  The thought of hurting her was unconscionable. 

“I knew you weren’t that kind of guy.  Who did this to you?” 

Mulder blinked, considering his next move carefully.  She seemed trustworthy, but if she felt he was crazy or dangerous…  He examined her kind face, framed by long curls that were tucked back in a loose, messy ponytail.  A glint of metal flashed from one earlobe that peeked through her hair.  

He squinted.  A cross earring.

She squinted back at him with a small grin.  “What?”

“Umm…”  Mulder struggled to sit up, fighting the residual dizziness.  “D’you b’lieve in God?”  He could barely believe the words as they came out of his mouth.  Less than a week ago, he would have vehemently denied any plausibility of such things.  Yet here he was, tethered to a hospital bed with IV lines and BP sensors, all because of a hoard of demons.  The world was a strange place.

Abby tilted her head, then nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah I believe in God.  Why?”

He took a deep breath.  Here goes nothing.  “Okay, an’dem’ns?”

She stared at him, her brow twisted in confusion.  

“An’demons.”  He spat out.  He couldn’t wait till he regained full control of his thick, uncooperative tongue. 

“Demons,” she repeated.

He nodded.  His eyes locked on hers, begging her to take him seriously.  She took a step backward, toward the door.  Her lips were a thin line.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mulder, I don’t want to get involved in any of that.”

“Please.” 

“This is why you were sedated…”  She reached the doorway and stopped.  Her arms were crossed, her expression pensive.  How many times had he seen that look on Scully’s perfect, freckled face?  He would give anything to see her, to hold her again.  

“Please,” he tried again.  “I need help.  Please.”

Abby shook her head fiercely and her curls flung back and forth, magnifying her reticence.  “I can’t.  Even if what you’re saying is real- and I’m not agreeing it is- even if it is, how could I possibly help?”

Mulder spoke slowly.  “Y’don’t understand.  Th’want me.  An’ her.  Not you.”  He kept his eyes locked on hers, pleading.  “I gotta get help, an’ if I don’t.  We die.  She dies.  I die.”  He felt his stomach churning, from the sedative.  From the helplessness.  “You don’t hafta believe me, but’f you go, you’re killing two people.  Two.  Is your doubt worth that?”

The hospital room was silent for a long moment, save the beeping of the heart monitor.  

Abby licked her lips nervously, then took a deep breath.  

“Okay.”  It was a whisper.  “I don’t want anybody dead…  But this doesn’t mean I believe all you said, either.  What do you need me to do?”

____________________

[hyaciiintho]

🌸｡*ﾟ+. Sorry to anyone waiting on an ooc reply from me through DMs. I'll try to get back on track soonish, but it might be after these next two weeks that I do. Gonna be visiting family and friend on the east coast, so I'll be occupied. Bringing my laptop with me, in case of anything, but it's not a guarantee I'll get much done while over there.

Regardless, I appreciate everyone who sent stuff in ♡ I might be doubling down on memes for these next work nights so I can get my queue stuffed enough for my absence.

I hope everyone has a lovely day/night ♡

[rainrot4me]

Return The Favor

Summary: Stumbling in on your neighbor’s chopped up body, an unlikely friendship forms between you and Toby. Striking a deal, you agree to help the killer and his friends, buying them necessary prescriptions. But when one visit turns to multiple, Toby becomes curious, finding a not so subtle love note hidden away.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mentions of death, explicit description of a dismembered body, decomposition, death, gore, obsession, vomit, throwing up, blood (non-sexual), blood (sexual), vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, vaginal, choking, gagging, somnophilia, rough, Toby literally goes insane about you, virginity kink, first time, desperation

Words: 9.4k

A/N: This shit long asl I'm so sorry... Characters in this story are not canonical!

It’s said that when there’s a dead body nearby, your body can sense it before your brain can. 

It’s almost like instinct, a survival nature programmed into your brain. It’ll start with goosebumps and chills running all over your body as if you were being watched, this uncomfortable sensation that you just can’t rationalize. Then the anxiety sets in, body aching and sweating for no apparent reason but it just knows there’s something wrong. 

Finally, when you’ve finally choked it up to just being your imagination, that’s when you’ll smell it. Throat instantly closing and nostrils flaring at the putrid stench of rot and gore. It’s incomparable, no amount of food poisoning or disease compares to the sickness you feel in your stomach at the smell of a human body decomposing. Every instinct in your body pleading and begging you to get out of there, run as far away until you can’t breathe anymore. 

You would know. And it seemed like the boy huddled in front of you did too. 

There was no real reason for you to even be in this house in the first place, but your all-too-good heart guilted you into it. You had just come home from work, mind tired and body sleepy as you unlocked your front door, tossing your bag onto the kitchen table inside. It was well past midnight, the diner you worked at closing way later than normal, but at least you made some good tips. 

Sliding into your bedroom, you changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your hair back before stepping into your kitchen. You gripped the tiny journal lying on the counter, cracking the worn pages open to where you left off, scribbling your thoughts onto the paper. It was your nightly routine, journaling things you saw or did, a coping mechanism suggested by your therapist. It wasn’t for anything intensive, just minor anxiety and self-image problems, always having negative thoughts about yourself. It helped. Glancing up, you looked through the tiny window above your sink, a clear view of your neighbor’s back porch, Mr. Higgs, an older man who made it very difficult to be friendly. He was a hateful guy, always nitpicking your choice of decorations or specific outfits he didn’t find appropriate. A real sweetheart, obviously. 

But compared to his usual eight PM lights out, the living room lamp was still bright, shining directly through his open back porch door. That was odd. As long as you had known this guy, it wasn’t like him to be up this late, let alone be outside. Every instinct told you to just clean up and go to bed, his angry ass probably scooting off a raccoon or something. But you just couldn’t pass up that nagging feeling, your kindheartedness overpowering you. So, sighing, you tossed a hoodie on and slid out your back door, stepping down the porch steps into the cool grass.

You flinched as a flash of brown passed your vision, small and thin against the dark grass. Cooing, you kneeled down, holding your fingers out as Mr. Higg’s old cat, Addy, sniffed the air around you, pressing against your bare legs as she purred. The man was way too protective of his cat. Something was definitely wrong.

Standing again, Addy pranced away, meowing loudly behind you as your bare feet became wet against the midnight dew, grass sticking to your ankles as you walked, arms hugging yourself against the cold. This would probably just end with you getting told to mind your business and stomping back to bed upset, but it was the thought that counted. Gripping onto the porch rail, you stepped up his creaky wooden porch, knocking against the wooden frame of the open door.

“Mr. Higgs? Everything alright?” You called into the room, refusing to go in. There was no response, you knocked again after a couple of seconds. Still nothing. You gulped, rubbing your arms against your sides, nerves wracking you. “Okay. I’m coming in. Don’t get mad 'cause you didn’t answer me.” You called again, pressing past the door and wiping your wet feet on the welcome mat. 

The house was quiet, the only light being the lamp sat on a coffee table adjacent to the old couch. All the furniture had an older look like something out of the eighties, it made you cringe. “Mr. Higgs, are you home?” You shouted down the dark hallway, all the doors shut except for one at the end which you assumed to be his room. Hugging yourself, your legs felt anxious, your mind racing with all the reasons you shouldn’t walk down there. There was no reason for it, this was all just probably some old guy who forgot to shut his door, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Taking a step down the hallway, that’s when it started. Those feelings, like your body can feel shouldn’t be there. The air suddenly grew thick, a nauseating feeling setting in against your chest, pressing down like a conscious weight. But you shook it off, telling yourself it was just you scaring yourself with all of those crime shows, but you should’ve known better.

The door was cracked, moonlight from the open shades pressing against the doorframe, your hand flat against the wood as you pushed the door open. Then came the smell. It was stout, a putrid funk that wafted against the walls, souring the room. The room was dark, pupils blown wide as they fought to see, hand sliding against the wall and searching for a light switch. Your body was tense, senses on high alert against the dark, breathing ragged against the awful stench filling your senses. Your eyes were beginning to water, wondering what in the hell could be stinking this terribly, until you felt the switch, flipping it on.

Your first instinct was to throw up, throat constricting and stomach tightening, but you just couldn’t move. You were petrified by the scene in front of you. Mr. Higgs was there, at least, what you could recognize of him. His head had been cleaved from his body, intensive amounts of blood staining his beige bedsheets. His cheeks were bloated, a gnarly purple color as his veins poked against his forehead, skin wrinkled and soaked in blood as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. They were yellow now, dark veins contrasting against the orbs as puss leaked from every hole on his expressionless face. The rest of his body was scattered, chunks of muscle shredded from his arms and hands like they had been cut off, legs more or less the same. His wide stomach was completely visible, his skin swollen and dark, bloated against the same liquids spilling from his pores. The blood was the worst part. It was just everywhere. Splattered on the sheets, the nightstand, even the walls, specks reaching the roof. You were so lost in your racing thoughts, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you gripped the door tightly, knuckles white on the frame. You could feel the cold sweat drip down your brow, utter fear chilling your body. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed the tall boy standing in the corner if he hadn’t flinched, eyes wide and locked on you. He was lanky, easily taller than you and pale. No, not pale, more gray. He had curly brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, his freckled cheeks flushed against the bandages across his jaw. A pair of goggles rested amongst his curls, a dark mask covering his nose and mouth. He wore dark wash jeans loose around his hips and a heavier brown hoodie that was stained with dark blood. Oh God. The boy didn’t look much older than you despite his bruise battered skin. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, he was just watching. 

His hands were behind his back, shoulders scrunched against the corner of the dark walls as you pressed back off the door frame, breathing ragged. “Who the hell are you?” You grimaced, tone coming across a lot more confident than you felt. The boy flinched, not out of fear, more like a bodily reaction. He refused to answer, eyes scanning around quickly until he pressed off the wall, sliding to the shuttered window and pinching the blinds open, scanning the night without explanation. That’s when you heard loud boots stepping up the porch steps, head spinning quickly down the hallway. “Shit.” You heard him, the boy’s voice panicked and rough, his boots stepping quickly across the hardwood and into your vicinity. Panic strained you, head spinning back quickly before your vision was filled with his arms wrapping around you, palm slapping over your mouth as he pressed you to his chest. 

You tried to fight back, mumbled pleas against his hand as you shouldered his arms, your back pressed firmly against him. He was dragging you into the room, your feet dragging as you struggled, clawing his arms away but he never budged, practically unaware of the scratches you were leaving on his hands. “F- Fuckin’ quit-” He growled quietly, pressing open the small closet doors and dragging you both in, quickly shutting the door as you heard the boots grow louder down the hallway. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, leaving you just enough room to see the gorey scene as you pressed off of him, his muscled arms refusing to let you go.

“Toby?” A scratchy voice called into the room, the figure stepping through the door frame and into your line of sight. At his appearance, you froze completely, your body tense against the boy behind you. His arms gripped tighter, bandaged fingers digging into your cheek as he kept you quiet. He was horrifying. 

This man was taller than the one in the closet with you, pasty skin a sharp contrast against his dark messy hair. His eyes were wide, pupils dark against his reddened scleras. He wore a white hoodie, dark jeans covered just the same with Mr. Higg’s blood. But the worst part, the part that made your heart pump in your throat, was his smile. It was etched in, flesh torn upwards into a mocked smile, teeth exposed from the side of his cheek. The area was mangled, seemingly unhealed as blood dried against the cut. He almost made Mr. Higgs seem not that bad.

“Twitch, come on,” He called again, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket as he strolled around the room, kicking Mr. Higg’s severed foot out of the way. “I’m gettin’ tired. This guy had some good beers and I’m tryna get back home and drink ‘em.” He snickered, turning back out of the room and back down the hallway, his loud boots stomping against the old floors. Who you presumed to be Toby didn’t let you go, arms just as tight around you as you gripping his hoodie’s sleeves tight. “Fine then! If you’re gonna play fuckin’ hide and seek then I’m leavin’ your ass here!” He called throughout the house, your body only untensing when you heard the back porch door slam shut, loud boots thunking down the porch and out of earshot. 

You both waited a couple of seconds, heart thudding in your ears as arms slowly released you, palm unclasping from your mouth. Panicked, you slammed out of the closet, turning around quickly and facing Toby, back pressed against the nearest wall as you searched for something to defend yourself with. “D- Dumbass.” He grit, pressing out of the cramped closet and facing you, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The stench of the room pressed harder than ever, making your head dizzy as you pressed out of the room and down the hallway, Toby quick on your heels. “Whoever the fuck you are, whatever the fuck you want, I’m sure Mr. Higgs didn’t have it. Why in God’s name is he in pieces in his bedroom?” You hissed, gagging as the image replayed in your mind, turning into his kitchen and wracking the cupboards. When you found a small plastic cup, you ran water in through the sink, chugging the stout liquid down as you calmed your breathing. Toby stayed in the doorframe, crossing his arms. You probably shouldn’t have let your guard down, knowing full and well what he had just down to your neighbor, but you figured if he was going to he would have already.

“It’s none of y- your business. I don’t k- kill innocents, so you s- shoulda just stayed home, m- missy.” He growled back, stuttering through the words. You tossed the cup in the sink, the plastic clattering against the metal as you turned to face him, running your hands through your hair. “Hard to when you guys so obviously left his door open. The bastards hounded me for years, you’d think I’d be happy about his death, but not fucking like that.” You hissed, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, bare feet cold against the porcelain tiles. “I mean, Jesus. And I mean, thanks and all for the save back there, but how is killing him and saving me any different? It’s just favoring one innocent over another.” Toby shook his head, sliding past you and tugging a drawer open, shovelling through old receipts until he found the stack he was searching for. He passed it to you, paper crinkling as you skimmed through, old pharmacy receipts for prescription medicine. 

“H- Had the old bastard bu- buying our meds. Paid h- him off and everything. Un- Until he started g- giving us coun- counterfeits, sellin’ u- us out. He h- had to pay u- up somehow…” He huffed, shoving his mask down off of his nose and under his chin, his thin lips chapped against the bandages hugging his cheeks. And of course, he was cute. 

“So he gets shredded?” You had to breathe through that sentence, throat tight with nausea. Toby nodded, a small smirk crooking at the corner of his lips. You grimaced, pressing off of the counter and through to the living room, the old furniture seeming a lot less homey now. You were going home, filing a police report, and praying to God these fuckers didn’t come back to get you instead. 

“U- Uh, might wa- wanna clean up, t- too,” Toby chuckled from behind you. You paused, confused as you looked around, stomach twisting as you looked down. Bloody footprints trekked through the kitchen behind you, a trail leading to your bare feet as you lift your knee, gagging at the sight of Mr. Higg’s blood coating your soles. Toby was laughing, the noise muffled against the ringing in your ears as you hunched over, stomach convulsing as you puked on the hardwood floors, your lunch from work coming back up. Head straining, you panted, wiping your lips. “Oh, s- shit, okay.” Toby hissed, sliding to your side and raising you up, hugging you close to his side. He drug you through the door, stomach still churning as you watched your footprints faintly appear beneath you, purposefully dragging them through the grass to get the blood off. You felt disgusting, giving no fight as Toby brought you to your porch steps, helping you up. He was so bipolar, angry and distasteful for one second, then cautious and endearing the next. It really was like you were dealing with a teenager. 

Addy circled your ankles, her dense fur tickling your skin and making you jump, Toby gripping your arms tighter. “Oh, hi kitty.” You cooed, breathing deep as you kneeled down, scooping her up into your arms as Toby helped you up the rest of the steps. Without asking, he slid open your screen door, helping you both inside as Addy purred against your chest, Toby wary as he stared at her. You dropped her on the floor gently, Toby sliding the door shut as you hunched over your sink, cleaning your mouth and grabbing a rag for your feet. Toby still eyed Addy, fidgeting his nails as he followed her. “Ever seen a cat before? She was Mr. Higg’s.” You chuckled, cleaning the soles of your feet off and tossing the rag into the sink, still feeling unclean. Toby nodded, rubbing his arms nervously as he looked back at you, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. Us- Used to have one. T- They kinda sc- scare me now.” Smiling, you scooped Addy up again, petting her soft fur as you brought her close to the boy, his neck twitching nervously. 

How could this guy shred a man to pieces, but petting a cat was too frightening for him? You couldn’t understand. Digressing, you gripped his wrist, steadying the twitches as you placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently as Toby flinched, breathing quickly. Addy purred, unbothered by the action as he became more comfortable, fingers playing with her fur before he pulled his hand back, breathing deep.

You were too nice for your own good, too easy at giving the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you would find the redeemable traits in a murderer, heart hurting for this boy who was more or less the same as you. Groaning, you dropped Addy, crossing your arms. “Listen. What you did, it’s… For my own conscience, I can’t let it happen again.” You grit, circling your countertop and sitting on a stool, your journal tucked in front of you as you fidgeted with the pages. “If we can agree, I’ll buy your meds. I have a friend who can write me prescriptions, no questions asked. But I need you to understand, under no circumstances, are you allowed to harm me. I’ll call the cops.” Like the cops could stop these lunatics. But, you needed some type of leverage. 

Toby thought quietly, eyes narrowed as he flinched uncomfortably against Addy rubbing on his shins, purring loudly. If you could hold your end, there would be no trouble, but he had to know he could rely on you. “Th- The meds aren’t for m- me. My f- friends, they need ‘em to function, m- mentally… You g- gotta realize this is- is serious.” Even stuttering his voice was stern, arms crossed as he thought, contemplating. You nodded, brushing your hair from your face as you groaned, realizing how desperately you needed to learn to set boundaries. “I can get them. But you have to keep your end, too.” You hissed back, pinching your fingers nervously. Toby smiled, crossing his heart, literally. Rolling your eyes, you nodded, rubbing your face as you groaned. What the fuck were you even doing? 

“I’ll have them by the end of the week. Come later at night, cops’ll be swarming for weeks thanks to you.” Toby nodded, sliding over to the counter and gripping your journal, tearing a page out as he wrote the list of prescriptions you would need to get. It was a hefty list, some of that shit intense. “Abou- About that,” He slid his mask up over his nose, sliding the screen door open as he stepped out, chuckling. “Do- Don’t go outside. Gonna ma- make it look like a g- gas leak.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he shut the screen, sliding his hood over his head and peeling down the porch steps. Finally taking a deep breath, you stared at Addy, wondering what in the absolute fuck you were doing. Rest in hell, Mr. Higgs.

-

He made it look like a gas leak alright. The house was on fire in minutes, the bright orange flames lighting your room as you heard sirens in the distance, your other neighbors gathered outside their houses as you climbed into bed, groaning your displeasure. Cops and firefighters swarmed for days afterwards, investigating the area thoroughly, but never finding any remains of Mr. Higgs, his body buried somewhere far away. They eventually grew restless, the city quickly cleaned up the charred remains of the house and a new plan for construction was set in soon. It went over smoothly, no one even suspecting a thing. 

The days passed slowly, nervousness building as the end of the week grew closer, feet shuffling as you stood in line at the pharmacy. You got the doctor’s notes easily, already called in and waiting to be picked up as you were handed a small paper bag, the pharmacist eyeing you closely as you hurried out. Once in your car, you rummaged the sack, eyes wide as you read the dosage instructions on each little pill bottle. You read each bottle carefully, cringing at the names of the contents: Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, and even Aripiprazole. They were all high-end antipsychotics, the list of treatments for schizophrenia and mania, along with treatment-resistant depression. The last bottle caught your eye, a quick Google search told you it was for tourette's. So his twitching wasn’t just nervousness, huh. Shoveling the sack into your bag, you sped home, Toby well on his way as the sun set low.

The first week was easy, Toby in and out without so much as a hello, nodding his thanks as he bolted back into the woods, eyes dark and heavy. It was easy for you, moving along with your life despite the one night of the week. You felt easier, the boy quick about his stops with some chat, but never hanging around for too long, eyes always scanning the tree line nervously. 

As weeks passed, he grew more comfortable, you learned that he was quick about stopping due to his friends, their curiosity about you making him nervous about losing his ‘dealer.’ You learned to leave his meds on the counter, sometimes not even present when he would sneak in at the late hours of the night, your job taking precedence over your sleep schedule. But with all of this money being spent weekly on medicine, you had to pick up more time at work, everything being paid for out of pocket not to raise suspicion. You were sleeping more, journaling and your hobbies taking less importance until they were practically nonexistent. It was hard, your serving heart refusing to let you rest, making sure Toby got his medication is the most important thing. You were strained, to say the least. 

However, surprisingly, after a couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He had slid in like he always did, you sat at the counter eating your dinner as you scribbled through the pages of your notebook, summing up the previous days. You were exhausted, Toby making you jump slightly as he shut the screen door, rummaging through the paper sack. “G- Got any more?” He grinned shyly, sliding his mask and goggles off and tossing them onto the counter. You nodded to the fridge, an extra container of leftovers from the diner quickly opened in front of him as he shoveled it into his mouth. “It’s better heated up,” You laughed, shutting your journal as you slid off the stool, gripping the to-go container from him and popping it into the microwave. You both sat there awkwardly, Toby kneeling down to rub Addy’s back as she appeared beneath him, soft purrs echoing. He was still nervous, never petting her for too long before standing back up, the microwave beeping. The food came out steaming, sliding open a drawer and handing him a fork, Toby continued to shovel the food into his mouth. You hissed, holding his arm as the steaming food sizzled inside his mouth, it had to be burning him. “Oh. Y- Yeah, I don’t fe- feel pain. Th’s good, tho- though.” He grinned, slurping up more of the food. He acted like he hadn’t had warm food in forever, stuffing his face and barely giving himself time to chew. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he ate.

The stays became longer after that, his excuse being he was hungry, continuously raiding your fridge until you began to have food ready for him, prepping his meals along with your own. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, to two hours, and then eventually through the night. He would crash on your couch, Addy curled in his lap as the television blared some old movie. That was one of the only times you didn’t see him ticcing, the cat acting as an anchor against his restless body. He looked truly comfortable, using your blankets and pillows to his advantage, beginning to invite himself to stay the night after a while. 

You sat at the counter, Toby snoring loudly as he laid face first into the couch pillow, scribbling into your journal. It was the one thing you had time for, having to get up early for work as the soft glow of the kitchen light lit the pages. Toby was practically pushing himself into your life, his lack of manners and curious mannerisms leading him to take initiative. You were grateful for his friendliness, giving great detail of his missions with his friends and explaining that whole situation. Even still, you were wary. 

But against your better judgment, your relationship with the killer was becoming less transactional. He brought you things to make for dinner, talked with you through your mutual sleepiness, and even took care of Addy when you were too delusional after work. For lack of a better word, he was becoming a friend, showing up for more than just his medication, even sometimes forgetting the bag and having to chase him down. He was infesting your life, arriving earlier than he should and leaving later than you cared for. The end of the week was becoming optional, the screen of your porch door sliding open nearly every night of the week Toby didn’t have a mission. It was annoying but in a comforting way, like you both were becoming closer naturally despite your differences. 

As you heard his snores, you groaned, rubbing your tired eyes as you began to write, letting your pencil guide on the page numbly as you wrote your thoughts. It wasn’t directed at Toby on purpose, but the further you got down the page the further your heart sank, hand fisted in your hair as you rested your elbow on the cold marble counter. “Ah, Jesus…” You grit, scribbling the final few words as you lean back, rubbing your head. The words weren’t lies, more of a hard truth you weren’t willing to accept, chalking it up that you were just tired and desperate. The words could have been about Toby, or they could have been about anyone, you didn’t really care. Sighing, you tore the page out, folding it and shoving it into the back of the book, closing the pages quickly. Sleep sounded much easier as you flipped the kitchen light off, turning the volume of the television down as you trudged upstairs to your room, giving one last glance to the snoring boy and his matching cat.

-

Toby knew his mishaps with you, his moral compass long forgotten the more time he spent inside your home. He told himself it was just easier, food and shelter at his disposal whenever, but he knew better. It was so much more than just picking up medicine for Tim and Brian now, it was a solid relationship, a bond that was forming in his eyes. 

It had been almost four months since the unfortunate death of your neighbor, a smile creeping every time he saw the charred flecks of wood buried in the overgrown grass. You had begun to leave the back door unlocked, reasoning that someone breaking and entering would be less of a hassle than him. That was what Toby really hooked onto the most about you, your humor about everything. Despite your hardships and the emotions you had to overcome, you held a caring heart, compassion always lacing every action. He found it admirable, your humor through your busy life. And, likewise, he did feel bad for making you work so much, tired eyes always hurting his heart whenever you were around. But, it wasn’t like he could get a job, so he helped where he could, cleaning and learning to cook for your sake. He needed this medicine, for his friend’s and his own stability, even at your expense.

You were already nestled at your spot on the counter, writing your thoughts in that damn journal. You barely even looked up as he entered, diving for the fridge as he scooped up Addy with one arm, her purs a nice vibration against his shoulder. Popping the container in the microwave, he leaned in over your shoulder, trying to catch a glance at your scribbling before you shoved him off, closing the book quickly. “Ah, ah, mind yours.” You smiled, forking your own food into your mouth. “O- Oh come on, [Y/N], just a pe- peak.” He smiled back, gathering his food as he began to eat, sliding onto his familiar spot on the couch. It was routine now: where you sat, what he watched, what you both talked about. He explained his latest mission with Masky in more detail than you enjoyed, pushing your food away as you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You both laughed throughout the night before you whisked your food into the fridge, calling your goodnights before heading upstairs. 

Toby continued to watch the television, brushing Addy’s back with his bandaged fingers as he sat his empty container to the side. His curiosity nudging him, he raised up, tossing his trash before he slid to the counter, you all too confidently leaving your journal there. Slipping back onto the couch, he began to flip through the pages, listening closely for your footsteps as he read your entries, smiling as they dated all the way back to your high school years.

It seemed as though everything you thought spilt onto these lines, emotions erratic between every page as he realized just how much of a people pleaser you really were. All through your recent years, it was nothing but service, acting through the goodness of your soul until it felt sickening, fake almost. He cringed, flipping quickly through but finding nothing juicy, no deep dark secrets that he felt were interesting. Sighing, he closed the journal, standing to set it back onto the counter, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages. Smiling, Toby leaned down, arms twitching as he slid the journal back onto the counter, leaning against the marble as he flipped the paper open, reading carefully.

“Sometimes, when I think about it too hard, I get all emotional about myself. I know I put on a front, like everything I do I’m in charge of and can handle, always putting everyone around me first. But what if I wanted to be put first? I do so much for the sake of others but it never seems to be returned, never compensated for the mental strain. Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be loved like I see others, rough and real. I have no clue how I even would, I can barely handle touching myself before I'm overwhelmed. But I just want someone else to take the reins, show me that I don't have to work my brain so hard and can just numb out. That's not too much to ask, right? Just someone who can love me, not some creep or one night thing, someone who cares. If I never ask for anything again, that would be it. Someone who wants me for me.”

He could have died. The brunette’s cheeks dark as he re-read the crumbled page, excitement coursing through him. In his mind, he wanted to storm upstairs and just rattle you then, showing you how good he could treat you. It was like a bomb had gone off, Toby having to pretend like him having a crush on you wasn’t achingly obvious, convincing himself he just didn’t know how to act around women. But now it was clear, his mind racing with a million wants and needs, body spasming under the excitement. 

Convincing himself to leave, he slipped the note into his pocket, body buzzing with excitement as he slid out your door. He would be back, like always. But this time, he would show you what you truly needed, what only he could give you. 

-

Like always, Toby left a note for the medication you needed to pick up, it sometimes changing week to week. Everything looked normal, the usual combination of pills reading off. But as you scanned the bottom, you groaned, shoving the paper into your pocket. Trilafon, Saphris, and… Plan B. As if your desperation for some affection couldn’t have gotten much worse, your heart twisted, a lump growing. Whether it be for some girl he was laying or a girlfriend he already had, you didn’t care, all you wanted was to get the medicine and go. Crawling into your bed sounded like a much more exciting activity than dwelling on the brunette, heart saddened in all the way you knew it shouldn’t. 

To make your night even better, Toby didn’t show. It wasn’t unusual, for him sometimes not to show up for days due to extensive missions. But a part of you longed to see him, especially after today, just to help your mind with the whole morning-after pill situation. So now, instead of imagining him surrounded by his friends on a mission, you imagined him towering over a girl. Strong arms holding her, body contorting to fit against hers… You could’ve been sick, shaking your head as you ate quickly and pressed upstairs, barely petting Addy before you slinked into bed, hauling the covers over your head. 

It was lonely on nights without his presence in your house. But especially tonight, thoughts racing uncontrollably to the point of tears, thick droplets streaking down your face as your chest hurt, longing for a body, any body, to hold close to yours. Maybe you really were just a transactional thing. 

-

Toby smiled as he trekked through the familiar stretch of woods to your house, heart racing in his chest. He had it all planned out, exactly what he wanted to do, his cock already twitching in his jeans. 

He hadn’t shown up tonight on purpose, hanging back at the mansion to take the best shower he could, Ben teasing him about how good he smelled as he was leaving. You had to be well in bed by now, body tired after working all day just for him. He would take care of you, showing just how grateful he was for how much you were giving up just for his friends and him. Pressing past the tree line, he smiled, pulling his hood down as all the lights in your home were out, signaling your retirement. 

Pressing up the steps, he slid the screen door open quietly, careful not to alert you as he clicked it shut. Stripping his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, Addy purring light against the cushions. It was warm in your house, black t-shirt hugging his arms as he untucked it from his jeans, climbing up the steps, his mask and goggles quick to come off next. 

He was too excited for his own good, boots stepping quietly against the old hardwood as he slinked to your door, fidgeting with the knob. A rush of your scent blew into his face, your perfume stout in your small bedroom, eyes searching around in the dark space for your bed. It wasn’t hard with your breathing, quiet snores making him smile as he leaned against your mattress, admiring your unawareness. You looked so peaceful, his bandaged fingers tracing your cheeks and brushing your hair from your face, your skin flinching under his touch. “Hi, baby…” He whispered, the pet name sounding right against his tongue as he referred to you, tugging the sheets down. 

Toby always knew how nice of a body you had, you sometimes sauntering around the house with shorts and a t-shirt and making his eyes trail just a little longer than normal. But now, under his cold hands, you were even more gorgeous. You were wearing an oversized shirt, a slight tug at the fabric revealing that you only had panties on underneath, you slightly stirring as his nails brushed your skin. The brunette was excitedly jittering, kicking his boots off as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at your curled body sound asleep. You shifted, rolling onto your back as you breathed deep, stretching your arms before settling back into yourself. Toby could have died, your legs stretching out to rest around him, his cock twitching with interest against your now visible panties. A quiet sigh breathed through your lips.

That was all the invitation he needed. Running his cold hands under your shirt, he felt your warm skin and goosebumps rising as you squirmed under them. Your brows scrunched but Toby pressed further, running his fingers along your waist and up to your tits, palming the mounds gently as he smiled. It was crazy to him just how soft your skin was, not weathered or bruised from missions or nature, perfectly smooth under his axe-calloused hands. Pushing your shirt up to your chest, he gasped at your round tits, the weight so perfect in his hands as he pinched at your nipples, rubbing the nubs gently. Toby was never very sure of anything, always brushing through life at the command of others. But the one thing he was sure about? His love for boobs, especially yours. 

Nudging closer between your legs, he rested your knees on his thighs, leaning down to your chest as he popped a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently. The nub was hard against his tongue, slowly circling as he massaged the opposite one in his palm, pinching your nipple gently. That’s when you began to stir, hands sliding against the bed and unconsciously searching for the cause of your sensitivity. Lazy hands pushed against his face, soft groans echoing in the boy’s ears as he popped off your nipple and moved to the next one. Your hands fingered through his hair, tugging lightly until your eyes were beginning to flutter, your mind slowly coming alive. Toby let off your tit, kissing along your chest and licking a stripe between your tits, humming as he watched your eyes slowly blink open, confusion rocking you. He kneaded your tits gently, tugging at your nipples as you realized what was happening, eyes slowly widening as you strained to sit up against him. “Toby? Wha-” Your voice was scratchy, ridden with exhaustion as the brunette kissed up your neck to your cheeks, pushing you back down as he slotted himself flush between your legs. Slowly realizing what was happening, your cheeks flushed dark, hands pressing against his chest as you squirmed, nervously babbling as your body was still half asleep. “Lay b- back, baby… You’re so ti- tired, let me take c- care of you…” Toby sighed, running his hands back down along your skin, relishing in the way your body nervously shook under him.

You physically could not believe what was happening. This had to be a dream, some sick trick your mind was playing as you felt cold fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down. Heavy eyes wide, you grabbed his arms, clenching your thighs together against his waist. “No- No, wait- I don’t even, I mean, I’ve never-” Toby was already shushing you, gripping your wrists together and kissing your palms before pushing them back down to your sides, resuming his tug down your thighs. “I’ve go- got you. Don- Don’t gotta worry about a- a thing…” He smiled, raising your legs up to slide your panties down the rest of the way, hooking them off of your raised ankles before pulling you down closer to him, pushing your shirt over your head. “Read y- your journal, you don- don't gotta act protective, ba- baby. I know this is what y- you want…” If you weren’t already panicking, you definitely were now. 

You wanted to hound him for snooping through your journal, mouth opening to tell him off. But as his fingers brushed against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds, you lost all train of thought. He was watching you, eyes excited in the darkness of your room as he swiped his thumb closer again, your thighs flinching shut. “Anyone else e- ever touched here before?” He mumbled, pressing his thumb against your plump lips and tugging them open, getting a nice look at the wetness that was already forming between your folds. Shaking your head, Toby lit up, cock pushing hard against his jeans as he had to adjust his position, using both hands to pull your lips apart, sighing at how pretty your cunt was. Just something about knowing that Toby was claiming his stake on you, imprinting his touch for the first time before anyone else could, made something deep inside of him burn. It wasn’t like the brunette got much play himself, hooking up with a girl here and there, but being your first? That already made this so much better than any other girl could even try. 

Sliding his fingers through your wetness, you gasped, hands clutching the pillow behind your head as he groaned, spreading your arousal across your lower abdomen. You whined, thighs begging to clench together as he purposefully slid your juices over your cunt, pressing his thumb down against your swollen clit and jolting your back off the mattress. You had only ever masturbated here and there, your body getting too overwhelmed after one orgasm and forcing you to stop, but would Toby stop? As he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth, you doubted his restraint.

“Please be gentle…” You warned, hands planting on the mattress as you sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched Toby bring his digits back down to your cunt. He rolled his eyes playfully, tugging your folds open with his opposite hand as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your entrance, pressing in slowly. “I’ll try…” He laughed, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as you watched his fingers sink in slow, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. His index and middle fingers screwed into your tight walls gently, twisting his wrist to draw a moan from your lips, digits spreading against your gummy walls and making your entrance ache. “Just i- imagine my dick in here…” He cooed, eyes darting between your nervous face and your pretty cunt fluttering around just his fingers, barely even handling them. 

Pressing his opposite thumb against your clit, he began to rub in small circles, dragging your hips further and further off of the mattress until you were practically rolling your hips against him. His fingers probed in and out of your cunt at a slow pace, just enough to make you comfortable with the unfamiliar intrusion, but his arms ached to go faster, curl his fingers until you spasmed. “Toby…” You sighed, his hands moving in time with other as he screwed his fingers inside of you, angling them just enough so they pressed against your tight walls. His name sounded like heaven against your aroused tongue, so quiet but so desperate, secretly drawling for more. “Tell me w- what you want, ba- baby…” The pet name made your face hot, your stomach fluttering as you pressed back into the pillows, running your hands down to your thighs and squeezing the flesh. “I want… more…” You sighed through your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around Toby’s cold fingers, sucking them back inside every time he drew them out. The brunette laughed, pushing his feet under him to push his hips up against your ass, your hips raising off the bed as he fingered down into you. You could feel his cock straining behind his jeans below your raised ass, twitching needily with every tug of his fingers and moan that whined from your throat. His size was overwhelming, making your heart pound as Toby began to curl his fingers, making your eyes shut quickly. 

His fingers pressed so deep in your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls and making your jaw hang, beginning to press against your walls at a steady rhythm. It was like a new fire had lit under Toby, fingers screwing in at a quicker pace and making your stomach clench, face screwing into an overwhelmed feeling. His fingers pumped in, knuckles sinking in through your wetness and gripped by your gummy walls, curling his fingertips just right as he got deep. It was so intense, so rough, just a mess of slick and your wet cunt sounding through the room with every squelch as he abused your clit, swiping left and right quickly. Your thighs twitched and ached with every curl, trying to close around his hand practically fucking you into sensitivity. Your hands wrapped around his forearm quickly, begging his wrists to stop curling abusively inside of you as you tugged your nails into his skin. Toby wouldn’t, continuing to pump his fingers as he stared at your flushed face, cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. “Just a l- little more… Co- Come on…” He groaned, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milked moans and whines out of you, his fingers glistening with your arousal every time he tugged them out. He couldn’t feel you clawing at his arms, loud groans begging him to let up as your cunt clenched, molding around his thick fingers. 

You could feel your orgasm rolling through you, Toby huffing as the veins in his arms popped, his shoulder muscles straining against his shirt as he watched your face carefully, picking up as your moans became louder. “Gonna come f- for me? Yeah?” He teased, clothed cock twitching against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart as he rutted against you. He curled his fingers quicker, mumbling his arousal as he watched your cunt swell around him, clit throbbing under his thumb. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, stomach tightening and forcing you to sit up, Toby was quick to let off your clit and wrap his arm around your back, holding you up as he pumped your through your cunt squelching, tightening around his digits. Your eyes rolled, teeth grit tight as he palmed your clit, slowing his pace to a slow thrust as you became undone against him. No orgasm of your own had ever compared to that, head light and chest heavy as you breathed quickly, gripping Toby’s shirt tight. 

Refusing to let you go, Toby leaned in, pressing kisses against your neck and licking at your sweat, relishing in the warmth around his digits. You whined, cunt sensitive as he tugged his fingers out, his skin raw and pruned against the wetness coating his digits. Your folds were absolutely drenched, Toby spreading his fingers through your lips and pushing his sopping fingers over your warm thighs wrapped around him. “God, y- you’re so wet-” He gasped, pressing his fingertips back against your clit as he laid you back, gripping your tit. Your mind panicked, cunt flashing with sensitivity as he began to rub against your clit, swiping left and right against the rub quickly. “Toby- Stop- Toby, please-” You cried, breath catching in your throat as your stomach clenched, his fingers pressing hard as he pinched your nipples, eyes trained on your wet pussy. “You e- ever squirt before?” He smiled, transitioning fast between digging his fingers into your cunt and pulling them back out to swipe against your clit. It was nauseating, cunt crying desperately for relief as he dug nails into your tits. Gasping loudly, you gripped his arms, knees screwing tight against his sides as you cried out, hips bucking up against his hands. 

Every time his fingers slipped into your entrance, they squelched loudly, fluttering around the intrusion before desperately aching as they tugged out and moved onto your clit. “Squirt li- like a whore, m- mkay? Quit fightin’.” He hissed, letting his hand off your tit and scooping under your left knee, pushing it back to open your cunt wider, spreading your legs further apart. Your head was dizzy, heart pounding as you gasped for air, panting at every push of his fingers. You were already quick to cumming, but it felt weird, not that normal clench you felt in your stomach, more of a strain against your cunt itself. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as he forced your pussy against his will, ruining you. 

As he swiped his fingertips down hard against your clit, your entrance clenched, mouth opening wide as you cried out, hips bucking up as you felt your cunt squirt, thighs trembling hard. There was literally nothing to compare it to, mind hazy as you sprayed onto his black shirt, his fingers digging into your entrance and pushing more juices out of your swollen folds. Toby was smiling, moaning his approval as he rubbed your clit softly, pushing the last of your orgasm out as you strained against the mattress. “Gunna fu- fuck you dumb, baby…” He growled, tugging the soaked shirt over his head and tossing it as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down and off his legs as his cock hung heavy against your drenched cunt. You couldn’t even react, head spinning as Toby gripped your hips, pushing you onto your side as he grabbed your ankle, pulling it onto his shoulder and straddling your other. 

Neck craning with excitement, he teased the tip of his swollen cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your ruined juices. “This is wh- what you wanted, is- isn’t it?” He smiled wildly, pressing his cock into your ruined cunt, groaning loudly as you swallowed him in, warmth gripping tight as he gripped your leg, other hand stable on your tit. You groaned, face turned into the pillow as he began to thrust deep, giving you no mercy as he tugged at your nipple, biting at your calf as he fucked into you. You felt so full, your body so exhausted already as stretched you further, your entrance burning against the sting of this new girth. You squeezed him so tight, cock forcing itself deeper with every tug of his hips as you began to cry, tears staining your pillowcase.

“Fuckin’ tal- alk to me, baby. Gunna mak- make me cum al- already.” He sighed, teeth chewing against the meat of your calf as he pressed your cunt wider, sweat dripping from his nose as his curls clung to his forehead. He let off your tit, left hand slinking up to grip your jaw and turn your face back to look at him, your eyes heavy as they blurred with tears. Toby looked so good right now, cheeks dark against his freckles as he towered above you, cock pushing against your gummy walls and making your mouth hang. “So pretty…” He smiled, slinking his hand down to your throat and squeezing, cock pulsing as your face tightened, mouth gasping out as he clamped tighter, refusing you air. There was something so orgasmic about cutting your airway, watching your body react as he fucked your virgin cunt, holding your life in his hands. He had to breathe deep to stop himself from cumming, his violent brain spasming out. 

He pushed your ankle over his head, pulling out roughly as he rolled you onto your stomach, you gasping from the wave of air hitting your lungs. Pushing himself against your ass, Toby swore, pushing his cock back into your cunt as he pushed your back down, making you arch against him. “Just a l- little more, m’kay?” He growled, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and squeezing hard, pressing your face down into the pillow. With a new pace, he fucked down into you wildly, hand kneading your ass hard as digging his nails into your skin, little welts forming across the soft flesh. Your muffled cries sounded against the pillow, head light and static filled as you gasped for air, Toby’s cock ramming down against your g-spot. “Never s- seen a bitch so willing, so des- desperate for my dick you’d gi- give it up so easily.” He teased, growling as he let off your neck, neck sore as he leaned down, pushing your hair off your neck. Toby hadn’t felt like this before, wanting to mark you, fucking you so desperately he wanted to carve his shape deep inside. He couldn’t let you go without knowing exactly who you craved, corrupting you, ruining you, molding you to fit only him. 

He licked against your shoulder, sucking onto the skin before he pressed his teeth, digging both hands into your hips as he sunk them in, groaning at the pop as your blood soaked his teeth. You were crying, screaming into the pillow as your entire body begged for him, craving him, mind going blank as your blood dripped from his chin as he licked at the wound. He pressed on, nibbling into the crook of your neck and sucking revolting hickies into your skin, marking you like an animal. “Wan- Want you to come on m- my cock, baby. I got- gotta fill you full, want y- you ruined for everyone b- but me.” He mumbled quickly, cock begging to spill inside of your warm cunt as you reached around, gripping his hair as he sunk his teeth in again, walls fluttering around him. You pulled his hair, dragging his mouth off of your neck and to your lips, smashing your swollen, tear-stained lips against his as he groaned, kissing you roughly. 

You were cumming again, back arching onto Toby’s cock as you moaned into his mouth, walls holding him tight inside. He tried to move, to continue thrusting, but you were so tight all he could do was rutt his hips, begging for friction as his own seed spilt, his brows screwing tight as he came deep inside of you, warm cum seeping deep into your cunt. Your mind was blank, eyes rolled as you cried into his grasp, his nails digging into your hips until you were nearly bleeding. Your cunt squelched, milking his cock as he finally pulled from your lips, letting the last of your orgasms fizzle out before he pushed off of you, slowly tugging himself out as you whined. Looking back, his cock was soaked, glistening with your arousal and streaks of blood, Toby’s eyes wide. “Ah… Yo- You tore…” He hissed, wiping his soft cock with his shirt before pulling his boxers on, quickly trotting out of your room. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, cunt aching and body ruined as you sat in your sweat and each other’s cum, mind tired as you slowly blinked. 

Toby was back in seconds, a water bottle, a wet rag, and a small bag all in tow as he climbed back onto the bed, flipping your lazy body onto your back. You smiled, sipping the water bottle slowly as he began to clean you up, gently running the warm rag between your folds and against your thighs until he was satisfied, gently rubbing your skin. Finally, he grabbed the bag, your confusion evident as he tugged out the prescription bag, rummaging for the plan b he made you buy and popping one of the pills out, handing it to you as he smiled. Your chest welled, previous anxiety dissipating until you began to tear up, taking the small pill before reaching to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down next to you. Toby went easily, body cradling against yours as he kissed against the bruised spots on your neck, rubbing your bite mark gently.

As you began to doze, Toby mumbled something about your note, your mind too dizzy to hear the rest. The last thing you saw was a subtle flash behind your eyelids, sleep overtaking you as Toby held you close.

-

Morning came quickly, your body stirring, reaching for Toby but finding the bed empty. Confused, you sat up, eyes heavy and head still pounding but you pressed off the bed anyway, searching for the boy. Downstairs, on the countertop, laid his hoodie neatly folded, with a small piece of paper resting on top. Sauntering over, you reached for the top, sliding it over your head, it falling before your hips as you gripped the paper, reading its contents.

On a mission. Be back later tonight. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)

Flipping the paper over, you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth. A small picture was taped to the back, a polaroid-type photo of the two of you cradled together, your bare body pressed against his, bruises and sweat on full display. Smiling, you tucked it into his pocket, breathing the scent of his hoodie deep as Addy circled your ankles, begging for breakfast. 

Staring out your back porch door, you made sure it was unlocked, always open for him. Killer or not, that boy was yours now, accepting his every mishap the same way he did yours. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. 

Rest in Hell, Mr. Higgs.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 1: Dinner Time

Prologue

TW: Past neglect, death, violence, mention of blood, drinking

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker

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"Eight years in hell. . ."

You were seated on top of a desk playing with a snow globe in your hands.

"Can really make you go crazy." Your head hits the wall behind you, slowly turning to the bleeding man on the ground, once again receiving a blow to the face from a man dressed in dark red.

"P- please. . . I don't know anything. I swear." The man whimpers as he begged.

You sighed. "You're lying. I really, really hate liars' doctor." You through the snow globe onto the ground, shattering the glass. The man in red took your small fit of rage as a signal and pulled out a gun, pressing it against the doctor's head.

The bleeding doctor felt another type of fear the moment he felt the cool metal against his temple.

"W-wait! Wait! Please! I have a family; I'm begging you please!" The doctor cried and begged. The man in red glanced to you, you sighed and waved you're hand off. The man in red put his finger on the trigger, about to shoot.

"WAIT- Gotham hospital! She was at Gotham hospital!"

The man in red paused and glanced over to you.

You walked closer to the doctor, crouching down to the man's current level, as the man in red slowly pulled the gum away, the doctor felt a large wave of relief wash over him.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor nods "She s-saw Doctor Hill, that's all I know, I promise that's all I know."

You stay silent for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Doctor felt relived. Wanting to go back to his wife and kids, hug them as tight as he could-

BAM!

The Doctor fell with a thud. Blood slowly seeping out of his body as you tossed the gun you used to shoot the doctor to the man in red.

"That's for lying" You mumbled as you stare at the doctor's body with indiffrence.

You've been out of Arkham for almost a month now. You should be relaxing, try to fit back into society. But no, your mother was missing, the Falcone's didn't know where her whereabouts were, some made comments of her abandoning you the moment you got out, which coursed them to have a slow death for their crude comments.

Your mother loves you, and you know she would never abandon you. So now you're searching. But you aren't getting to her fast enough. And your growing impatient. You wanted to come back out into the world and run into the arms of your mother, but your just met with Gotham's ugly mug. It angered you beyond words.

The man in red, Rex, works for the Falcones, but has come to be loyal to you. Rex followed behind you as you walked out of the room and down the halls.

"Give doctor hill a visit for me, will ya?" You spoke coldly as your heels clicked loudly walking down the empty hall of an abandoned building. Rex nods before speaking up.

"What about you Miss Falcone. Are you going back to the Falcon manor?"

Ah, yes. You took your mother's last name. All done in paper. No more, Y/n Wayne. That little girl is dead.

". . . No, I need to grab a few things."

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸���🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Alfred knows you have been out for a month, so why have you not come back to the manor?

Alfred tried to keep in touch as much as possible during your time in Arkham. Every phone call, he could hear that sweet innocent girl he knew fade. He has tried to phone you multiple times but no use. Even tracking you down with was difficult, Alfred has tried to tell Bruce about his worry for you not coming home, But Bruce seemed to almost immediately shut down at the mention of your name.

He's worried for you, he just wants to see you, and make sure you're okay.

There was a met Gala being held today. Preparing for it was exhausting, but it was like that every time a gala had to be held. Everyone scattered all over the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred entered the kitchen, the gala's close to an end, the rich of Gotham turning in for the night. But Alfred comes to a stop when he noticed a woman in the kitchen, dressed in a dark red dress, her back faced to him as she picked up a glass of wine.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're not supposed to be in the back here." Alfred spoke firmly with his usual stoic expression. The woman in red slowly turns around with the wine glass in hand. Then she spoke, the face, Alfred surely does not recognize, but the voice. He knows your voice.

"I rather be away from the crowed, if you don't mind." You gave the older man a small smirk as you see the realization hit him.

"Miss Y/n?"

Your small smirk cracked even wider. Alfred walks closer, shocked to see you here, in the kitchen munching on some sweets, just like you used to when you were younger.

You shrugged with a small giggle slipping from your red lips

"The one and only"

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"Miss Y/n, come, Master Bruce must know your home!" Alfred might not show it a lot, but he is overjoyed to see you in the manor again. You've grown so much.

"Ah, well I was hoping to just grab some things from my old room and head out." You try to walk off to the back staires

"Nonsense, come, come." Alfred needed you to meet the family. For the family to see you. He touched your back as to lead you out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

You immediately flinched away.

Your negative reaction causes the butler to coil back.

"Miss. . .?"

You let out a weak cuckle.

"Sorry, I'm not fond of being touched." You began to meekly rub your hands together. Alfred comes to realize your time in Arkham has damaged you in some way's he might not be able to know yet.

"No need to apologize miss Y/n." Despite the small awkward moment Alfred still managed to have you walked out to see the others.

You felt an immense amount of DeJa'Vu. The walls, the detailed engraved in these walls. These walls haunted your dreams. Only half of your childhood was spent in this manor. You remember running down those stairs once Bruce came home from work. Skipping through these halls after getting a solo part in choir, something Bruce never really paid mind too.

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Almost everyone was here tonight. Jason, Dick, Cassandra, Tim, Damian and Duke. Steph couldn't make it. Barbra was spending time with her father. And. . .

Bruce watched as his children chat, argue, laugh. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip of his glass of white wine.

"Where's Alfred?" Damian spoke up as he turned his head in search for the butler that is always usually hovering around. Bruce shrugs

"Most likely in the kitchen."

Suddenly, the doors open, in comes Alfred with a smile on his face.

"Alfred." Bruce can tell Alfred seems to be in a more chipper mood than he was in half an hour ago.

"We have a visitor." Alfred's words confused the others. Then you stepped up. You scanned the room. Some faces new, some old. Others were still confused, either not recognizing you due to the years that have passed, or the fact they simply didn't know who you were.

But Bruce didn't take long to recognize you. And the way he paled at the sight of you, it just made you smirk at his reaction. Dick was quick to follow the realization.

"Y/n . . ." Bruce mumbled.

Jason's head whipped to Bruce once he heard the name. Looking back at you then to Bruce.

"Y/n, we thought you were still . . ." Dick tried to speak, but he seemed to get more uncomfortable with just thinking of his words.

You wait for Dick to say the words, but clearly, he was still in shock to say it.

"Arkham? I've been, rehabilitated." You say this with a soft smile.

Jason, trying to process what the actual fuck is going on right now stayed silent. Damian also confused spoke up.

"Father who is this woman?"

Your eyes snapped to the young boy, your head tilt for a moment. Walking closer to the table. Your heels click as you kept your eyes on the young boy, and Bruce kept his eyes on you. Still not believing you were out.

"I'm his daughter. Blood, daughter." You spoke as you kept a playful manner to yourself. The Damian frowns. "Imposible. I'm fathers only blood child."

You paused for a moment. You seem to be analyzing the situation.

"Is that what dear old daddy said." Your chuckle, almost darkly, as you sipped on your glass of red wine. Alfred pulled up a seat at the end of the table, across from Bruce. You took a seat.

The room that was once filled with chatter and warm air was now silent and tension filled the air. You leaned back into the chair; Alfred re-fills your glass.

"Thank you, Alfred." You kept a small playful smile on your red lips. You let out a small sigh before speaking

"So, what did I miss?"

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"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢?"

[aleksatia]

🧡Caleb - Five Years Later

The third in a series of stories exploring MC’s return after five years of silence. Others are coming soon — links will be added as they’re published.

Original ask that sparked this continuation.

Sylus | Rafayel | Zayne | Xavier (coming soon)

CW/TW: Grief / Loss of a loved one, Terminal illness, PTSD themes, Emotional trauma, Mentions of death / implied past death, Medical procedures / hospitals, Restraints (medical context), Panic attacks / nightmares, confinement / loss of agency, Non-consensual medical intervention, Self-worth / guilt issues, Power imbalance (emotional), Non-graphic violence, Brief medical body horror, Touch-starvation / intimacy after trauma, Bittersweet tone, heavy emotional intensity, Hope & love, but not always soft

Pairing: Caleb x former partner!you Genre: Sci-fi drama, heartbreak and healing, soul-deep devotion. Heavy on angst, soft on reunion. Enemies to… something more broken and beautiful. MC Context: You disappeared five years ago. He never forgave you. Now you’re back — with a secret that’s killing you slowly. Summary: Admiral Caleb was forged in war and tempered by loss — and you were the one wound that never healed. When fate throws you back into his orbit, neither of you are ready for what resurfaces. Letters, graves, rain-soaked rooftops, and the love that refuses to die quietly. Word Count: 8.4K — stand-alone… for now. 🥀 This story was loosely inspired by Caleb’s latest Myth. Just a touch of that vibe, y’know?

Author’s Note: Okay, full confession — I cried from the first word to the very last. Maybe it’s just me (I’ll admit, Caleb is my soft spot). Or maybe… it just hit something. Either way, I’d love to hear what you think.

The anniversary of Josephine’s death — and Caleb’s own — landed squarely on an unscheduled visit to Lincon City.

The admiral rarely returned. Not unless duty bared its teeth and dragged him back. Too painful. Too empty. The wounds too fresh, even now.

He had once been Colonel Caleb of the Farspace Fleet. Now, promoted to the soulless rank of Admiral, he moved like a ghost through corridors lined with medals and silence. But today… something clawed at him. A compulsion. A tremor from a buried place.

He bought lupines. Tall, excessive, dignified in a way grief never is. The kind you buy for someone who will never see them. And then he walked — alone — to the cemetery.

He had only been here once before. With you.

Josephine’s grave was strangely well-tended. No weeds. Edged clean. A vase of pink lilies — fresh, impossibly so — sat nestled against the stone like someone had just set them down and whispered something soft and final. Her favorite flowers. He remembered.

His first thought: the groundskeepers. Maybe the city did something for the dead on anniversaries. Some quiet bureaucratic kindness. But that didn’t explain the lilies. How would they know?

His eyes scanned the black headstone. “Josephine,” carved in solemn, obedient serif. A name, a dash, two dates, and silence. His grandmother. Gone six years.

She hadn’t died of age. The blast had taken her.

But you — you were different.

Five years. Five years since you vanished. Gone not like a candle snuffed, but like smoke ripped from the air.

He had never accepted it. Not really. Some part of him believed you were taken. That you had been forced to go.

Because the truth — the one that stared back at him in sleepless nights and shattered mirrors — was that you did leave. You walked away. No message. No farewell. Just absence.

The storm was building in the clouds above, heavy and low like judgment. Thunder sat unspoken just beyond the hills, crouching. Caleb stood still, arms at his sides, as the sky thickened.

Why?

It was a question that never left. A question with a thousand answers. Each one sharper than the last.

The scent of wet earth rose in the air. Ozone, crackling like something electric and cruel. His hand twitched toward his wristwatch. He was due back. His itinerary was brutal. The war waited for no one — not even the grieving.

He knelt, placed the bouquet down with the softness of ritual. A last gesture. A futile offering.

Then his eyes drifted. To his own gravestone.

There it was. Cold. Familiar. His name, etched beneath hers, waiting for its second date.

And something else. A white envelope.

Untouched by time. Unsullied by rain or rot. Resting gently, like it had grown there.

His breath caught.

The lilies. The letter. The impossible coincidence.

Then the first drop hit — heavy, warm — against his cheek. A second, on the envelope. Then more.

Drip. Drip-drip. Drip—  Draaip.

The kind of rain that doesn’t fall, but descends. Like judgment. Like memory.

Caleb stepped forward. One foot. Then another. His boots sank slightly into the earth, as if the ground resisted.

He reached out — hands trembling, trembling — like the time he pulled an FS-90 out of a death spiral back at the Academy, nose brushing the snow-capped ridges of the mountains peaks.

He lifted the envelope. It was light. Too light. But on it — one word, scrawled in handwriting he knew too well.

Caleb.

Nothing more.

He shoved it into the inner pocket of his uniform, as though it were explosive. As though it might burn through the fabric and into his chest.

And just like that — as if spurred by some instinct he couldn't name — he turned on his heel and walked fast, too fast, back toward the car.

His heart didn’t race. It pounded.

Like thunder.

The drive to the airfield felt like a lifetime, though the roads were mercifully clear. No evening traffic, no pointless delays. The driver, attuned to the admiral’s mood, pressed hard on the accelerator, but still — Caleb tapped his fingers against the armrest with restless urgency, the motion sharp and impatient.

The envelope continued to burn in his chest.

Rain traced thick, winding rivers down the window, a slow, rhythmic descent like tears he never shed for you. When you left, it wasn’t just his heart that broke. It was his soul, his body, his being. Everything cracked and caved inward — except his eyes. Those remained stubbornly dry.

Now, though… he was close. And that made him angry.

Furious, even.

It infuriated him that just as he had begun to stitch some version of his life back together — a life without you, without your voice, your touch, your name — you reappeared. Like a ghost. Too close to ignore, too far to hold.

If you had wanted to return, you would have come back. Not like this. Not through riddles and shadows and silence. You would’ve stood at his door, or on a tarmac, or behind him in some briefing room like the world hadn’t ended. And he — damn him — he would have forgiven you. Instantly. Because that’s who he was. That’s what you had always counted on.

And that was what made him want to scream.

He didn’t want to forgive. He didn’t want to read your damned letter, to parse your reasons, your pleas, your desperate little words asking to be understood.

He didn’t want to analyze your cruelty. He didn’t want to empathize with it.

For the first time in five years, Caleb felt like he could finally, truly erase you. Not forget — never forget — but cut you out like rot. And live with the absence.

The letter pressed against his chest like a bullet. He placed his palm over it, broad and unsteady, as though trying to keep it from puncturing skin. As if it hadn’t already pierced him, deep and final.

The only sane choice would be to throw it out the window. Let the wind take it, let the rain dissolve it, let the world carry it into the dark.

Maybe you hadn’t even meant for him to find it. Maybe this was a confession to no one. A whisper into the void. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him at all — just for yourself.

To ease the weight.

To breathe again.

Selfish.

Selfish to write it. Selfish to hope for release, when he was still walking in agony, flesh and blood wrapped around something broken.

He didn’t want you to breathe.

He didn’t want you to be free of the pain, not when he was still wearing it — every day, every night, every silence between heartbeats.

How dare you write to him?

It was beneath an admiral to take the controls.

But today, Caleb didn’t care.

Protocol could burn. Chain of command, procedure, rank — all of it. He needed to feel the illusion of control again, even if it came in the form of a military jet barely older than some of the crew still stationed on the tarmac.

He didn’t ask the pilots to stand down. He ordered them. One glance at his face, and none of them argued.

The rain was steady now, carving grooves into the tarmac like old scars. The cockpit smelled of steel, vinyl, and cold systems spinning up to life.

Caleb slid into the pilot’s seat. No ceremony. No reverence. Just quiet, deliberate motion. The envelope — that stupid, unbearable envelope — landed in the co-pilot’s seat like a stone slab. Heavy enough, he thought, to drag the aircraft down with him.

And maybe that would’ve been for the best.

He ran the preflight checks by muscle memory.

Fuel quantity. Sufficient. Confirmed crossfeed valve closed.

Hydraulic pressure. Green. Full.

Flight controls. Surfaces free and correct — elevator, rudder, ailerons.

Navigation systems. Online. INS aligned. No drift.

Avionics. Check.

Oxygen. Flow normal, regulators armed.

Engine start. Ignition armed. Starter sequence began. One engine, then the second — turbines spun up with that low whine that sounded too much like a scream if you listened the wrong way.

He couldn’t breathe. But he was going through the motions.

Flight clearance received. Tower approved for immediate departure.

The jet eased down the taxiway, engines rumbling like restrained violence beneath him. His hands on the throttle were steady. Too steady.

Takeoff checklist. Flaps set. Trim neutral. Brakes released.

He pushed the throttles forward.

The aircraft responded like it wanted to run. Acceleration pressed him back into the seat. Rain lashed the windscreen. The moment the wheels left the tarmac, the ache in his chest twisted tighter.

There. He was airborne.

And it didn’t help. Not like it used to.

Altitude climbed. Ten thousand. Twenty. Forty. Cruising.

He stabilized at 37,000 feet and did something he almost never allowed himself: he engaged the autopilot.

The moment the system took over, he tore off the harness with a sharp, frustrated motion. The metal buckle clattered against the seat.

His hand reached for the envelope.

It was still warm from being pressed to his chest. He turned it over in his fingers, letting the edge bite into his skin. He very nearly tore it in half.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he broke the seal, carefully, precisely — like disarming a mine.

And there it was. That handwriting. Your handwriting.

Messy. Crooked. Rushed. Impatient. Every letter a little too hard, as though you’d nearly punctured the page. You had always gripped your pen like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world. You hadn’t changed.

For a long moment, Caleb didn’t read. He just stared at the shapes of the words. The loops and slants. Like he was watching you from the other side of interrogation glass — close enough to touch, unreachable all the same.

And then he started.

Once. Again. A third time.

Each pass scraped deeper, like reading the report of his own autopsy.

His hand trembled. He didn’t even realize he was breathing too fast until the cockpit hissed a low-pressure warning. He ignored it.

He slammed the harness back across his chest and keyed the comms.

“Control, this is Delta-Two-Alpha requesting vector for immediate return.”

There was a pause.

“…Confirm that, Delta-Two-Alpha. Reason for return?”

He took the yoke again, flicked autopilot disengage with a sharp tap. The jet jerked slightly, now fully under his hand.

“Command directive,” he said flatly.

Another pause.

“Understood. Return approved. You’re clear for turn on heading zero-one-five.”

Caleb didn’t wait. He threw the aircraft into a steep bank, cutting through the clouds like a blade.

He knew where to find you. He had known before he stepped into the cockpit. He had known standing at the grave, the envelope still untouched.

But he hadn’t wanted to find you then.

Now?

Now he didn’t have a choice.

The viewing deck of the Linkon TV Tower was nearly empty.

Closing time was drawing near, but the rain had chased away what few tourists and visitors remained. You stood at the railing in a long lavender raincoat, hood pulled deep over your head. The fabric clung to your arms and back, soaked through. Your sneakers were long past wet, the chill of the concrete seeping into your bones. But you didn’t move. Didn’t shift. As if the weather had pinned you here in time, or maybe memory had.

The city below had disappeared — swallowed by fog, by stormclouds, by everything that refused to be seen. No headlights, no stars. Just the endless roar of rain and the cold sting of being the last one left.

Your fingers rested lightly on the metal bar. Your eyes were turned upward, into the vast nothing. Watching clouds drift across an invisible sky. You might have stood there till morning, if not for the footsteps behind you.

Slow. Measured. Not security. Too quiet.

“I would give a lot to know what you’re thinking right now,” said a voice too worn to belong to the man you once loved.

You turned slowly.

Caleb stood a few paces away, still in uniform. The rain hadn’t spared him. His hair was damp, the shoulders of his coat dark with water. But he stood like the storm couldn’t touch him. Like it wouldn’t dare.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” you said.

“I almost didn’t.”

You smiled — not from joy, but from pain that needed a face.

“I thought maybe you’d moved on by now,” you said. “Married. Found peace.”

“I’m not built for peace,” he said flatly.

“No,” you murmured, “you weren’t. But I hoped... maybe you’d become someone who was.”

He took a step forward, his boots clicking against the wet metal. “You hoped I’d forget you.”

“I hoped you’d survive me.”

The words hit. You saw it — the smallest shift in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. But his voice stayed calm.

“You knew I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I wrote the letter because I needed to say it. Not because I thought you'd ever read it.”

“You didn’t want me to.”

You hesitated. “No.”

“Then why leave it where I’d find it?”

Another silence. Then: “Because I wanted to believe you wouldn’t come.”

Caleb’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened. The air between you grew tighter, like a pressure drop before impact.

“I read it,” he said.

Your breath caught. “I know.”

“I know everything now.”

You nodded.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t accuse. But his voice was a blade dragged slowly across flesh.

“You could’ve told me. You could’ve stayed.”

“I couldn’t breathe, Caleb.” You didn’t mean to say it out loud — but the truth had a weight of its own. “You loved me like I was something to guard. Not someone to hold.”

“I was trying to keep you safe.”

“And I was trying to live.”

His lips parted, as if to argue — but nothing came. Because you both knew: you were right. And so was he.

You took a step closer, rain dripping from your sleeves.

“I didn’t want you to be there when it started. I didn’t want you to watch me fade.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s too late.”

Caleb looked at you like you were a puzzle he used to know how to solve. Like something once sacred that had rewritten itself in a language he couldn’t read.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said.

“Good.”

Your breath hitched — not from the cruelty of it, but from the honesty.

“I just wanted to see you again,” you whispered. “Once. Before...”

You didn’t finish. You didn’t need to.

He stepped closer. This time, the space between you nearly vanished. But he didn’t reach out.

“You always ran when it got quiet,” he said.

“And you never let anything rest.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I hated you,” he said, voice rough. “For five years, I hated you for leaving. For taking my soul with you and vanishing into nothing.”

You closed your eyes.

“And now?”

He hesitated.

Then: “Now I just hate that there’s nothing left to save.”

The rain didn’t stop. Neither of you moved.

But something broke, quietly — not between you, but inside you both.

And maybe that was the beginning. 

Or the end.

He stepped closer. Not to you — no. To the railing.

Leaning casually, almost carelessly, over the edge, he stared down into the city’s abyss. The lights below were blurred by fog, rain, and altitude — a slow-motion fall into nothingness. Even resting like that, shoulders relaxed, head tilted slightly as he looked down, Caleb seemed impossibly distant. Removed.

Admiral.

Not just a rank anymore. Not a role. It had consumed him — the strictness, the cold efficiency, the discipline etched into every movement. He was the title now. All calculation, no softness. All control, no warmth. A man weaponized by grief, then sanctified by command.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” you asked quietly, your voice fragile, almost drowned out by the rain.

He didn’t answer at first.

You studied his face — the years had been merciful to him in the way they only are to men shaped by war. Just over thirty. A trace of silver at the temples. Skin clean-shaven, jaw locked, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

He looked like marble come alive. Cold, perfect, untouchable.

You wanted to reach out. Just to touch his face. To feel warmth. To remind yourself he was still made of skin, not armor.

“We saved a lot of people that day,” you added, almost to fill the silence. “From Wanderer.”

“I remember,” he said, his voice low. “On the train ride here, you fell asleep on my shoulder. There was some romantic song playing on loop — too sweet to ever be real.”

You smiled, barely. It hurt. “Caleb… would you still do it now? Jump like that? Into the void. As if death is something you can bargain with. Something you can command to pause.”

He tilted his head, still watching the city below.

“I can stop a fall. I can control flight paths. Bend gravity to my will. But not death. If I could…” He paused. His voice dropped lower, quieter. “I wouldn’t be here.”

When he turned to you, the change was surgical. A full turn of his body, attention locked on yours. His eyes scanned your face with precision, not feeling.

He looked at you like he was trying to remember.

Like five years had burned away not just the love, but the memory of it.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you think I’ll be able to save you this time?”

The question landed like a shard of ice in your spine. You flinched — not visibly, but inside, where it counted.

There was something wrong in his voice. Not anger. Not desperation. Just… wrong. Like he was rehearsing something he didn’t understand.

“I’m not asking you to save me,” you said. “I never wanted that. I never wanted to be your project. Your fragile rose behind glass — something that, if shattered, would take your whole world with it.”

He didn’t reply. But he looked away. Not down. Not up. Just… away.

And then — a sound behind you.

A door creaked. Footsteps, hesitant. The voice of someone too young, too aware.

“I— I’m sorry— sir— admiral— I didn’t— The tower’s closed, I—” The poor security guard stumbled over every word as he recognized the face that had appeared in military reports, field briefings, and news feeds. The ghost in the sky. The man who never fell.

Caleb turned slightly toward him, not quite sighing — more like resetting. 

“Where are you staying?”

You blinked. “Caleb—”

He raised a hand, not unkindly, but final.

“Where.”

You swallowed. “The Midland Motel. Down by the shuttle terminal.”

He said nothing, just nodded once and began walking. You followed.

You knew you shouldn’t. But you were too tired to argue. Too wet, too cold, too broken.

He didn’t offer his coat. Didn’t say a word. Just pressed the call button for the lift and waited in silence.

The car ride was quiet. The city blurred past in gray, streaked neon. His vehicle — black, sleek, military grade but dressed as civilian — moved like a shadow through the storm.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak.

You kept your arms wrapped around yourself in the damp raincoat, your soaked sleeves sticking to your skin.

He brought you to a hotel you didn’t recognize. Modern, expensive, silent. The kind of place that smells like clean money and consequence.

At the front desk, he handed over a card — no hesitation — and said, “One bedroom suite. Highest floor. Immediate check-in.”

No questions asked.

The elevator ride was wordless. The carpet muffled your wet shoes.

He opened the door. The lights came on softly. Beige walls, minimalist decor, glass and brushed steel. Tasteful. Lifeless.

He handed you a folded robe from the closet. “Bathroom’s through there,” he said. “Go shower. I’ll order food.”

You took the robe with slow hands, staring at it for a moment too long.

Then, wordlessly, you turned and walked into the bathroom. The door closed with a quiet click behind you.

Warmth. Dry tile. A mirror.

And, for just a moment — silence.The kind that wraps around you like grief you haven’t cried yet.

The robe was too large. Too soft. Too warm.

You could have wrapped it around yourself three times and still gotten lost in it.

On the small round table near the panoramic window, a meal waited. Caleb hadn’t bothered to order anything you used to love. He remembered, of course — that was never the issue. He simply hadn’t tried. The selection was closer to a field ration than a dinner: high protein, complex carbs, dense fats. Efficient. Precise.

You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t been for a long time.

He’d removed the jacket of his uniform, now down to a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. And still, something in the room made it feel wrong to sit without permission. He didn’t even look at you — just gave a practiced gesture toward the chair.

You sat on the very edge of it.

Your gaze lingered on the veins in his forearms, raised and defined — marks of control, of command. Of power. Hands that once cradled you through entire nights, hands that had trembled against your skin as if you were the only thing in the world keeping him human.

Now, all of it felt like a dream.

You broke off a piece of warm bread. Turned toward the rain outside. Watched the world bleed behind the glass.

“Did you see a doctor?” he asked.

Not worry. Not fear. Just curiosity. Clinical, detached. A data point to confirm.

You shrugged slowly. “Yeah. Dr. Zane was the first. Then came the rest.”

“And he didn’t tell me anything?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” you said. “I asked him not to.”

“So I wasn’t worthy of the truth?”

You exhaled — sharp and stung, like you’d been slapped. “Caleb… do I really have to explain this? I was trying to spare you the pain.”

He laughed. Cold. Harsh. Suffocating.

The room, already dim, felt darker suddenly. As though the lights had dimmed in reverence to his bitterness.

“Spare me? Oh, brilliant. You really did a hell of a job. I didn’t suffer at all. You disappeared and I just breathed a sigh of relief, right? Out of sight, out of mind — that’s what you think?”

“It’s not the same.”

He slammed a fist down on the table. Plates jumped. Glass cracked under his hand.

“If you had died in my arms, at least I would’ve known. I would’ve known you didn’t leave because I wasn’t enough. Because I loved you too hard, too deep, too much. I would’ve known you had no choice.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die in peace!” you shot back, voice rising. “You would’ve torn the damn planet apart looking for a cure. You would’ve ripped through every system, Farspace tunnel, shouting that it’s almost over, that we’re so close, just hold on—”

He stared at you. Unblinking. Breathing slow.

The storm inside him didn’t explode. It collapsed, inward — contained by the vice grip of discipline. Of rank.

“If loving you with everything I had — completely, recklessly, overwhelmingly — was a crime…” His voice was low now. Not soft. Deadly. “Then yes. I’m guilty. You pronounced the sentence without a trial, Pip-squeak. And I served it. Five years, no parole.”

He stood, pushing away the untouched plate. The chair didn’t scrape. It moved like a blade being sheathed.

“But let me tell you something.” He turned his gaze on you like ice hardening in place. “Love, when betrayed and ground into dust, doesn’t always fade. Sometimes… it turns into contempt.”

The word hit like a slap across the soul.

You couldn’t speak. Your breath stalled in your throat.

“Eat something,” he said. “And get some rest.”

“And you—?”

“I have too much work to babysit you.”

“I don’t want to stay here!”

He paused by the door. Turned half toward you — not enough to be kind.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he said. “Because I do. Sorry, sweetheart, but tonight? You don’t get a choice. I may be, as you so astutely pointed out, a cold-hearted bastard — but even now, I can’t let you wander the streets in wet clothes, racing to meet your own end.”

With that, he slid back into his uniform jacket in one fluid, dismissive motion and stepped out.

The door closed behind him with mechanical precision. The lock flashed red. Like a warning.

Your only way out now was through the window.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

Most likely, you just shut down — the body giving out where the soul had already emptied. There were no tears. No breakdown. Just the vast, aching silence of being done. As if the last thread tethering you to this world had snapped soundlessly in the night.

Caleb had been the only family you ever had. He didn’t want to be your partner anymore — that, at least, made sense. But now he didn’t even want to be your brother. Not your anchor. Not your history.

He had become a stranger. And you had made him that.

You had no one to blame. No one to curse. The damage had your fingerprints all over it — deliberate, cruel, irreversible.

You regretted it. You knew it was a mistake.

But what could you do now?

Five years ago, you walked away — selfishly, completely — leaving him alone with the bleeding wreckage of his own love. And you hadn't spared yourself either. You’d just taken the pain and buried it, hoping time would do what courage couldn’t.

And now, with the same selfish silence, you had come back. Uninvited. Unexplained. Unhealed. You didn’t know what you’d hoped for — redemption, maybe. A flicker of warmth. Or just… recognition.

But instead, you lit the same fuse all over again.

You knew, even before boarding the train, that he’d find you. Even if he wasn’t looking. Even if he didn’t want to.

And still — you came.

The knock at the door startled you. You shot up, heart hammering in your throat.

Room service? Caleb? No. Caleb wouldn’t knock.

A second later, the door’s lock blinked with coded lights, and a young man in a tailored aide’s uniform stepped in. He was polite enough to knock. But not enough to wait for a response.

Not Liam. Someone much younger.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said with crisp formality, almost saluting before catching himself.

He tried — really tried — to keep his gaze level, but you could see the questions in his eyes. He didn’t know who you were, why you were important, or why the Admiral had seen fit to personally house you in a suite normally reserved for political dignitaries.

“I was ordered to bring you a change of clothes and arrange breakfast,” he said. “Admiral Caleb instructed me to return in thirty minutes and escort you to the hospital.”

You blinked. “Tell the Admiral that’s unnecessary.”

The aide offered a tight, apologetic smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “He also told me to inform you that, if you refuse to come voluntarily, I’m authorized to use force.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

You swallowed, fighting the wave of humiliation. Of course he would go this far. You shouldn’t be surprised. And yet, it burned.

“I see,” you said quietly. “Then I’ll just have coffee.”

The aide hesitated. “Ma’am—”

“You’re not going to shove breakfast down my throat, are you?” you snapped, sharper than intended. “Fine. For the sake of compromise — coffee. And a yogurt. That’s it, Lieutenant.”

He nodded with practiced obedience. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then he left, leaving you alone with your rage and your helplessness.

The coffee tasted bitter. The yogurt was sour. Your taste buds had changed — everything had. Food had stopped being pleasure long ago. It was fuel now, nothing more. You absorbed calories. Not flavor.

Another memory — gone.  Another joy stripped from a life grown colorless. Another piece of yourself you hadn’t noticed was missing… until Caleb reminded you it was never coming back.

Some part of you expected they'd take you to Akso Hospital.

It would’ve made sense. Zayne knew your case better than anyone — your body, your history, the long and winding ruins of your health. But Caleb didn’t trust him anymore. Not enough to put your life in his hands.

Zayne had already failed him once — by keeping your secret.

Instead, they brought you to an unfamiliar place. Private, sterile, quiet. Too many white walls. Too much controlled light.

Caleb was already there, standing in the center of a vast conference room surrounded by doctors in crisp lab coats.

Even without a word, he commanded the space. In uniform, he looked taller than any of them. Broader. More permanent. Even the chief physician seemed to defer to him instinctively, as though gravity itself bent slightly in his direction.

You paused in the doorway, watching the way their attention latched to him — every word, every breath, every small flick of his hand. He wasn’t just giving orders. He was delivering truth.

And it made your blood boil.

With silent, focused fury, you crossed the room. Stopped too close. Closer than decorum allowed. Closer than memory permitted.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

“You’re doing exactly what I was afraid of,” you hissed, voice low and sharp, aimed straight at his throat. “I’m not a lab rat. I’m not your property. You don’t get to manage me. I have a right to my own choices.”

He looked you over slowly, without shame or apology — from your scuffed shoes to the oversized hoodie and jeans that hung loose on your frame. He’d remembered your size, but even so, they fit like clothes left behind by a body that used to be stronger.

“Fine,” he said simply. “You can leave.”

You blinked. Taken aback. Then pivoted sharply. “And I will.”

“Just know,” he said, his voice still maddeningly calm, “if you stay — I’ll stay too. If you stop running, you’ll have the chance… to live what time you have left not alone. Not in silence.”

You froze.

One breath. Another.

Your shoulders sagged. The sharpness in your spine dulled. And slowly, you turned back to him.

His face hadn’t changed. That same cold mask. Not unkind — just unreadable.

“You’d stay?” you asked, barely audible.

He exhaled, finally. A quiet thing. His fingers brushed the edge of a metallic button on his uniform — a nervous tic, barely there.

“We were family once,” he said softly. “No one should die alone.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if to answer — but no words came.

There was no sentiment in his voice. No drama. No heartbreak. Just a statement of fact.

Death wasn’t something that scared him. It was a language he knew fluently — one he had spoken too many times, in too many places, across too many battlefields. He’d seen it. Worn it. Come back from it.

Even now, he didn’t flinch from yours.

It was just another ending. Another line of code. A final set of coordinates.

No pleading. No shaking. No denial.

And somehow — that was exactly what you needed. Not mercy. Not hope. Just someone to stay.

For once, it didn’t matter what you deserved. It mattered that you weren’t alone in this room. Not anymore.

The carousel of tests spun you until nightfall.

Scanners, probes, bloodwork, neurological assessments — round after round until your skin felt bruised from inside out. You were growing irritable, frayed at the seams, more from the dread than the procedures themselves.

They weren’t just gathering data. They were preparing to keep you here. Not for a night. Not even for a week. You could feel it — that low hum of administrative inevitability, ready to steal your time in the name of preservation.

You hadn’t even tied the hospital robe back around your chest when the door hissed open again.

“Oh, do come in. Why not take a piece of my liver while you’re at it?” you snapped, not bothering to turn.

“Your liver’s fine,” came the reply.

Of course. Caleb.

You turned too fast — too defensively — forgetting the robe was still gaping open. Not exposing skin, no. That wasn’t the issue.

It was the mark.

A thick, black web, raised and pulsing, spidered across your chest, the origin rooted deep in the center — where the Aethor Core was housed. Where power should have blossomed. Where your strength was supposed to live.

But it didn’t pulse with life. It cracked. You were coming apart, slowly, precisely, down the middle. Left from right. Light from shadow. Every beat of your heart was a fracture.

You covered your chest too late. He had seen.

He approached, unhurried. Unstoppable. The kind of step he used when nothing in the world could change his mind.

He pulled off one glove with a smooth, practiced motion and pressed his palm to the place where the damage burned hottest.

Right over your heart. Where it splintered loudest.

You closed your eyes. Pain hit like a detonator — sharp, white-hot, cellular. Like a memory of impact. A blade. A bomb. A scream that had never been given voice.

“At any moment,” you whispered, answering the question he hadn’t asked.

He nodded. No surprise. He already knew.

He knew what the Evol had become. That your body couldn’t carry what it was never designed to hold. That the Core — meant to empower — was now the source of slow, elegant devastation.

He knew you were made of chaos. Born to fracture. Destined to burn.

You, who had broken him. And so many others in your wake. Your love had never healed. It had only bled slower.

He didn’t flinch.

He pulled away from your chest, reached for the t-shirt folded over the back of the chair, and helped you slip into it. His touch was clinical. Gentle. Resigned.

Not cold. Not warm. Just necessary.

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat. It didn’t move.

“Come on,” he said, voice suddenly softer. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “More tests?”

“No. There's a fair. In our old district. Crowds, noise. Bad music. Terrible food.”

You snorted — just once — but held back the gallows humor itching to spill from your lips. Too early for jokes about death-day parades.

“All right,” you murmured. Pulled your hoodie over your head. Slipped on your sneakers.

You bent to tie the laces, but before your fingers reached them, Caleb was already kneeling before you.

Kneeling.

Your breath hitched.

Just like back then. Just like a lifetime ago.

You shifted your weight awkwardly, as if the floor had gone uneven beneath your feet. The moment was too intimate. Too real.

“An Admiral tying shoelaces,” you said with a weak smirk. “Now that’s more paradoxical than the Colonel ever was.”

He looked up at you. Fingers tightening the knot. A ghost of a smile pulled at his mouth — brief, boyish, and so devastatingly familiar it made your chest ache.

“Let’s agree I outrank your dignity today,” he murmured. “Don’t make me invoke protocol Alpha-Pip-Squeak.”

At some point, it started to feel like time had folded in on itself.

The sounds, the smells, the fireworks, the shrieking laughter of children, the curling smoke from endless food stalls — it all swirled into a surreal kaleidoscope of celebration. A world too alive.

 Too bright.

It felt wrong. Your heart was failing, slowly betraying you, yet the world kept spinning, singing, dancing without hesitation.

At first, it stung. The unfairness of it. The cruelty.

You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to vanish into memory.

You had dreamt of children — your children — running through crowds with cotton candy bigger than their faces, covered in chocolate and ice cream. You used to see your future so clearly: a wide house with a garden and a swingset, and somewhere up in the attic, a claw machine you’d insisted on installing, turning the whole floor into a chaotic arcade.

Your eyes filled with tears.

You blinked them away, catching Caleb watching you. You smiled.

“Smoke,” you murmured. “Got in my eyes.”

He nodded. Didn’t believe you, but let you have it.

He wasn’t wearing his Admiral’s uniform anymore. Jeans. A T-shirt with a stupid graphic. A jacket. A cap. He looked familiar. Almost close. Almost yours.

You walked slowly, shoulders brushing occasionally, hands near but never touching. Neither of you tried to bridge the gap. It would’ve felt dishonest. And you were grateful for that honesty. Even if it hurt.

You took a few shots at the game booths. Your hands still remembered. When you won an oversized plush flamingo, you handed it to a girl with bright red ribbons in her pigtails. She couldn’t have been more than six.

You asked her name. Rolled it around on your tongue. You could’ve named a daughter that.

Caleb noticed when your steps started to falter. Without a word, he led you toward an empty table at the edge of the crowd.

While he went for food, you let yourself sink back into the chair, exhaustion tugging hard at your spine. Your eyelids fluttered, but you refused to let sleep steal this. This might not be happiness, but it wasn’t pain.

And that was enough.

He came back with a platter full of street food. You wouldn’t taste much of it. But you remembered. You knew. And for now, that was enough, too.

“It’s a clear night,” he said. “Wanna ride the Ferris wheel?”

You nodded. You’d say yes to anything that would delay the return to sterile rooms, to IV drips and ticking clocks.

The cabin swayed gently as it rose. Wind cooled your cheeks, carrying away the stubborn tears that kept threatening to fall. But you wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t let grief ruin this night.

“Are you still angry?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you still… hate me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His gaze drifted over the glowing chaos below, where lights bled together into a gold-and-rainbow puddle of motion and life.

“No,” he said at last. “And I never did.”

He turned toward you, reached up, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I said it in anger. I was too furious to mean it.”

“I deserved it.”

“You deserved my anger,” he agreed. “But not this. Not a slow, painful fade. Not the kind of desperation that makes you choose impossible things.”

“Caleb…” your voice cracked. “Please… don’t say goodbye yet. It’s not time.”

“I’m trying to be honest,” he murmured. His eyes dropped to your hands, folded like a small prayer in your lap. He looked like he wanted to reach for them — but didn’t. “I’ve learned what hiding the truth from the people you love can cost.”

You swallowed. “I’m… still someone you love?”

He nodded, steady. “There’s no one closer.”

“Then promise me—”

“No.” The word was sharp. Too fast. Too raw.

“No,” he repeated. “I won’t even try.”

“But you could be happy again. If you let yourself open up—”

“Could you?” he cut in. “Could you promise that if I go first, you’ll find someone else? That you’ll love another man? Hold his hand, kiss him, like I never existed?”

Your answer was immediate.

“No.”

Too quick. Too honest.

And he knew. You both did.

Whatever tied you together was deeper than flesh, deeper than time. You could peel away the skin, erase the past, burn the memories— but your soul would still reach for his in the dark.

And his would still be holding on. Waiting.

Until the next life.

He didn’t take you back to the hospital.

By now, he knew what you had understood five years ago. It was pointless. There was no cure.

You lowered yourself carefully onto the bed, curled up on your side. You looked at him — just a silhouette in the dark, and still somehow larger than life.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slipped off his jacket, climbed in beside you. Didn’t touch. Just lay there — facing you.

You stared into each other’s eyes for a long time. Until they closed on their own. Until sleep claimed you.

And the nightmare followed.

The same one, always the same — your body splitting apart, bones breaking under pressure, your chest tearing open as the Core rejected you, gave birth to a creature that looked almost like you. But not you.

Black. Cold. Merciless.

Your body left behind, hollow — a deflated skin, a costume discarded.

You screamed. But you didn’t wake.

You thrashed, fighting against the blanket, clawing at your chest, trying to force the monster back inside, back into the dark where it belonged.

Hands. Strong, steady, familiar.

They caught you. Held you. Rocked you.

Lips brushed your temple. Words — soft, foreign — spoken in a language your heart remembered even if your ears couldn’t make them out.

“No… please…”

Caleb held you like a child, pressing your face against his chest.

Tears — hot, fast — fell onto your cheeks. Not yours.

His.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You hear me? You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m not leaving. I swear to God, I’m not letting go. Come back to me. Please, come back…”

“Caleb…”

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” His arms tightened, anchoring you in place.

“I’m so scared,” you whispered, fragile.

“I know, Pip. I know.”  His voice cracked — raw, guttural. “I’ll take it all. All the pain. I’ll kill every monster in your path. I’ll tear down the night itself. Just say the word, and I’ll burn this world to the ground to bring you peace.”

“I love you…” The words came with sobs now, spilling out, no longer held back.

His lips kissed your forehead. Your temple. Your cheeks.

“And I love you. My girl. My sunshine. My joy. My… Pip-Squeak.”

“I’m sorry I stole this time from us.”

He shook his head, still holding you like you might slip through his fingers.

“I forgave you a long time ago. How could I not forgive you? God, how could I ever stay mad at you? I’ll be here, right here, until your very last breath.”

He kept whispering. Murmuring softness into your hair. As if the five years of agony had never happened.

 As if you’d never left.

And slowly, gently, you drifted back into sleep. Held in his arms. Wrapped in his warmth. In his love.

With one thought cradling your soul: If the universe is kind — let me go like this. Let me go in his arms. Let me go loved.

All morning, Caleb didn’t let go of you.

Like he was making up for every moment of distance, he kept touching you — a fleeting kiss, a gentle brush of fingers, little gestures wrapped in warmth and care that tore your heart in half.

You didn’t want to let go of him either.

And when you loved each other, it wasn’t just love — it was desperation.

Through trembling limbs, through broken breath and quiet cries, the pain poured out. The guilt. The fear.

It wasn’t sex. It was absolution.

Then he drove again.

Said he wanted to show you something. You didn’t look out the window. You looked at him. Held his hand. Silence said more than words ever could.

You only grew uneasy when the car pulled up in front of a building — far too official to be anything like a park or a gallery.

“Where are we?”

“It’s… a military lab,” he said, with a small, apologetic smile. Then he kissed you again. “Just need to drop in. Work.”

You followed him inside.

A narrow, impersonal room. Cold lighting. The air too clean.

Caleb gestured to a chair. You sat. He knelt next to you. Kissed you again — too gently. Too long. Something about it felt… wrong.

“I’m sorry, Pips,” he whispered. “I just… I can’t do nothing.”

“Caleb? What are you doing—?”

You saw the glint of metal. Just before the needle plunged into your artery.

“CALEB!”

“Even if you hate me for the rest of your life, I have to try. You have to live, baby.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to run —  but your limbs turned to jelly.

You slumped into his arms. And everything went dark.

The lab was silent.

Sterile.

Lifeless.

Two rooms. One pane of glass between them — just wide enough for you not to miss a single second of the show.

You were strapped to a hospital bed. Wires trailing from your arms and chest. Your head throbbed.

Across the glass — Caleb.

“No. No, Caleb, stop! This is insane!”

 Your voice cracked, but your chest—  your chest was… light. The weight, the crushing pain — gone.

You began to thrash. The heart monitor shrieked in alarm.

You pulled at the restraints — raw, bloody skin tearing against metal cuffs.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t care.

Slippery with blood, your wrists finally slipped free — it felt like peeling flesh from bone.

You tore off the tubes. Fell from the bed.

Your legs wouldn’t hold you. So you crawled.

Crawled to the glass.

“CALEB!”

You slammed your fists against it, over and over again.

He lay on the other side — restrained. But the straps couldn’t hold the violent spasms. And the glass couldn’t muffle the sound of his screaming.

“CALEB! YOU PROMISED!”

You forced yourself upright, pounded your fists until your knuckles split open.

“You promised… you said you’d stay… you said you’d be there until my last breath— CALEB— !”

Your voice disintegrated into a scream.

You kept hammering. Like a moth caught in a jar, helplessly throwing itself against the cruel, unyielding glass.

Kept crying.

The door hissed open behind you. A man in a lab coat.

You lunged at him — knocked him flat. Ran.

Another body in the hallway — you shoved them aside.

You found the next door. Slammed your palm to the entry panel.

It opened.

“CALEB—!”

You collapsed onto him, draping your entire body over his, as if your weight alone could stop the process.

Black veins had begun to trace up his neck. The same pattern that once bloomed across your chest.

“How could you…?” Your voice broke into pieces. “You can’t leave me… you promised…”

For a moment, his eyes found yours. His hand twitched. Reached.

You seized it. Gripped tight.

Tried to unbuckle the straps.They didn’t give.

Hands grabbed you from behind. Dragged you.

You fought like a wild thing. Thrashed. Kicked. One of them fell — you crawled back to him.

Then two more came. You were screaming. Your throat raw.

“No! Don’t take him! DON’T TAKE HIM FROM ME!”

And just before you could lunge forward again—

Another needle.

Your body gave out. Everything dimmed. Collapsed.

But even in that final, spiraling moment—

You whispered one last time: “Caleb…  please… don’t leave me…”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Your heart hadn’t beaten this steady in years.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It would’ve been better if it had stopped.

You didn’t open your eyes. You didn’t ask where you were. You knew.

You were in a world where he was gone.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You used to live with physical pain — you knew how to endure it. You knew how to die with it. You’d pictured your grave more than once — just beside the one marked “Josephine.”

The one where, for a time, they’d already carved “Caleb.”  Now they’d just correct the second date. As if it had all been a clerical error.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shut up,” you muttered, ripping the sensor from your finger.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The monitor whined in protest.

You clamped your hands over your ears, buried your head under the pillow.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“What the hell?!”

Another monitor?

You pulled the pillow away. Opened your eyes.

On the second cot, just a few feet away— Caleb.

Alive. Awake.

His monitor was singing the same rhythm. And on his lips — the hint of a smile.

“You bastard!”

You flung the pillow at him. He caught it.

“Did you mourn me?”

“That’s still pending! You—YOU!!! You took my Aethor Core?!”

You looked around for something else to throw. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Easy, Pip-Squeak. I didn’t take anything. Your precious Core is right where it belongs — in that merciless, vengeful little heart of yours.”

“I’m merciless? You made me believe you were—!”

You stopped.

Because you knew. God, you knew you would’ve done the same.

You slid off the cot carefully, clutching the IV stand for balance. Crossed the short distance to his bedside, testing each step. Sat down on the edge. 

You reached for his hand. Fingers trembling, unsure. But the moment you touched him — he was warm.

Not fading. Not cold. Not gone.

Warm, alive, present.

And it shattered something inside you.

“You weren’t dying because of the Core itself,” he said gently. “It was the energy feedback loop. The Core stopped syncing with your biopattern. Basically, your system crashed, and the power cell started pulling directly from your heart to survive. Which, you know, kinda fatal.”

“So what… you swapped our batteries?”

“In layman’s terms — yes.”

“And that doesn’t kill you?”

“My protocore’s a lazy old tank,” he grinned. “It got a nice boost from yours. Just enough to last me, I think.”

“You swear that’s the truth?” you arched a skeptical brow.

“I do.” He reached up, hesitantly, brushing your cheek.

You didn’t pull away.

“I told you I’d take your pain.”

“And you also promised you’d stay with me till my last breath,” you whispered, lips nearly brushing his.

“And I intend to keep that promise,” he said, pulling you close and kissing you. “And if you try to run again, just so you know — I’ve got a year’s supply of those sedative syringes.”

You let out a small laugh, nudged him gently, then climbed onto his cot, curling into his side, head on his shoulder.

“I’ll keep that in mind in case you pull another stunt like that. Admiral.”

His arm slipped around your waist. His grin widened — softer, familiar. Like the old days. Like he was just your Caleb again.

“Well,” he said, “those are consequences I’m willing to accept.”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

His heart beat stronger.  And yours — yours found his rhythm. Matched it.

Perfectly. Just like always.

Because the truth was simple.

You couldn’t exist in a world where one of you was missing.

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Eleven: shear

tw: none

“What?”

It’s the only word your jittery mind can think to spew as you stare at John Price, shirtless, cornering you at your most vulnerable. Caging you like livestock. Like prey. Soft candlelight illuminates his skin—the pallid flesh that rarely sees the light of day, and the sunkissed forearms that flex as he stalks forward—but you know what lies beneath this superficial layer. This human-like facade that he so strongly carries upon his shoulders, like Jesus Christ carrying the cross that would bring his own demise. 

Masks can only stretch so far. They can cover the hair, the face, the body—but it cannot cover the soul. 

It cannot cover the cerulean of his eyes or the glint that betrays what he usually suppresses. 

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” he assures. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

There it is—finally. Your question flies off of your tongue, half-cocked and rigid as your fingers press into your shoulders, desperately attempting to save what little shreds of dignity you’re able to cling to. You watch with parted lips as John cuts through the numbra of the room, boots hitting heavy on the floor as he approaches the vanity. Sinking into the tub, you watch him from over the rim as he retrieves the washbasin. His hands cup it from the bottom, dwarfing the bowl, as he tilts his head. 

“Laswell had to step away for a moment to sort some business downstairs, and the boys all left. While I’m waiting, I figured we could visit.” He lifts the washbasin as if toasting a drink to you. “That, and I am in desperate need of a shave, little lamb.” 

Panic rises in your throat to strangle you as he steps closer, quickly closing the gap that lies between the two of you as he approaches the tub. Your hands flail, desperately covering your breasts with one arm and your sex with the other. You are shorn. Splayed out and on display, a lamb with no voice to bleat. 

Your eyes widen far enough in your skull to cause you discomfort as you witness John sink the washbasin in your bathwater, submerging it until it is full, then retrieving it. Thick drops of water splash back down as he pours out the excess, knuckles shining with thick gloss like dew. Before he returns to the vanity, he pauses to chuckle as he stares down at the bowl, then looks at you with a glistening gaze. 

“She sure went all out for you, didn’t she?” he says as he pulls a rose petal from the bowl and presents it between his forefinger and thumb. 

Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, you watch in silence as John’s lips part. His fingers move between his teeth, pressing the rose petal into his mouth before humming, seemingly content with the flavor. You blink, flabbergasted as you watch his Adam’s apple bob while he swallows, consuming one of the few gifts you’ve been given in this ruthless world. 

“You have no courtesy!” you snap, the disconnect between your tongue and brain finally mending as your frustration boils over. 

“Sweetheart, I sincerely hope it hasn’t taken you this long to figure that much out,” John quips dully. 

Just as you go to disparage him again, John turns his back to you and you find your throat going uncharacteristically dry. Not even the dim candlelight can smother the divots in his skin—the long scars that wind like roads on a map, each with a dead end. They’re grotesque, and considerably out of place. Though John Price is a man to be reckoned with—a strong, wayward stranger who does not fear the barrel of a gun nor clenched fists—these marks are out of place on him. These were not earned through some unspeakable battle, some glorious fight. 

This was endured. This was scarcely survived. 

John plops himself down at the vanity where the candles illuminate every curve of his chest and the dark pavonine of his eyes. He makes quick work of the supplies laid out before him; complimentary items of a straight razor, clippers, and a shaving bar. He wets his face with your bathwater before lathering up the soap to apply to his throat and the apples of his cheeks, and you find yourself memorized by the strange ritual. 

You’re brought back in time several years as you watch John’s fingers glide along the flat side of the razor. When she was still alive, your mother would shave your father’s face for him on the front porch when the weather permitted. Neither of them would speak a word to one another for the duration of it. Simple gestures. Heavy sighs. Your mother would grip his face and move his head into the positions that were required to ensure she never nicked his skin—it was the only time you ever saw your father relent to anyone. 

It was the only time you ever saw a shepherd submit to his lamb. 

When it came to cleaning up the tender skin that lay along his throat, your mother always paused. Lips pressing together, eyes surveying the area, you always thought she was nervous. Scared to cause your father harm where the skin is thinnest; where the blood runs thickest. 

Now that you think of it, her thumb always pressed along the back of the blade, almost longingly. As if it were more than just a razor. A knife. 

A weapon. 

“Laswell is working on getting you a dedicated room here,” John says as he lets the foam sit on his skin. He looks strange, suddenly aged with the soap turning his facial hair white like the powdering of flour on sourdough bread. “Something a little long term until you’re able to get a place of your own. Or a husband. Whichever comes first.” 

It is a great feat for you to hold back the urge to roll your eyes at him. “Oh, how clever of you,” you mutter. 

“She’s also hosting us for dinner at her house tonight. Consider it a welcome to Grand Hollow party,” John continues as if you never spat at him at all. “I volunteered you to help with the food preparations. Figured you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Anything to get away from you.” 

John’s mirth is warm, and soft like worn leather. You watch him from the safety of your tub as he begins to work away at himself with a razor, ridding himself of the overgrown patches of hair that plague his throat and too high up on his cheeks. His neck contorts and his hand pulls the skin taut, leaving no room for his skin to catch; to knick. It’s hard to ignore the way rigid muscle moves beneath thick flesh—how his biceps curl and veins pop—but you force your gaze away in favor of bathing yourself. 

You decide that if you pretend that John Price isn’t here to witness you like this, then it’s not as much of a sin as it is. You are not being witnessed in some holy way—only bathing while a dog grooms himself on the other side of the room. Lathering your skin in more soap than is necessary, you pray that the suds that gather along the water’s surface is enough to shroud your body from impudent, prying eyes. 

Neither of you speak to one another as you complete your respective tasks, though you realize it’s difficult to keep your gaze where it ought to be. Wandering through wisps of steam, you watch him. He cleans up well—as much as you hate to admit it. Beard trimmed and shaped, his jawline grows rigid, and his eyes seem brighter. He is less wild; a tamed creature. 

As much as a wolf can be tamed, anyway. 

“Your gaze is heavy, Lamb,” John hums. Using the provided hand towel, he cleans his face of any remaining foam, wiping himself clean, before tossing it back onto the vanity and twisting to you. Somehow, his eyes feel sharper—enough to draw blood. “If your right eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it away.”

Baffled at his quote, you shake your head. “What? No, no I’d never,” you say as if insulted he would ever insinuate you would look at him in such a lascivious manner. Despite the humidity in the air, your mouth goes dry as he leans his elbow on the vanity, spine curling forward, body shrinking. “No I… forgive me, I know it isn’t right, but your back is very… peculiar.” 

Despite the weight of your words, John doesn’t flinch. Instead, he nods before leaning back to look in the mirror and continue grooming himself. Like an animal licking old wounds, he runs his fingers along his hair, smoothing down the inky strands before humming. 

“Yes. A gift from my father.” 

Stunned by his words, you blink as if that will change the course of the past, but it doesn’t. He’s still here in front of you, the most wounded you’ve ever seen him. He attempts to hold himself together, to not fall apart at the seams of each scar that lines his skin, but you see right through it. It’s the first time John Price has refused to look at you.

He’s never relented before, not like this. 

“Your father?” you repeat, nearly tripping on your words. 

John nods. “A belt if I was lucky. The buckle, if I wasn’t. His cigars when he was bored.” 

Each word he speaks brings about unwanted visions—a terrible make-believe reality that leaves a sour taste on your tongue. “Why would he do such a thing?” 

Finally—finally—John looks at you. His gaze is the softest you’ve ever seen, yet his lips are tight as he smiles. “Same reason your daddy did what he did to you. Some men love a silly book more than they do their own blood.”

Floorboards squeaking beneath his weight, John stands before stalking towards you. He does not bear his teeth at you, and still your heart thunders in your chest worse than summer rain or a horse galloping in haste. Once more your hands move to cover your body in an effort to conceal yourself, but John does not seem at all interested in your body. 

Gentle fingers that smell of warm wood brush against your bare shoulder before traversing down your arm. Your vision tunnels as you stare up at John, utterly helpless, bending to his whim as he removes your arm from the tub. You whine, and if he hears it he at least has the decency to ignore the sound as he takes your hand into his, thumbing over your knuckles one by one. 

“But you already know all about that, don’t you, love?” he muses, eyes picking apart the scars on your hands. “Preaching to the choir, so to speak.” 

Blinking, you look at where your hands are joined. He holds you similarly to how he did when you first met, collapsed next to their campfire, fresh tears still on your cheeks. “I don’t think our situations are comparable. Daddy never… never did anything like that to me.” 

“Maybe not,” John hums. When he releases your hand, his fingers trail back up your arm, over your shoulder, and along your collarbone. As he dips between your breasts—tracing your sternum—you nearly shriek. Instead of doing anything nefarious, he grabs your necklace. “Is that why you still hold onto this? Your silly god? Because you think that torment wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been?” 

You look down at yourself—at where his fingers hold the only memento that remains of your mother. “It’s my mama’s. It was, anyway. Consumption took her away from me when I was a kid. Daddy locked her up and never let me see her. Said she was too sick, and that I’d… only make it worse. This is all I have left of her. That’s why I keep it.” 

John drops the necklace back against your chest. “Do you think she went to heaven? That she’s up singing with the angels?” 

His question is facetious—and still you answer. “I hope so.” 

It’s not the correct answer. It’s the type of answer that would have your father bending you over his lap and spanking you bare with a spoon if he heard such a thing ever leave your mouth. But it’s not wrong—it’s the truth that burns in your heart where grief and hope coalesces into poison. Tongue wetting your lips, you look up at John, and you’re not sure if you’re comforted by the softness in his eyes or not. 

“I hope so,” you repeat. “I don’t think I could handle it if there was any other answer. If there’s nothing for her.” 

The two of you stare at one another for so long you think the world may have stopped moving. Wide eyes study you as if gauging how far he would have to spread his maw in order to fit you all in, to grind you between his molars until nothing but dust remains. Instead, he hums, and turns his back to you. 

“Enjoy your bath, Lamb. Don’t feel as if you have to rush.” He stoops downward, fingers snatching his discarded shirt before slipping his arms back through the sleeves and buttoning it up properly. “When you’re finished, come find Laswell and I downstairs. We’ll put you to work.” 

You’re hardly able to get a confirmation out of your throat before John flees through the door, shutting it tight behind you as if he suddenly cares about your privacy. Your bath suddenly falls quiet without a wolf to howl next to you. Swallowing the tears that threaten to surface and strangle you, you find your hand reaching up for your necklace. You clutch it close to your chest as you mull John’s words over in your mind. 

You suppose that—after all—the two of you are not too different. Both of you cry to the same moon in some capacity. 

The water has gone cold by the time you finish scrubbing yourself clean of all things that ail you. Dirt, grime, the rage of your father. When you pat yourself dry, you throw yourself into a new chemise before donning a sky blue dress and fixing yourself in the vanity. You appear like a whole new woman. Tidy, standing tall, and without a scab in sight. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you look like your mother. 

When you arrive back downstairs, you notice a glaring disturbance in the crowd that was not present when you had cut through previously. A maid huffs over what appears to be the splintered remains of a chair and fine china while a man in ragged clothes nurses a bloody nose at the bar. The chatter has quieted to dainty whispers, and everyone’s eyes shift uncomfortably the moment you enter. Deciding to keep your mouth sewn shut, you return to the back of the hotel to find John, just as you were instructed. 

Yet you hardly arrive at the door and raise your hand to knock before you’re stopped in your tracks. Hushed tones, biting words—desperation. Chagrin bleeds through the seams of the door heavy and thick like crude oil, and just as noisome. It chokes you. Freezes you in place and pries your ears open. 

“I’m sorry, John, but I can’t help you. You’re on your own for this one.” 

“Please. I need something. Someone. Just for the trip. None of the boys or I will be able to step a foot into that bank without alerting everyone in the whole goddamn town.” 

You’ve never heard John like this before; pleading. Begging. The tone sounds odd coming from him, the man who’s never been denied anything for the entirety that you’ve known him. The man who takes what he wants because he simply won’t take no for an answer. 

“Things between Shepherd and I are already shaky as is. If I send one of my own with you, at best he’ll send their head home with you, at worst he’ll level this entire building to the ground,” Laswell says, staying steadfast in her denial. 

“Don’t you understand?” He’s almost yelling, now. Words sharp like a knife, booming just as loud as the rifle he taught you to shoot—he breaths. Exhales loud enough for you to hear it. “Kate, if we break into that bank you won’t have to worry about Shepherd anymore. None of us will! This tyranny of his in Blackpeak will be over!” 

“He’s gotten stronger since you left. His manpower? Twice than what you remember it being. If you go into that city, you’ll die there, John. You, Simon, Johnny, Kyle—you’ll be lucky to return in coffins, if at all.” 

“You know better than to underestimate me,” John snaps. 

Silence. Aching, tangible quietness. It’s enough for you to hear the very blood dragging through your veins, slow and steady, like waves upon a rocky lake shore. 

“Your days of being the hero are over, John. You and I both know that. I’ll take Lamb off your hands, but I’ve got something worth sticking around for, now. I can’t throw that all away in the name of vengeance,” Laswell says firmly. 

The integrity of the upright guides them, but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them. 

You’ve lingered too long; listened where you shouldn’t. Swallowing, you step away from the door as if you can run from the words you’ve heard, but you’re frozen in place as they rattle in your brain like screams echoing off of cave walls. Bank. Shepherd. Blackpeak. 

Well, that’s none of your business, now is it, sweetheart? 

Before you can betray them any further, you finally muster the strength to knock on the door. Silence falls faster than rain on the other side, and then feet approach. Laswell opens the door, and you sheepishly stare at her, shame evident on your face. She does nothing more than blink at you before crossing her arms. 

“John says you’re interested in helping prepare for dinner tonight,” she says. 

Eyes glancing past her, you find him sitting at the table. He leans far back in his seat with his fingers running over his freshly trimmed beard, but he does not look at you. Disappointment radiates off of him like steam from boiled water—you’re surprised he’s not as scarlet red as burning coals. 

“Yes,” you say with a decisive nod. 

“Good. Come on, let’s get you settled.” 

John does not speak a word to you as you’re led away from the door and out the building. As you step foot back onto the streets of Grand Hollow, Laswell gives you a quick rundown of your task, but most of her words seem to flow in one ear and out the other. 

Cart… Lottie… dinner… 

Your mind spins—you can feel the very earth give way beneath your feet. There are too many people around you, too many smells. All the love of a small town has vanished but the filth remains. Beggars line several corners on the street, children peddle newspapers, women sneak men into shady buildings—Everything is grey. Terribly grey with man made structures, stone lined streets, russet brown buildings—where are the flowers? Like the ones your mother planted? You begin to think it may have been better to stay home. At least your father’s violence is predictable, and the streets smell familiar. 

“Hey, are you listening to me?” 

Laswell’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back into your body. You’re standing on the corner of a street with a topless carriage awaiting you. Blinking, you bring your attention to the woman before you and swallow. 

“Sorry, I…”

“I understand. Must be a lot for a country bumpkin like you to take in,” Laswell humors. Giving you a soft smile, she gestures to the carriage behind her. “My driver will take you to the house. You’ll find Lottie there, and I’m sure she’ll have plenty of work for you to do. The boys and I will be back around six for supper.” 

You nod. “Yes. Alright, that will work. Thank you so much, again. For everything.” 

Uninterested in your praises, she waves you off and motions for you to climb into the carriage. The driver does not turn to greet you, but nods when Laswell barks portarla a casa. Sighing, you settle back into the seat just as the horses begin to move forward, jostling the carriage as the wheels squeak into motion. 

Just as you turn your head to watch Laswell fade away into the crowd, something catches your eye. Parchment. Thick paper. Black ink. There, sketched into a small box, you see the unmistakable features of John’s face pinned to a wooden board. The curve of his nose, the budding apples of his cheeks, the sharp cut of his beard—the only thing missing is the hue of his eyes. That blue that contends with the sky above your head and all the paintings you’ve ever seen of the sea. He’s nestled between various other pieces of paper that jitter in the wind, and the confusion almost makes it impossible to decipher what the poster even is. 

But then, you see it. The words. Your stomach twists as you read them—over and over and over again—before the carriage takes you too far and it fades in the distance. 

WANTED: JOHN PRICE DEAD OR ALIVE FOR THE BLACKPEAK COAL MINE SLAUGHTER

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[namjooningera]

I'm unsure if your Request are open, deeply apologizing if I disturbed you.

: Need more yandere captivated stuff, like them constantly clinging to their sweet love, locking the bedroom door at night and only giving their captivated lover permission to leave the room only if they're awake. ♡

mwa, absolutely love your writing.

Their rules - Yandere JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji

AN: the boys’ rules for you, plus them being clingy. A bit of the past and background before they kidnapped u ;3

TW: starving, slight Stockholm syndrome, manipulative

Ahhhh yess requests are open thanks for asking!! (≧∇≦)b

Gojo-

Hes unbearable. His rules are short and simple, but the man himself is insufferable.

He clings onto you, legs around your thighs, head on your chest, while you lay in bed. You try to push him off, but the man is so much bigger than you. He doesn’t move an inch, it was like trying to move a brick wall.

You remember the first time he giddily told you the rules.

“Ok ok listen-“ he said in the middle of giggles, then straightened up his back to look serious but it was obvious he was still giddy.

“Hum.. No touching the stove when I’m around, No watching tv, that’s a reward not a privilege, you can earn watching it. No ignoring me, no sleeping without giving me a kiss or cuddles.”

He hums. “there isn’t much sweet thing…I just want you to be happy.” But his smile is sickly and you know there’s more to what he’s saying.

You know there’s unspoken rules he doesn’t say, like how you need to constantly keep him in a good mood.

When you were first taken by him, you rejected his every advance. Every time he wanted kisses or cuddles or even something simple, like for you to look at him. You said no, turned away, and slumped in bed.

At first he let it go. He was patient. He was just happy that you were there. That you couldn’t talk to others, look at others, and your attention would all be to him in no time.

But you refused this little charade, and you could see him slowly start to become more agitated. It’s when he stopped coming home to make you dinner (the dinner you barely ever touched anyway), and the way you felt like he was forgetting about you.

He’d always refill the things you ran out of. The bottle of water on your-his nightstand. The sanitary items and hygiene products you use. He’d always refill the pantry with all your favorite snacks and sweets.

But he stopped. And that got scary. Your mind was already in shambles, now you were thinking, what if he’s going to leave you for dead? Stop refilling, stop visiting, until you pass away in this locked hell.

Finally, he came home tonight. Around midnight. He never came that late before- it was always around 8 pm or 9 when he was really late, he always made sure to come home early enough to make you dinner.

You were starving, and you peeked from the hallway to see him stumble in, then throw himself on the sofa and then the tv on.

You weren’t really allowed to watch tv. You wonder if you could earn it. You watched him slump over, eyes heavy with a glare. He never really looked like this, honestly he always looked giddy and happy. Happy to come home to you. But now he just looked angry, upset, pissed. But it never seemed like it was to you.

He never showed you he hates you, he just stopped trying- stopped talking to you.

But why did that seem scarier than just straight up punishing you?

You slowly took a few steps out of your peeking spot, to be in his eyesight. Normally he’d be delighted, thinking you came to ask him for something or you wanted to talk, anything really. But this time he didn’t even look up from the tv. As if you weren’t there, as if he didn’t notice you.

That just added to your nervousness.

So you decided to do something incredibly stupid.

You hated his giddy happy side, but for some reason, you missed it know. At least before, the aura of the home stayed light and happy. Even if you weren’t happy. But now, the tension is fucking palpable. It’s heavy, and disgusting. You feel scared to even walk a few steps that’s how heavy the air feels right now.

Slowly you walk over to him. He doesn’t budge. His arms are spread at the top of the sofa as his body slumps back onto the sofa. His legs are up on the coffee table, eyes directed solely to the tv.

You sit next to him carefully. Slowly, you start to scoot over to him, slowly. So that his arm over the sofa would carefully be put over you.

Finally you scooted close enough that your thighs touched, and that your head slightly leaned onto his shoulder.

You were scared he’d hit you, scream at you, hurt you. He’d never done that before but what was stopping him from doing it now? Yes he was gonna hurt you for being stubborn for ignoring him, he’s gonna-

“I missed you.” He said with a sigh, eyes tired that bore into you, his voice was almost shaky, it was obvious he wasn’t feeling well. The arm laying on the top of the couch fell onto your shoulders, pulling you in. Cradling your body.

“You hungry?”

Yes, fuck yes. You’ve barely eaten in the last few days, solely relying on your pantry of snacks and sweets alone to quench your hungry, since he stopped making meals for you.

You nodded quickly and he smiled softly and ruffled your hair.

“Alright- too tired to cook. Let’s just order in ok?”

You nod immediately, digging yourself in more into his body. He smiles at this. You know you shouldn’t be touching him, listening to his dumb rules and letting him control you like this.

But you couldn’t help it. Things were just so much easier when he was happy. You got to eat, watch tv, and sure, you hated touching him, but he was just so warm.

That’s why, fast forward to now, you let him cling onto you in bed. Whining bout his day and how he doesn’t have enough time with you. How if he could just open your rib cage and snuggle inside, stay warm and with you forever he would. You think he’s crazy, weird, gross, but you don’t comment on it. You let him think your okay with all this, you let him nibble on your collarbone and let him whisper how he’s never gonna let you go, how your his for life and how he loves you like none before.

He’s warm. You notice. You notice his heartbeat, his breath on your collarbone, his eyes full of hearts and swelling with love. The way he huffs every time you slightly move away.

“H-hey umm I need to use the toilet can you move-“

“Can I come?”

Oh god.

Geto-

His rules were unknown honestly. He didn’t outright say any, he wanted you to think you had freedom. Like you weren’t being held hostage in his home. As if you were just his lover living with him. Like you had free rein.

As if he didn’t lock the bedroom door every night, thinking you were fast asleep. Like he didn’t keep track of every time you used the restroom, the shower, did your skincare and ate. As if he didn’t have those times and dates and stamps of every time you did so, so he could keep track of every little thing you did.

He wanted you to be happy and free in your home, he called it. After it all, he built it on all your necessities, all the things you use and like, so it is your home. It was made for you.

But there are the unspoken rules.

He hates when you get up from bed in the night, to go use the restroom. He wakes up in a jump, eyes wide and exploring the room, his hands roughly shoving the blankets off the bed to see your not there.

He panics. And he knows he shouldn’t. There are alarms everywhere, he has a tracker on you, he knows when you leave and when you stay and where you are at all times. He gets up quickly however, feet scampering to the bathroom door where he knocks on it slightly, asking you to come out.

He’s always been an okay-amount of clingy. But he panics a lot. He doesn’t show it- but he does. He thinks you’ll leave, you’ll die- or something. Maybe someone else will snatch you- a “monkey” or some curse. He’s seen the real world he knows how dangerous the average person can be so could you imagine blood thirsty curses? Ready to swipe your small body at any second and have you for a second dinner?

He’d never let that happen.

And he wants you to reassure him. He won’t ask for it but he needs it. Desperately. Tell him you won’t leave, you won’t die, that your safe- that he’s safe. That you’ll be together forever.

But you don’t. Because you hate him.

You use to, when you two were actually friends- no, best friends. You’d tell him all the time that he was safe with you, that your his best friend and you’d make sure that the both of you live a long and healthy life- together.

And that’s what stayed in his mind. Why’d you break your promise? Why’d you have to stop telling him these sweet things? Is it not true anymore? Are we not safe? Are you gonna leave- be taken away? Don’t leave.

He wakes from a bitter nightmare that same night. A treacherous feeling crawling his spine, panic in his eyes and his body thrashing. He looks at you. His sweet Angel. You could never do him wrong. But he needs your comfort, your reassurance.

“Angel? Angel wake up, please.”

You refused to, ignoring his please. The truth is, his panicking in his sleep woke you long ago, but you didn’t want to wake him up from his little nightmare. You perhaps wanted him to suffer just a little longer.

“Angel? P-please just..”

You rolled your eyes, body facing away from him on your side, still faking your sleep. He could deal with this on his own. You know one of his huge rules was to comfort him and nurse him like you used to- one of his unspoken rules. You know this because just a day after he kidnapped you, he came home with what he called “monkey blood” all over him.

He wanted you to clean him. Tell him to stop calling humans monkeys. He wanted you to bring him back, to keep him from the evil that plastered his mind. Because you were the only one who kept him a clear head, that kept him sane and on earth. Otherwise, who knows what he’d be now?

That day, when you didn’t comfort him, the day after he kidnapped you, he became desperate. Begging you almost, but then he stopped. Like a cloud of indifference and anger covered his eyes and he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you into a closet and locking you in.

You screamed, yelled, begged him to let you out. You went through all stages of grief basically, angrily screaming, then begging, tearing up, then calming down and crawling into a little ball in the corner of the closet. It was dark, cold, miserable. Dust got in your hair and eyes, you tried to dust it away with your hands but you felt so dirty. You just hoped he’d let you out soon.

He only left you for an hour or two- you don’t really remember. He didn’t wanna be too harsh on your first punishment. He still loved you after all, you were just being a brat. But then he dragged you out and sat you down at the dinner table. He acted like nothing was wrong, smiling at you and picking up a spoon of the food he made. He put it to your mouth, trying to feed you. You shook and trembled. You knew you couldn’t say no, or who knows how long he’d keep you in that damn closet? At least you’re free now right? You ate the food off his spoon, and let him feed you for the rest of dinner.

He was so incredibly happy that you were obeying him so early in the “relationship”, that he didn’t put you back into the closet, but instead let you watch tv. Of course, not without him sitting under the couch, while you sat on the sofa with your legs dangling on his shoulders, brushing his hair and braiding it like you did when you two were best friends. Before things changed.

“Angel please, I need you.” He almost whimpered.

You sighed, and got up, turning your body to him. “What was the dream bout this time?”

He’s always had nightmares, about different things. When you were best friends, he refrained from telling you them. Just wanted you to tell him it was okay, he just wanted to hear your voice and be lulled back to sleep.

Now he won’t shut up about them. Shameless, you think.

“Oh Angel.” He pulls you into his chest, a very much unwanted hug, one hand on your head and the other wrapped around your waist, he pulls the covers back on top of the both of you.

“It was terrible. You were hurt, my dear. Don’t you see why I have to keep you? You hurt- that would destroy me, my love.”

His words disgust you, but what really disgusts you is the way you know he isn’t lying. You can hear the genuine concern in his voice, that he genuinely thinks this is helping you, not just for his own selfish desire.

“Oh Angel, if you left- I wouldn’t know what to do.”

And that scares you. That scares you because he knows damn well you can’t leave. The cameras, the security, the alarms and the tracker. The way he tightly holds you as if your going to disappear into thin air. The way your almost out of oxygen with the tight hold, your chest and ribs being smushed against his. You could feel his heart beat, you could feel it trying to pounce out his rib cage.

“I won’t leave.”

What you meant to say is that you can’t leave, there’s no way for you to anyway, but you glance up at him and see that what you said was the right thing to say, a smile adoring his lips as he kissed your head softly.

“My sweet Angel. You always know what to say.”

Or you just know what he wants to hear.

Nanami-

Nanami had so many rules, regulations, all these things you had to remember.

“You need to ask me permission for certain things. Entertainment is a privilege you’ll be rewarded with. I have books and art supplies you’ll be using before screen time. Healthy snacks only- with the exception of dessert after dinner. You don’t get dessert if you’re being bad.”

He sits on the coffee table in front of you, wearing his work clothes, a nice suit and some goggles in his hands. You sit on the sofa in front of him, arms crossed in your chest out of anger but you listen anyway.

“The better you are the more freedom you have, my dear. I’d never want to take away the things that make you happy, but I can’t stop myself if your being bad. I want you in bed by midnight, or you sleep when I do. If I’m late from work and can’t make dinner I’ll send some- you’re not allowed in the kitchen until you get the privilege of it. You have a pantry full of snacks and healthy foods, and a water dispenser until I can come home and make dinner. I will make breakfast every morning.”

His damn rules and regulations go on forever, but at least you know what will make him upset and what won’t.

“Once you can prove your a good girl/boy, I’ll provide you with more electronics for your own entertainment, but screen time will be limited. I expect you to keep up with your hygiene and get enough sleep, eat well and continue your hobbies. I’d like you to greet me in the morning before I leave and at night when I come home- obviously this rule varies on the circumstances of the day.”

You sigh, further sinking into the sofa as he talks you down further.

“In the future, I expect goodbye kisses and greetings. If you ever need anything you just need to ask me. If you’re thinking on picking up a new hobby, you want new clothes, different snacks- I expect you to tell me. And lastly, you are never allowed to go to sleep angry. I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I never want to argue before bed, and sleep angry with each other. We need to hash things out everytime, I don’t think it’s fair to each other, otherwise.”

You just nod, half the things going over your head but you know you should agree.

“Alright I’ll be home early today, okay? Goodbye my dear.” He gets up and stands near the door, waiting.

You look up at him from the sofa, then realize what he’s waiting for.

“Just leave.” You say upset, curling up into the sofa. He frowns, but leaves anyway, waving goodbye.

He had just kidnapped you. What was it the second day? He abducted you last night. Let you in on all the fun rules today.

Great.

Honestly, you’re still freaking out in your head a bit about all this. At first you thought it was some curse disguised as him, but you could sense his cursed energy was all him. No trickery, no fakes, it was him. He fought so hard but you were no match for him.

You definitely could have been, and that makes you laugh. You really could have. But he’s been watching you since high school. Watching your techniques, your moves, the way your body sways in fight and the way you dodge. The way you attack, everything. You’ve fought him plenty of times to train and for fun. You never thought- you never once thought he’d use it against you.

That he memorized your every move, adapted, the way he knew exactly what way you’d fight back, what way you’d dodge what way you’d try and escape.

How could he?

You were so upset, so betrayed. It hurt so much. You curled into yourself, upset, thinking bout the way he basically took advantage of you as friends. You thought you were fighting beside him, were you really just fighting him all along?

That day he came home, and saw you laid out on the couch, dried tears on your cute pink cheeks, your body curled to protect yourself, fast asleep.

He smiles at you, but it’s a soft sentimental one, one that has a hint of sadness.

He didn’t want to hurt you. Genuinely. But he couldn’t help it. Every year, being thrown into a friendzone, every year his obsession for you grew, he wanted you as his wife not best friend, every year he saw himself grow older- and was scared. What if he grew too old to get married? To have a family? Each year you showed the same care you should your friends, nothing grew into sweet love for him, and that scared him. In high school, he waited. Hoping that you’d mature and grow to love him. He stayed by your side hoping he wouldn’t have to do anything drastic.

But the time passes anyway.

And you didn’t seem to change.

And he carries you to your bed, their bed. The bed you share. When he places you down he caresses your head and hair, you kick him away in your sleep and that hurts him so deeply. He locks the door, sits on your bed and watches you. He had to do this. Don’t you see?

The way you would smile at him, laugh with him, love his seriousness and fight beside him. He loved that all about you. You two were meant for more then a measly friendship right?

He pulls you to him in your sleep, cuddling your unconscious body, snuggling his face into your nape and softly pecking your collarbone. He smiles at the way you whine in your sleep, trying to push him away and stop being smothered.

But he loves to smother you- he won’t stop. He lays almost on top of you, head in your nape, as he softly caressed your waist and hips, pecking your collarbone, smiling dazedly, almost drunk, off the cute sleeping sounds that leave your mouth, the breaths that leave your nose, the soft heaving of your chest.

He loves how domestic this is. His wife/hubby, his adorable lover and partner. His equal and forever. He believes that you two have always been together, that you’ve always cared for him as much as he cared for you- you just don’t realize it.

He eyes become heavy. Being in your arms (not that you were trying to keep him there), reminds him how relaxed he feels in them, that they make him drowsy and almost high off the feeling. His body almost slumps over, un-tensing. He had a long day of work. It was nice to come home to his loved one, to be in your arms, to be held and to hold.

If he could stay like this forever, the time not continuing, just you and him in a warp of space where time doesn’t exist, where you could be one. Where he could cherish you and spoil you forever and ever- reliving the lovely memories from when you were young.

A smile softly sets on his face as he falls asleep snuggled to you, he thinks, that he doesn’t need to live in the past. You two can make new memories, better ones. Memories, where you actually love him, not just as a friend, but as a lover.

His lover.

Toji-

He didn’t really have rules for you. He didn’t care too much about physical affection, sure he liked the average kiss on the cheek before he left to assassin some idiot. He wanted your attention obviously, but he didn’t mind you being a brat and never giving it to him.

“Alright I’m going to work.” He’s waiting for you. He’s waiting for you to run up to him and kiss his cheeks, tell him you love him, at least wish him goodbye. He felt desperate. Sad. He wanted you to just- why are you being so bratty?

“I’m going to work.”

He’s at the door, hand on the handle. You’re sitting on the couch. He lets you watch tv, sometimes he’s happy when you accidentally come across the news channel and see all the disgusting shit on the news, all those disgusting heinous crimes. Maybe someday you’ll see those and understand. Know that he did this all for you, it’s all for your own good. As cliche as that sounds.

“Im going-“ “Ok I get it!” You basically yelled.

He seemed startled. That’s when he starts to wonder if he was giving you too much freedom. You yelled at him. How could you? You want him gone, you want him to leave.

Alright he’ll give you what you want.

That day he came home, and cleared out the pantries and locked up the fridge. He left the next morning, telling you he had some mission that’ll last a few days. You just shrugged at him like normal, pretty happy you’d get a break from him.

But you didn’t realize his plan. His stupid crazy fucking smart plan. You opened the pantry. Nothing, just a few things you can’t really eat. Like a half full jar of peanut butter, uncooked pasta, some can of tuna. You opened the other drawers and cabinets. Condiments only basically. Salts and spices. But where was the food? Ok, it’s fine. You’ll cook something, grab some things in the fridge- wait what? Why was there.. a lock? Why’s it locked? It was never locked- oh. He did this. This is your punishment.

No, you’ll take it. If he wants to be an ass- you’ll just be even pettier and go with it. Then he’ll know not to test you right? He’ll essentially get worried that your not eating, then go buy more food and unlock the fridge.

Boom. Great plan right? Wrong.

Your stomach growled. It was what, the third day in to not eating? You thought you had more resistance then that- that you could hold back for longer. But no, your stomach was in pain and you felt yourself growing weaker.

You felt yourself getting desperate.

You decided to emergency call Toji. He had one attached to the security, where you could only call him, if ever an emergency while he wasn’t home.

You went up to the little screen on the wall next to the door, an iPad connected to all the security, well only he could access that part. What you could access, is the emergency call. But before you pressed the button to call you stopped yourself. Fuck you were hungry, but you couldn’t give in. Plus you knew he was angry. He wouldn’t just give in.

You needed to sweeten him up. You knew that he won’t just give in if you ask for food.

You slightly press the button, hearing it ring for a second before he picked ul and answered.

“What?”

Normally, he’d be asking if your okay, if you needed him, what’s the emergency. You know, all that. When he was actually worried. You gulped.

“O-oh! Yeah I called because I umm.. I miss you?” Yeah, not so convincing.

“Yeah, doll?”

“..yeah. When you coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

… He’d never answer like that before. He was being so dry? What was his plan? But then, the hunger, the dizziness, the weakness in your bones- you started to overthink. You started to think that perhaps he wasn’t coming home. He was going to leave you forever in this locked cage, alone, to die. And then you thought, what if his mission is going bad? And that’s why he isn’t being clear? What if he really doesn’t know when he’s coming home because where he is, is so dangerous he isn’t sure if he even will come home?

But if he dies, you die. If he dies, you die. If he dies you die if he dies you-

“TOJI please! Please please come home I can’t- I can’t be here alone anymore- I need you. Please Toji don’t die-“

“Die? Doll? What’s wrong?”

You start to sniffle, thinking about your own death. Thinking about different ways you’d die out, and all leads to one- alone. You didn’t wanna starve to death alone. You couldn’t.

“P-please? Come home? Miss you..” the genuine upsetness in your voice seriously surprised him.

“Ok doll. I think I can get home by tonight ok?”

“Toji?” You ask softly, sniffling.

“Yeah doll?”

“I feel so sick.” You whine, clearing your throat.

It’s like you could feel him smile from the other end. “Alright doll, don’t worry, m’ coming home soon. I’ll bring you some things on my way back. Kay?”

You nod, even though you know he can’t see you nod, he chuckled over the line as if he did.

This time, when he comes home, grocery bags in hand, you run up to him to greet him. Never like you used to.

It’s funny, you almost jumped on the man, you almost hugged him, you stopped yourself before you could, your mind reminding you that he’s your captor. That you hate him, that he tricked you and he’s evil and- oh but he’s so warm. You haven’t felt physical affection for so long. And he’s just so big like a cuddly bear. And you just- you can’t have him leave again okay? This isn’t fault. You’re not about to hug him because you want to, okay? It’s just.. you don’t want him to starve you again ok? Really it’s not because you.. you think he’s so cuddly. You think he’s so warm and inviting. And you could smell the food wafting from the bags he held- did he buy takeout? Oh my god- and from your favorite fucking place-

You softly put your hands around his waist, head on his chest, just holding him gently, scared that perhaps that wasn’t him but some figment of your imagination.

“Oh sweeeheart, you missed me that much, hm?”

You just nod, feeling disgusted but oh so satisfied. You don’t wanna look at him, you know you’ll be met with some smug smirk, that smirk showing that he knows he won, that now, you won’t exactly take him for granted.

“I brought take out cmon.”

Tehe I’d let them take me 😋 anyway, thank you sm for the ask! Requests are open yall! Also feel free to give me commentary! I don’t rlly write so 😭

[cupcakedieabetes]

Dumpster Baby Part 1

I AM ON A ROLL, I THOUGHT OF THIS AND LOVED WHAT MY HEAD PRODUCED, SO I DECIDED TO WRITE IT OUT IN WORDS SO I DON’T FORGET IT! This is going to be long so sit back and enjoy.

This story is inspired by this, and I love it. Thanks @emacrow for letting me use your story as an inspo!!!!

Tw: mentions of csa/child trafficking, mentions of child death, child abandonment, neglect, etc

Hector blew out his cigarette, bored out of his mind as he's manning the cash register currently.

There was no customers, so nobody was going to complain if he was smoking in the store, right?

Then, the door to his store opened with a bang. He fingered the gun under his counter, looking towards the door, only to find a young man looking harried, half-naked and bloodied. His shirt in a bundle, and seemed to be originating from there.

"B-B-BABY! I found a baby in the dumpster!" The poor kid stuttered, his face full of tears as he stared horrifiedly.

Hector took one glance and realised the kid was telling the truth. He took a puff of his cigarette, inhaling it slowly before he exhaled it exhaustively.

"Kid, you must be new in Gotham. Dumpster babies aren’t all that rare in Gotham. Gotham's a complete shithole. If you can't even feed yourself, how can you feed another?" Hector told the kid harshly. The kid held the baby tightly.

"B-but.."

"It's reality in Gotham. Go put back the baby where you found it. In a place where child trafficking and prostitution and such are common, it's best to let it die. It's the greatest mercy you can give it."

The kid became eerily calm and quiet. Hector noticed that his hiccups from sobbing had just gone entirely silent. Then his form starts to glitch as if whatever made him keep his form was struggling to retain itself.

"Ņ̴͉͖̄͐̊͐͒̽̆͗́̅̾̈́̾ǫ̵͈̠̱̱̯̹̳̜̓́͊̚t̶̢̛̛̤̰̦̜̙̲̪̺̬̉̇̍̃̏͐̽̂͊͋̕̕ ̵̡̑͑̏i̷̡̢̡̨̛̦͚̱̝͓̰͈̞̭͔͚̇̑͊̏͊͜f̷̡͔̫̭͉̳͖̰͈͒̌͒̽̔̈̔͋̋͐́́̎̓̑͆ ̸̨̢̟͕͕̫̬̱͍̙̻͉̈́́̐͜I̷̛͕̟̻͗̒̂͌̔͆̾̑̃͘͜͠͝ ̴̨̼͉̘͚̹̙̥̟̀̈͌̑̎́͑̓̉̈́͑̆̑͘̚c̴̣͙̖͙͙̜̠̩̟͍͉̤̮͚͖͉̒̉̾̽̈́̀̒͆͊͛̽͐̂̚͘͝͝a̶̲̤̼͒̒͒̔̌̈́̇͌͝n̷̡̙̻̈́̂̀̈̓̀̄̊̐͆͘͠ ̵̨͔̼̤̮̍̌h̶̬̝̫͖͚̰̹̲̮̮̬͓̙͔̆̈̓̅̑͊͐̆̍͌͘͜͜ȩ̷̳͖̹͓̞̬̟̥̼͎̰͇̑̅͑̽̔̅͆͂̑̏͝l̶͚̜͔̮̯̼̝̿͜p̷̈́̀̆́́̕��̳̯̦͓͔̩͕̩͔̄̈́ ̸̦̏̂̍̉͗͂͗̂͂́̉̚͝ȋ̶̛͕̠̟̦̈́̏̾̾͊͑̂͠t̸̡̡̡̛̼̺͚̜͖̫̼̲̪̫̗̜̓̒̿̾͂́̊̃͜͜.̷̡̛͚̱̫̰͕̳͖͙̾̀̓̓̀̈́̓͑́̾̚͠ͅ "

And without a trace, the kid and the baby disappeared, leaving nothing but the memories.

Hector stared at the place where the kid was once was, putting out his cigarette to rub his face tiredly.

What has he just done?

__________________________________________________________

Danny stared at the baby as he flew back into his hotel room. He had only gone to Gotham because he was initially visiting the Capital Crime City to scout out a new place for Jazz, who was planning to move here for residency at Arkham.

He decided to volunteer to scout ahead bc why would he be scared of crime when he's already dead?

But how did he get to this?

The baby girl mewled in his arms, still red and wrinkled, with their umbilical cord still attached. She was wrapped up in his shirt, having been found naked in a trash bag in a dumpster.

While walking past an alleyway, he heard something in the trash. And something else. So he decided to investigate. He was flying invisibly in ghost form, so there was no way anything would injure him.

So he opened the dumpster lid and saw a suspicious trashbag. In it was a newborn baby girl.

He bawled his eyes right out there bc he couldn't fathom why anyone would just abandon a baby in the dumpster. According to Jazz, multiple baby boxes were scattered across the city, a helpline was available for scared mothers/mothers-to-be, and many other options exist to prevent this.

It was cruel to the baby, but it was also cruel to the mother too. He only realised this according to what the man said. Gotham was a shithole. Who knows if your baby will end up being in the worst position ever, and if you don't have the resources, it's best to kill it to give them mercy. It was the only thing one can do when they're powerless. The best and only gift you could give to your child.

He lay on the bed with the baby sleeping on his chest. He was skin-to-skin with the baby as she was so cold to touch that he raised his own temperature despite the discomfort, as he was naturally cold.

And despite the discomfort, his core purred at having fulfilled his Obsession with Protecting.

She wiggled in his arms, and then a dawning thought of horror came to his mind. She wasn't the only baby that was abandoned, was she?

He carefully got up slowly, ensuring the baby wasn't woken up by the movement. She had a big day today; she should get a lot of sleep.

He placed her on the hotel bed and, for the first time, used his power as King to enact an order.

Protect the abandoned children. If nobody wants them, then he'll take them. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and he shall treat them like they deserve to.

Aw, he would have to get a place for them, wouldn't he?

He gave the baby girl a name to start her new life: Portia.

Then, he found another child who was abandoned by his parents. They neglected and beat him, so wouldn't he be considered abandoned? The boy willingly went when Danny offered Bennett, or Benny, to take him away. He was only 5.

Then the two became four when he found twin children all dirty and covered in dirt, sleeping under a cardboard box as they shared a ratty blanket. Blake and Harper were 10.

He got some Ghosts to help, like Lunch Lady, who loved cooking for those old enough to eat solids. She went all out cooking nutritious food for starving children.

He found a good enough warehouse and took it over from a drug den, which he got rid of. He then began renovating to make it a habitable place for the children.

But sometimes, it felt like he didn't have enough hands to hold them all.

But he was moldable. He could shapeshift into anything he can of his own will.

He grew many hands to carry them. He could hold his new children in his arms.

Four became Eight, then Eight became Thirteen. Thirteen became Twenty.

He wasn't big enough, so he grew and grew. They could all ride on his back together so there would be no fighting.

He didn't have enough eyes, so thinking of how to better observe, his mind suddenly thought of the Observants and how they're basically just eyeballs.

With duplication, he only just duplicates his eyes and lets them float around. Then, he could see e̷̩͈̙̘̗̅̽̾̎̑̉̇̈́͋͋̐͘̕͝v̷̤͙͈̓̂̽ë̸̡̠̩̠̠̟͍̭͙͈̫́̈́ͅr̵̢̨̻̩̰̼̝̞̙̜͙̈́̈́̉̌̾̀͊͊̚y̸̢̧̪̯͕̼̘̗̦͚̙̱̳̙̪͓̍͂̂̽̉̋̀̈́̔̓͝t̶̟̱̽̄́̉̈́̿̍͒̑̓͂͠͝ḩ̴̣̲̬̤͇͍̞̺̥͉̔̓̓̐̄̐̋́͘͜ͅì̴̳̳̭͆͗̈́̒̆̀͒̆̄̕͝͝ņ̸̛͍̳̣̦̲͔̼̝̪̲̗̩̤͋̈̾ͅģ̴̛̼̥̫̰̻͑̑̍͋́͂͌̎̎̈́̈́̏͒͆͠͠.

Despite this form, no children had ever been scared of him. His core would always rumble with protection, so they instinctively knew they were safe with him.

Twenty became Twenty-Three, then Twenty-Seven. Then Thirty-Two.

He loved it. He could make a difference. Even the children who weren't his would come running to him for protection. He would feed them and care for them like his own before sending them off to their parents, who actually cared for them.

He couldn't stop those who stayed before going back out. He did offer to take them in as his children, but some had refused, as they've always been independent.

But at least they would always have a place to go to.

Next ->

[pearlywritings]

In father’s embrace

synopsis: HSR men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Blade, Gepard, Luocha, Sampo, Jing Yuan x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, implied initial mortal x immortal in Blade’s

word count: 5.2k words

a/n: Luofu Xianzhou timeline is hell, so Blade’s one is quite vague. Here’s the Genshin version!

Blade

Blade tends to say that he has no connection to his past, but that is not true and very few (mostly Kafka) know he is lying. Even with his life and death fucked up he can't simply let go of someone his heart has been always full with, of someone who he promised himself to by the altar, even if under another name, of someone, who gifted him the joy of both his previous and current life - your daughter.

The blade - a cold weapon with no feelings - should not experience being lucky, but that’s what he was, when you clutched him in your arms the first time after his return from the dead and sobbed in his chest, telling him how much you missed him, how much his little angel missed him.

Back then he should've left without a trace, maybe even coming to you in the first place was a mistake, but he just couldn't. And his resolve crumbled completely when a white-haired toddler in your arms gazed at him with the same soft eyes as yours and reached out to his face, hesitantly asking "dada?".

As much as Blade is capable - he loves you and your daughter. He is quite absent due to his involvement with the Stellaron Hunters, but you understand how important that magenta-haired woman's ability is when it comes to restraining the mara in his body. After all that's the reason why he can visit without fear of hurting you or his little girl.

Some other sacrifices had to be made - one of them was moving from the Lofu Xianzhou, but that was alright and your daughter loved her new environment. Besides, dada has been visiting more often ever since you moved! And no one really bothered or chased after you (after all, you are still registered as his wife and higher ups of Lofu know), which, you assumed, was somehow connected with a young girl that once came with Blade.

Kafka once brought up a proposition of moving you two to the Stellaron Hunters' base for Blade's easier access, but he declined. At least his loved ones should have a peaceful everyday life.

With a tired sigh the black-haired man lowers himself on a sofa in the living room of the house you two purchased to start a seemingly new life. The red-hot iron in his eyes disappears behind the heavy eyelids and for a moment Blade allows himself to relax. The little wonder, that is his daughter, ran to your bedroom to fetch some hair accessories, after you encouraged your husband to let her style his long locks.

He doesn’t move when you sit next to him, hip to hip and heart to heart. He welcomes your sneaking fingers, curling his, creating a secure lock of hands. The weight of your head resting on his shoulder is grounding and he can’t help but press his cheek against it.

It’s soothingly silent.

It almost reminds him of the past.

“For how long will you be staying this time?

Even your question, spoken in a tender, understanding voice, is familiar. You used to ask him the same thing in-between his Cloud Quintet-related missions. 

These days it’s difficult to sneak and see you during breaks though.

“Fifteen days,” his breath is even, and eyes are still shut, but he senses a smile that tugs on the corners of your lips.

“That’s a lot. She will be so happy,” and he knows that you are as well.

The rapid stomping of little feet bursts into your peaceful serenity, and you simultaneously glance at the doorway. Low and behold - the soon-to-be hair stylist is proudly running into the room, tightly clutching your jewelry box with various hair pins inside.

“Dad, I practiced! Mom says I’ve been making huuuuuuge progress!”

A tiny smile touches his pale lips - it’s such a miracle that a monster like him is blessed to have the most adorable child in the whole universe. With her and you by his side, this life gets more and more bearable.

“If mom says you’ve been, then it must be the truth,” he nods, letting go of your hand - but not before giving it a little affectionate stroke with his thumb, - sliding down and onto the floor, turning his back to the girl.

Giggling excitedly, she gives you the box, which you quickly unlock, and starts looking through the many intricate pieces of jewelry (many are your beloved’s presents), until finding the perfect one.

Having his hair being touched is weird. He was aware that the white luscious locks used to draw attention, but only you were honored to run your fingers through them, and only his baby was allowed to tug on them, making her father wince. Now it’s different - she is oh so careful, brushing, collecting stray locks and braiding, not once causing him pain.

Blade sighs again, but looks at you from the corner of his eye, catching you snickering in your palm upon gazing at something that your daughter is turning his hair into. Well, that’s concerning.

But at this very moment he can’t bring himself to care. If he gets fifteen whole days before his next mission, he is going to savor this time with his family - no matter how disastrous he’s going to look by the end of it.

Gepard

A family man. So no one was surprised when in the end the leader of the Silvermane Guards ended up with three kids - two sons and a daughter. Partly it was dictated by the rules of nobles and his family among them, but ultimately it was your mutual sincere decision.

It’s obvious he is not there for many of his kids’ first times, as sometimes his duties prevail and even the Supreme Guardian cannot help it, but he really-really tries to be there as much as possible. He appreciates the videos you send him, has every single one stored in his phone’s memory and sometimes, when there is no communication, in his spare moment he replays them to remind himself that soon he’ll return home and see his kids and you.

Only one time he really fucked up because of work - during your first pregnancy you both underestimated the soon arrival of your due date and he left on a mission with his troops, reassured that he’ll be back before the day you go into labor. The snowstorm was severe and the connection was cut, so the message Serval sent him when your water broke was not delivered. His soldiers would bring to their graves the image of a deathly pale Gepard, when many hours later he checked his phone back at the base and nearly broke the screen, trying to type his sister’s number.

After that he started taking paternity leave seriously.

You do not keep in touch with his parents a lot - there were instances where they disapproved of you, but all of his siblings are always welcomed in your house and to see their nephews and niece, because they supported your relationship from the moment they met you in flesh.

Serval is an enormous help when it comes to babysitting. It’s like her part-time job honestly - you even offered to pay her, but she declined, suggesting offering her a helping hand whenever she’d need instead. Oh, and to be the first one out of all the Landau siblings (after her brother, of course) to know about the latest updates on your kids.

The kids that are adorable. All three won the ‘blue eyes’ lottery, which, given the previous generations of Landau, is not a big surprise; both boys look like Gepard, while the girl took more after you in appearance. The man really doesn’t want to play favorites, but sometimes he is just too weak for his little princess, who looks just like her mom. She is the youngest too with a pretty big age gap between her and her brothers, who were born a year apart, so there is literally no jealousy, because your sons took their father’s example and became her protectors.

Even from a 'big bad dragon' that is their aunt…

When you step inside your house and hear the kids still fussing somewhere in the rooms, involuntarily your gaze falls to the old grandfather’s clock in the foye. Almost midnight. All three should be long asleep with Serval sending you a notification of her success. Which you didn’t receive and for that reason had to cut your date short and hurry back home.

Your husband looks as concerned as you are, locking the door and straining his ears to determine what’s going on. With both your coats abandoned, you carefully step further into the house, making your way to the line of light coming from under one of the doors.

Two jaws almost kiss the floor when you see Serval lying on the floor tied and gagged with a scarf. Alone. For a moment you fear the worst.

Rushing inside, you let Gepard search the other rooms for intruders. Helping your sister-in-law to sit is no problem, but the knot behind her head is awfully tightened. In the end you manage to yank it down to free her mouth, quickly switching to the rope constricting her hands.

“Y/n, oh my god,” she gasps, finally able to speak. “Who taught your sons to tie knots like this!? I didn’t know a sixteen- and fifteen-year olds can be so strong-”

“Come again?” Stunned, you stop untying her wrists, looking at the woman with widened eyes. Your boys did what?

“My precious nephews - whom I really do not want to strangle - took the game of knights too seriously, and when - maybe a half an hour ago? - I decided to play the dragon who was stealing the princess - my niece of three years, - they attacked and tied me!”

“Huh…” is all you can say, feeling relief wash over you. At least there are no burglars or kidnappers and your kids are safe.

When, listening Serval’s huffs of complaints, you move to untie her legs, the heavy steps of your husband are heard in the hallway, accompanied by the boys whining and begging their dad not to come to the living room, because the dragon would eat their sister.

His tall figure appears in the doorway, with your daughter in his arms, looking very sleepy, and two almost carbon copies of their dad pulling at his jacket to give them their sister back.

“Serval, what in blazes have you told them?” The judging tone and the squint of his blue eyes are directed at his elder sibling.

“It was just a game, Geppie! A silly game they turned into reality.”

“Aunt said she’d eat her,” your oldest pouts, eyeing her cautiously. “And she told us stories about the cannibals the other night-”

“Serval, you what?”

“Hey, they asked me to! Oh, thanks, Y/n,” she shrugs the loosened rope off of her. “Where did you even get this?”

“Aunt Lynx gave us,” the second son chirps, hugging Gepard’s side. “She showed us how to do knots.”

“This little-”

Suddenly you feel a headache coming. With big family come big challenges, but something of this caliber hasn’t happened in a while. It makes you smile though - you almost forgot what it was like - to raise two boys. Seems like your girl brings the borderline naughtiest out of them.

Luocha

To begin with it's worth mentioning that your and Loucha's marriage started as an unpredictable necessity. You both needed to enter the world that allowed only married foreigners' access. So, quickly figuring that your goal matches, you got married on a neighboring planet, spent a month there to make the marriage more believable in the sense of its duration and learning more about each other. Yeah, all of that just to fulfill your respectful jobs. You invented and rehearsed all the possible answers to the questions, perfected your affectionate act and were actually feeling quite comfortable around each other.

It was almost funny, when on the 'how many kids do you plan to have?' Luocha confidently answered 'two', and a couple of years later your first son was born, and then, after 7 more years, another one was too.

Admittedly, the oldest one was kind of unplanned, but at that point you traveled so much together, shared so many memories, even ended up caring for each other on a lover-like level, that you decided to give it a shot, just like you did with the continuation of your marriage.

And Luocha couldn't be more pleased. Surprisingly, he found the peace of those first years he spent settled down to raise your boy delightful. And there was something exciting about having a little wonder with a perfect mix of both of your features in your arms, as your husband's hand is resting on the small of your back, leading you through the crowds of the new planet's lively market, as the child's eyes shine with marvel, taking in his surroundings.

When Luocha suggested having another one it simply felt right.

Your sons are so lucky in the sense of seeing the universe, because their father is a traveling merchant. Sure, he doesn't always take you and your two boys with him, but whenever his deal allows him enough freedom and your kids are doing great in school and can be taken on a little vacation - you three are going with him.

Usually he gets to take care of the youngest one, since only Luocha's vast knowledge can satisfy his curiosity, while the oldest one calmly walks hand in hand with you, content with listening to their conversation and pointing out to you the things he already knows himself, receiving a soft praise from you and an approving nod from his father.

Back home the roles reverse - the oldest is spending most of his time with Luocha to learn all about medicine and healing techniques, while the youngest is more interested in sharing your hobbies. 

The two hardly ever quarrel as siblings tend to do, and it must be because of the overall serene atmosphere of your family dynamic, your soft nature and your husband's tranquil behavior. 

More than a decade ago Luocha wouldn't have imagined himself with a wife and kids. Nowadays, however, he doesn't like the thought of not having the three of you by his side.

It is a quiet afternoon. A little house you rented for a little vacation has a nice yard - perfect for the kids to have fun outside. You occasionally glance at them from the window of the kitchen to make sure everything is fine, while your hands never stop moving - washing, cutting, stirring.

At some point you are so caught in the moment of tranquility, that you do not hear your husband walking in, until he softly hums to alert you of his presence, and puts his palms on your waist.

“Smells delicious,” you smile, feeling his chin on your shoulder, and grab a piece of a tangerine you are meaning to use for dessert, offering it to him.

“Mhm, I am trying to cook what we had yesterday at that restaurant.”

Ah, right, the restaurant the kids enjoyed. He remembers how you sneaked to the kitchen and came back with a little less credits, but with new recipes and an excited smile on your face.

“Hopefully my rendition will be to our boys’ liking. And don’t think I forgot about you - those Loufu Xianzhou-style noodles are already on their way!”

“So thoughtful of you, darling,” his silky voice caresses your ear and not a second later a kiss is pressed to your cheek. “Do you need any help?”

“Weren’t you busy?” You decide to clarify, clearly recounting how he locked himself in one of the rooms earlier that day to test something. To your question Luocha shakes his head.

“All done already. And I missed you and the kids.”

“Then go and play with them,” you urge, turning to face him to offer a sweet smile. “I’ll handle it here, but the boys could use some quality time with their father.”

“You say that as if they didn’t drag us all around the city yesterday and then climb into our bed and refuse to leave.”

“I mean, it’s the first time in two months they properly see you. That last deal of yours was exceptionally time-consuming.”

“You kept me updated on them so well and those video calls we had… it didn’t even feel like I ever left.”

You only huff and return your gaze to the stove, yet leaning into his chest a little. For a minute it’s quiet, and the man is taking his time before parting from you. That is until he takes a deep inhale and nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“What for, handsome?” There is that teasing lilt in your voice he came to love. Over the course of your lives together he discovered many things to love you for, and if not for that desperate decision to get married - he thinks he’d hardly ever feel the same about his life.

“For everything.”

He leaves your side with a kiss on your shoulder and the next time you glance out of the window again - he is already there, hoisting his youngest in one arm and chasing after the oldest one with his hair swaying in the gentle wind. And your heart is at peace. 

Sampo

In all his life Sampo has managed to never impregnate a single woman and he considers that a success. For all the crap people speak about him Sampo is not an idiot, even though he acts like a fool at times. He is extremely self-aware and bringing a child to this world is probably the last thing on his list.

But no one said anything about someone else’s child, right?

Your and Sampo’s relationship is… strange, not going to lie. One evening you happened to help a scared woman to escape from some drunkards (whom you lately found out were the Silvermane Guards, sober and on duty), only for the long wig to slip and the heavy coat to slide down, revealing shortly cut but nicely styled hair and obviously male broad shoulders. The only thing the man managed to get out was a sheepish “hehe”.

And boy did that “hehe” change your life.

That day Sampo Koski got off the hook, since you didn’t comment anyhow and just let him go, which, given you were an overworlder, he found intriguing. So he dug a little bit, out of pure curiosity. Besides, this man didn't like staying in debt to someone and he needed information to see how he could pay you back.

That’s when he found out you were a single mother. An opera singer, but divorced and with full custody over a six-year old daughter.

And honestly, he didn’t give it much thought at first. He simply arranged a nice bouquet of red roses for you, paid Natasha a little for a handmade plushie and left it all at the door steps with a ‘thank you’ note.

Until a couple of weeks ago, disguised again, he didn’t stumble into a group of kids obviously bullying a little girl, mocking her for not having a father, and throwing something among themselves that she tried to catch. And he recognized the toy. And one glance was enough to see how much she looked like the woman he met only once. And against his better judgment Sampo walked to the children, easily snatching the toy and effectively scaring everyone off. Only with that little girl still being there, eyes full of unshed tears and fingers digging in the skirt of her pretty dress.

That tiny ‘thank you’ when he handed the plushie back to her and she hugged it tightly to her chest made the conman’s heart clench, and for the second time that day he sent his plans to hell, keeping her company near the house you lived in until you arrived from work.

That day he learned many things - how much your daughter loved the toy and what a sweet little thing she was, how tired a person can look and how much a throat can hurt from the whole day of singing during rehearsals, how nice a home-made dinner can be once you are invited, but most importantly - how even such a damned man like him can be gazed upon with gratitude and not from one, but two people.

From that day many other instances happened, but in the end he just stuck around. It was strange, it was new, but in a sense it was comforting, especially when you would come home - on Friday, for example, - and he’d be there, entertaining your daughter and then greeting you with a smile and a silly wave of his hand.

You don’t have a husband, and your daughter doesn’t have a father - but with his presence Sampo Koski manages to fill those voids even if a little bit.

Aeons you love days off. A morning to finally sleep in and do not run around like crazy in attempts to get yourself and your kid ready. Even breakfast wasn’t on you today, because the ‘silly man’ stayed the night and told you to get your sleep, assuring you with that confident puff of his chest that the Sampo Koski would offer you his best service, which effectively made you giggle.

Tonight he even cuddled with you, letting you bury your face in his neck and be a little vulnerable in the arms of a man with whom you had the most peculiar relationship ever. But after such equally peculiar moments you really start thinking of suggesting moving from the couch in the living room to your bedroom permanently. It’s been months already, who would’ve thought.

Barefoot and not even glancing at the robe on the chair near the window you leave the room, rubbing at your eyes and brushing your hair away from your face. You are craving the cup of your morning drink, and so you let your legs carry you to the kitchen at first. However two voices coming from your wardrobe room instantly peak your interest and make you halt in your walking. What on earth could your daughter and your clown of a man be doing there?

And soon enough you find it out.

“Sit still, please!” The girl begs with an eye shadow palette in one tiny hand and a huge brush in the other. “It’ll smudge if you keep turning to the mirror!”

“Just can’t wait to see how beautiful I am, princess, ‘s all~”

There, on the floor among the rows of your clothes and shelves with beauty products and accessories, none other than Sampo is sitting, willingly offering his face to your daughter’s practice of applying makeup. And gods he looks absolutely hilarious.

But that’s not what exactly concerns you.

“Is that my dress?” You point at the red shimmery thing snuggly sitting on the man in front of you and that’s when the two notice you.

“Yes, mommy!”

“Say I pulled it off, right?” With a smirk the green-eyed menace winks at you and it looks even worse with poorly done lashes. You have to stifle your laughter. “Though I must admit, we had to keep it unzipped - my chest appeared to be bigger than yours-”

And that’s when you regret not bringing slippers with you - one flying in his head would be of great help.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“Nuh, sweet thing, you love me!”

“Well,” you step closer, grabbing a tissue to try and fix at least the overly bright blush on his cheeks, “maybe. Maybe I actually do.”

Suddenly Sampo is tongue-tied and silent, trying very hard to fight off the stupid grin forcing its way onto his face. But with thoroughly smeared red lipstick on his mouth it looks so damn comical.

“Mom, do you think pa looks pretty?” Your daughter hopefully asks, putting aside her tools, and that little two-letter word doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you. You feel a real blush burning under your deft fingers.

“Yes, sweety, Pa-mpo looks very pretty,” his head whips in your direction like you’ve just told him to go and surrender to the Belobog’s esteemed order keepers.

“...Pa-mpo?”

“Would you prefer Da-mpo instead?” Cocking your head in question, you smirk at him, relishing in the pout he is wearing at the moment. “Or maybe Sam-pa?”

“No, thank you very much,” he huffs. “Little princess called me ‘pa’, so be nice and respect it.”

And now it is you who is surprised. You haven’t really discussed with Sampo who he was to your daughter, and who she was to him - but if he is making this step of acknowledging the matter, then who are you to spoil it? Who knows, maybe things will work out quite pleasantly in the end.

“Alright, pa, I will respect that.”

“Hey! For you I am your precious popo baby, a koskiss to your lips, the love of your-”

“Don’t even dream of it.”

Jing Yuan

Yanqing would be enough of an answer to the kid question, but it is not. Sure, his young disciple is practically a son to the General, but it doesn't mean the man doesn't want his own children.

He does and he has. On multiple occasions Jing Yuan's subordinates walked in on him with a small figure sitting in his lap or perched on his strong arm, observing what the dad's been up to with his plans and documents. You scolded your husband for this many times, but the bastard only smiles and keeps stealing his daughter to work to keep him company. Or she sneaks on her own - that caused you many almost heart attacks when she was no older than a couple of decades.

For Jing Yuan it’s all good though - he gets to spend time with his baby and have you inevitably join him in search for your adventurous child.

The General has a separate folder for all the pictures of his daughter on his phone - every single one he takes and every single one you send him when he couldn’t bring his girl to some of his meetings (yet he really tried, until you put your foot down and saved many of his subordinates from the prolonging of said meetings). Even the background, hidden from prying eyes behind the passcode of your and her birthdays, is his little one, cradled in your arms, as the two of you are watching kites flying in the sky.

Yanqing at first was set on treating her with the same respect he does his mentor and you, his wife, but you quickly put an end to it, basically turning the boy into her older brother. He didn’t mind at all - if anything he is sometimes way too eager to push the two of you to go on a date so he can babysit. Often you would return to the two fast asleep either on the girl’s bed or cuddled to Mimi with toys scattered and at least two books lying on the floor. The huge lion adores the girl - sometimes you feel like it thinks of her as its own cub, and the thick mane of hair your daughter got from her father does not help.

And it appeared to be as eager to steal your daughter from you as your husband is…

“Y/n!” You practically jump when the doors to your bedroom fly open and Jing Yuan bursts inside. Immediately you notice his disheveled state - hair down and a mess, the robe he wore this morning for comfortable work in his home office is falling off one of his shoulders and a shoe is missing from his foot.

“Aeons, Yuan, don’t scare me like that,” you put a comb down on your vanity table and fully turn to face him. “What happened?”

“Is our precious baby with you?” He steps further into the room and starts looking around frantically. Okay, now that got worrisome.

“No? You took her earlier this afternoon after lunch to play in your study while you work. Have you really forgotten that? My love, you are getting old.”

You hear clearly as he curses under his breath, raking thick fingers through his hair. The golden eyes look at you and in them you spot a flicker of anxiety.

“...Jing Yuan, don’t tell me that you managed to lose our daughter.”

“I didn’t, I swear,” he winces at the full name usage, watching you rise from your seat and quickly approach him. “She was right by my side, watching the animal videos on my phone, but then I got immersed in the latest reports from the Sky-Faring Commission and when I finished whose - she was gone!”

“Uh, want me to call your phone? Maybe she still has it.”

To that he puts a hand in the robe’s pocket and brings out his device. Oh god.

“It was lying on the floor, still playing videos.”

“Okay, deep breaths,” you are not sure if you are telling it to him or to yourself, but you too take an inhale, meanwhile busying your hands with adjusting his clothes. “Even buried in work you’d still notice if a human sneaked in, right?” He nods. “And you’d notice if she left - she would’ve warned you about that.” He nods again, lips pursed and eyes staring at one point. “Yanqing is not as skilled to come unannounced and take her, and he wouldn’t do it without your permission, so-”

“Wait,” his hand catches yours and realization flashes in his features. “Mimi came.”

“...Mimi?” Before you can ask him to elaborate, your husband turns around and rushes out of the bedroom. Concerned and a little bit intrigued, you quickly follow.

In one of the rooms of your huge house the two of you finally find the lion, and Jing Yuan almost drops on the floor in relief when his girl is spotted in the animal’s embrace. 

“Is she…sleeping?” You ask, glancing from behind his broad back.

“It appears so. Hey, Mimi,” the maned head lifts, two ambers taking in your appearances and a pleased huff is let out through the nose upon recognition.

“Well, my dear,” you pat his shoulder, shaking your head, “it appears that people were right - like the owner, like the pet. Congratulations, your lion took your habit of stealing our daughter to heart. Good luck prying her from it.”

“You say it like it’s something hard to do,” there it is, a confident smile is back on his face as he strides closer to the animal, ready to bend down and get his girl. Only for that lift of the corners of his lips to be gone when Mimi growls at him in a warning and shields your daughter’s little body with its head.

You only smirk and leave the scene to go and get your phone - there is no way you are not filming your husband dealing with the consequences of his own behavior.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍

SYNOPSIS: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 basks in the fact that you're ofically his. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 x Reader (gender isn't impiled/mentioned/specified) Tw. buying reader, kidnapping, general lack of consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, power imbalance, blackmailing, threatening; A/N: Quick reminder. I do not support this kind of behaviour. This is just a piece of fiction and serves as enetrtaimnet purposes only.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 who had bought you.

Earlier that week, unknowingly to you, he visited a small apartment you and your family were occupying. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 was aware where and how you were living but it still mortified him how you – his precious darling – could be living like that. 

“You deserve better…more…” he repeated in his head every time he thought about you. Which was always. So it didn't come as a surprise to anyone he had decided to do something about it sooner than later.

Yes, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 greatly appreciated being so warmly welcomed by (his soon to be in-laws) your family. He even witnessed himself from where you got some of your traits from but business needed to be made.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 was straight forward from the start.

The deal was simple: he will pay your family a handsome sum of money monthly and you'll belong to him wholly. They'll completely disappear from your life, becoming nothing but a shadow of your past. In his head he knows you won’t need them anymore.

If not, their financial situation which was already bad will be even worse. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 is a man of power and has a lot of money. Your parents, knowing this, quickly understood that it's either willingly giving you away and getting the money or he will forcefully do so with them landing on a street, probably dead.

From the beginning, they had no choice.

"And here you are, my precious." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 whispered lovingly into your ear before gently laying you on the king size bed. You were put in a deep sleep by an alcohol you drank during his luxurious party (he threw to celebrate sealing the deal but shhh...) and strong sleeping pills he had added to one of your drinks. He made a mental note to pay the doctor he got them from an extra since you didn't even twitch the whole way you were carried here.

"I hope the bedroom will be to your liking." Your (captor) future husband carefully took off your shoes and laid them by your new bed. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 wanted you to be as comfortable as one person can be. Then he took the neatly folded blanket made from the highest quality silk and processed to snuggly tuck you in. When he finished, you looked like the bed could swallow you at any given moment.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 couldn’t help himself and brought his hand to your head, caressing it while staring at your face in adoration. "If not I'll change it however you like it."

Secretly, he hoped you'll be sharing a bedroom (especially bed) soon.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 sat down by your side, the softest mattress he could find easily dipping under him. He didn’t care that he was wrinkling his expensive party wear consisting of a black tuxedo imported straight from Italy that accentuated his lean body in every positive way. He was looking his absolutely best. For you.

"Oh how I love you, my precious." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 purred and his fingers ghosted over your cheek. He leaned down close enough to your face that your soft breaths were fanning him. Some of his slicked back hair fell down tickling your forehead. His mesmerizing eyes were gleaming with the passionate and deep rooted love he had for you. "You belong to me."

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 sealed your fate with a peck on your lips.

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[bunnygirllover45]

Hii!! I’m kinda obsessing over the Idea of Johann before he kidnapped his darling, going out to buy clothes and him just enjoying it WAY more than Darling. Like bro’s INTO it, picking out dresses and making darling do a fashion show for him?? Just wanted to put this thought out there lol. Idk if he’d actually do that but I can dream,,,, Anyways that’s all— thank you!!!!

Anon you're into some shit rn and I totally agree with you. Johann would do that 100%. TW: Darling had a past relationship that wasn't too nice, mentions of body insecurity, hints of dollification but it's Johann who are we talking about this is obvious by now.

Your past relationship before Johann wasn't the best, you weren't used to him buying you stuff so carelessly or taking you every other day. At first, it was a little hard to get accustomed to the sudden change, but eventually, you started to like it. Except for the part where you and he had to go to the clothing store. Each time Johann stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of a date to point at a cute outfit sitting in the window of a random store, a part of you internally screamed for him not to drag you inside.

Speaking about that— "You like these? These frills might be itchy on your skin though..." —yes, you were trapped inside another store again. Taking in a deep breath you stared at Johann, then at the dress he was holding. No matter how often you told him you either didn't like this style of clothing or that it wouldn't look good in it, he still made you buy and wear the stuff. Of course, he only made you wear it when both of you were alone, there's no way he'd let you look this adorable in front of someone else.

You wondered how many more clothes he could buy you, after all, even if Johann made sure to visit you almost every day, his job kept him from being with you all the time. Most of the time he kept some of the clothes in his house too, he had a 'special place for them', out of context that phrase could be worrying, but Johann was such a sweetheart behind that stoic exterior that you didn't really question it. As he grabbed another piece of clothing you shot your hands to grab his forearm, squeezing softly as you smiled up to him. "J-Johann, I don't think I'd look good on that. I have many dresses back at home too, you shouldn't buy mo—" But before you could even finish you felt Johann leaning down to whisper against your ear, his voice soft and secretive. "I think you'd look good in anything." the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I've always wanted to take care of someone as precious as you, would you let me do that?" There was serious longing in his voice. From all the past experiences you had with him, you clearly noticed that ache to fulfill a role that Johann always had. Taking care of you during dates, making sure you didn't get sick, and even aftercare with him was a blissful experience. All the things he told you about feeling empty and without a purpose in life, it's like a part of him has been waiting all this time to have this, to have you. You stood stunned, questioning if you should feel even more embarrassed or prideful, he looked at you with an adoration written in his eyes that made you shiver, and you felt a little guilty at how much you enjoyed it. "Here, we can buy these and try them out at home, how does that sound?" You nodded, giving him a compliant smile as you reached to hug his arm. "Okay... thank you." One hand snaked its way around your waist, squeezing slightly as he kissed you on the top of the head, nuzzling against it. "You're welcome, baby."

[m00ngirl777]

Can I request a oneshot with that trend where girlfriends go sit in their boyfriends laps while they're gaming or studying, it has so much potentiallllll for fluff and smut

If This Was a Movie

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

Summary: Sitting on peters lap, he’s busy AF, college peter, you go visit him in Boston , he’s so happy to see you but it’s midterms week, but you haven’t seen each other so you can’t keep your hands off, so then you find yourself in this situation, in the library, he’s studying like crazy, coffee and food runs for your boy, sitting on his lap, and you can’t help but tease him until he’s had enough pent up frustration from all the stress of his first midterms and not seeing you, so he lets it out on you when he grabs your hand and drags you to the old literature section because no one in the engineering building is going near there, and fucks his frustrations out on you against the Jane Austen collection. Sue me babe.

A/N: hi so, as I was writing the summary, that scene from YOU, literally came to me, where joes like, youre not wearing a bra blahblahblah, if this was a movie id grab you and wed go a it at the stacks, or smth along that, hence the title, anyways enjoyyyyy. again I am sososososo very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :( SORRY

TW: SMUT, RAW, NO PROETECION BABES.

WC: 2008

- - -

“Hey man…yeah…yeah… I-I know… but I gotta… g-uh…yes… mhm,” Peter really wanted to end the call, don’t get him wrong, for the first time in his life he felt like finally he fit in, even if he didn’t, college treated him different, he didn’t only matched, but surpassed the intelligence of his peers, accompanied by great humility which for the first time gained him respect instead of a shove, or a push, or a basketball to the head, or his lunch on the floor, the teachers encouraged him, as faithful as he was to you, and as uninterested as he was in in any other, he felt a little taller anytime a girl would smile, or giggle, or blush at him, something he had never known. He still had Ned at his side, but he was also very pleased at his new friends, the guys that were on football scholarships, that had urged him endlessly to join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and how they would, what felt to him, beg him to come to endless parties, and hang outs and so on. He was cool, he was respected, he was wanted, he was admired, and if he didn’t study for the upcoming midterms he would also be very fucked.

As wonderful a boy as Peter is, this type of attention can get to anyone's head, because for the first time in his life, people cared, not that he was Spider-Man, but that he was Peter Parker, he wasn’t failing, god knows hes too smart for that, he simply could not afford to fail anything or he would fail the course. 

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

“Peter?” 

He pulled you in the tightest hardest hug you've ever felt, you instantly wrapped your arms around him, hands traveling to his, of course shaven head, it was an initiation ritual, it was more a buzzcut now anyway. 

“Miss me, baby?” He nodded hysterically, face buried in your neck, as he pulled you in the dorm, shutting the door, he couldn’t let go of you. 

He pulled away to kiss you, cupping your face, moving his lips against yours with a familiarity unmatched. You spent about five minutes against the door, Peter whispering the sweetest nothings into everywhere he kisses, I love you for your neck  neck and jaw, gorgeous and beautiful for your cheeks, I missed you into your mouth, and a combination of all for your ear, temple and forehead. You kept scratching the back of his head, caressing his neck, touching him, telling him with your hands everything he was saying with his words, your hand went down to his sweats, pulling on the waistband to reach for him, but before you could get a grip he gently pulled your wrist away and let out a soft groan, head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong baby?” You cupped his face. 

“I gotta…study,”

“Awww, you gotta study baby?,” He nodded against your neck getting closer to your chest. 

“You… you can stay here… or,”

“No way, I’m studying with you,” It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just knew he’d get nothing done, still he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so here you were, in the mostly empty library, attempting to study. 

“Peter, why are you so stressed? You're probably the smartest guy here…like… I remember seeing a lesser version of this in highschool, and I was in none of the AP’s, you totally got it,” You were practically sitting on his lap, your hand caressing his neck. 

“I know… I really don’t want to fail,” He said, concentrated on the problem. 

“You won’t,” You kissed his cheek before getting up, grabbing your bag.

“Baby, where are you going?” Damn those puppy eyes. 

“I swore I saw a coffee shop just outside, want anything?”

“Coffee, just regular,”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back,” 

Soon you where back with a caramel latte, and a cold brew with cream. Peter thanked you and let you back in his lap, and in an attempt to adjust yourself you ended rubbing down on him. 

“Y/n,” He grasped at your hip to keep you from moving more, which led you to relax back into him, biting your lip softly when his thigh ended up being nuzzled between yours, slightly pressing on your core, just enough to want more. 

“Sorry,” Your cheeks flushed slightly as you sipped your coffee, feeling the cool bittersweetness aid the heat you were starting to feel. 

He nodded, and went back to concentrate on his problems, equation after equation, number after number, variable after variable, just never ending engineering stuff your history lit majoring brain didn’t even want to begin to understand. He kept mumbling the problems quietly, going over them as he wrote, it always turned you on how smart he is, even in highschool with way simpler material it impressed you, watching him know made your mouth dry. 

“Did you like your coffee?” You asked going to sip it.

“Yeah, its nice, thank you babe…” He answered in automatic, and it still made you giddy, very softly grinding down on his thigh with the excuse of adjusting yourself, you were really trying to cut him so much slack. It wasn’t his fault that you showed up unannounced in his midterms week, you’ve just missed him so much, and you needed him so bad, but he really needed to get this done, so you took deep breaths, and settled on sitting down on the cushioned booth, your thighs over Peter’s, leaning against him in a way that wasn’t too constricting, and your fingers playing with the very short hair at the back of his head, placing the softest kiss every other minute along his jaw, or neck, or face. 

Peter was trying to be grateful you were being understandingly loving, and tried to concentrate on studying, with your warm thighs over his, your arm around him, your hands on him, the combined natural scent you had, the smell of your growing slick, and your perfume, clouding him, he was really trying, but he was also excruciatingly hard. 

“Wanna see something?” Peter asked, a little fed up.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” You let him grab your hand and a little forcefully drag you into the book shelves, going through one after the other, until you were at a dark little corner, dust settled in a full collection of Jane Austen, the first, united edition, you were in between probably the only two shelfs of classic literature in this multiple story library. 

“Oh my god… how old are these copies? Is this what you wan-” He turned you around and shoved you against the shelves, kissing you with a sickening hunger, so different from the softer initial kiss you had shared, “You are… the only person… here… that gives… a crap… about those…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, jerking, as he grinded against your inner thigh, your hands would usually pull at his hair, but right now you could only scratch his scalp, which he still very much enjoyed. 

“Hmm, baby please… please,” He whined in your ear, as he rutted against your thigh, and how could you deny him, your needy, frustrated boy, that missed you so very much. 

“Shh, yes… yes whatever you want Peter… shh,” You didn’t know what you were about to do, but you knew you had to be quiet, you whispered in his ear as you cradled his head, he picked one of your legs up, and his other hand went between your legs under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your panties, as he kissed your jaw and neck, he pushed the panties to the side, and massaging your bud, wanting you to get as wet as possible, his mouth on yours, swallowing any moans that were a little too loud. 

Effortlessly, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his torso, hands on his neck and shoulders, as he freed himself, giving a couple jerks before aligning his member to you, biting your sweater to prevent him from crying out, one of his hands went under your sweater, massaging your breast as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you, perfectly still, letting you start to rock against him if you needed it.

“I love you so much baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Peter had dreamed for weeks of seeing you again, he’d figure you’d come visit, you’d never stay at a frat house, so of course you'd book the nearest lush hotel you could find, and he’d make love to you all night long, in a fresh big bed, he’d imagine that, and other scenarios very similar to that, sometimes he just asked for you to send him a voice note of your day and that along with the polaroids you had sneaked into his bag with a couple of your panties would be enough for him to satisfy himself in these two months he’s been in Boston. Never would’ve he imagined this scene, where he grabbed the shelves, fingertips and nail beds white as he started to drill into you, breathing hard, slam after slam, leaving you to do nothing but take it, as you clung to him, face on his neck, letting out the smallest of whimpers, that just fueled him to pistol even harder into you.

You felt everything, how his length reached the deepest inner most part of you, stimulating the nerve endings, making you feel the tingles all the way to your chest, his pelvis, lined with hairs not as kept as usual due to the lack of need, rubbing you with every thrust, his desperation and way he fucked you, like he’d die if he didn’t feel the walls of your pussy around him right this moment, feel how they clench around him when he makes you come, theres nothing he wanted more, but you were absolutely cockdumb, no words, no actions, no will in your body, you just felt your pussy and how it was being fucked raw.

He bit down harder on the sweater to stop himself from moaning and grunting in this library as he stilled inside you, very deep withing you, feeling how his warm spend pumped inside you, like gasoline, fuelling your quiet mewls, even more when he rubbed you until you came so he’d feel that perfect extra pressure as he finished coming, almost as soon as him, leaving you both breathless, shaking, and frozen.

“Peter…what the fuck…” You leaned your forehead o his shoulder, breathing hard, baffled by what you just did. 

“I know… I know…fuck,” He breath out softly as he pulled away, making you whine, he put you back down and readjusted your underware, then pushed himself back in his pants, “fuck, I’m sorry, I-I ju-”

“Shh, it’s okay…” You ran fingers through your hair, trying to re-adjust yourself, starting to feel soaked from your combined spends, knowing there was no way you could just go back and sit down to keep studying.

“I’m gonna go back to my hotel… you should finish studying and you can come by later… yeah?” You cupped his face placing a soft kiss on his mouth and cheek, he nodded, wanting to be around you, but knowing he needed to finish this. 

“Okay… yeah, I’ll just finish with the guide,” He said, but made no effort to move. 

“I love you, I’ll see you later, Pete,” You kissed his cheek, pushing him away gently to walk him back to his table. 

“Yeah, I love you too,”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Three]

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

~

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

~

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

~

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

~

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

~

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

~

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

~

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

~

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

~

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

 He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

~

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

~

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

[allfearstofallto]

Sleeping Like the Dead

Yandere! Diluc x Fem! Reader

Forced marriage AU

Word Count: 2.3k

Synopsis: Diluc craves your body like a drug, but the only time he can get you, is when you're fast asleep

TW: NSFW, Somnophila, Non-Con, Masturbation (.male), Oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, mentions of breeding/finishing inside

The only thing that could seem to wake you was thunder. A loud crash and the windows shaking, followed by howling wind, and you'd be up shivering in fear. You'd lie back down once you realized what the noise that woke you was, and you were out like a light. Deep in slumber, snoring ever so softly.

Even though you were married on paper, you and Diluc never shared a marital bed. The marriage was never consummated and the most he'd ever seen of your body was your legs and maybe even a sliver of your stomach in the summer. Other than that, you stayed dressed head to toe like a nun.

He knew it was his fault that you were like this. Being forced into marriage with him, you didn't even want to tempt his urges. You were told time and time again that nothing would happen, not while you didn't want it, but he was failing to believe that himself.

It was when he saw you one night, after you'd just gotten out of the bath. Normally, he stayed in his room at nightfall, but now, he was particularly thirsty. Whether it was good luck or the gods actually blessing him for once, he saw you go into your room and close the door behind you.

Did he buy you those nightgowns? If he did, he definitely didn't remember doing so. But the red haired man did buy you whatever you wanted, no questions asked. So maybe you'd managed to slip an order in for them without him noticing. And archons how he wished he'd noticed.

The swell of your breasts, the curve of your ass, plush thighs and skin still steaming from your bath. You didn't notice him standing in front of the door to his room, but he noticed you. A brief glance was all it took, light work for anyone else who'd been married for as long as you two had, but it was the first time he's seen so much of you, and he felt his pants tighten at the sight.

He stormed back into his room while the memory was still fresh, not even bothering to make it to the bed. The door slammed shut behind him, he pressed his back against it and dropped his pants to his ankles.

It felt like electricity all over his body as he stroked his cock, eyes rolling back, tongue out his mouth. Diluc wasn't a prude, he masturbated when he deemed it necessary, which was when he got erections that were particularly stubborn and annoying, but this was the first time in his life that it'd ever felt so good.

It only took a few pumps and suddenly he was moaning into his hands, hips twitching as his cock shot ropes of cum onto his carpeted floor. He panted watching himself make this mess, but his mind shifted onto how you could clean it up. And his length refused to go soft. He fucked his fist for the rest of the night.

Diluc often heard stories of how hard it was to wake you up. That's when he learned how truly a heavy sleeper you were.

“The lady slept through breakfast again today,” a maid would say in a whisper. They thought he couldn't hear them, but as long as they weren't saying anything rude about you, he acted oblivious to it.

“She fell back asleep after I woke her up three times!”

“I called for her for a full five minutes, and she barely stirred,”

Temptation is a hell of a drug. Satisfaction is even more addicting. Maybe that's why he decided to visit your room one night. Hours after you'd left your bath and when he was sure you were asleep, he eased your door open and stepped inside. His heart was racing, afraid that you wouldn't be asleep, but instead sitting on the edge of your bed, waiting to confront him.

But you weren't. You were just like how he'd thought you’d be. Asleep in bed, lying on your stomach with your arms wrapped around a pillow and pulling it into a tight embrace. Your blanket was thrown haphazardly over your body, you obviously kicked a lot in your sleep, making it shuffle around.

Exhaling the quietest deep breath he could muster, he pulled that blanket to the side. Sure enough, like the maids said, you didn't stir, and much to his pleasure, you were wearing another one of those revealing nightgowns. With one leg slightly up, he could get a good glimpse of your round ass and your panties that seemed to be slipping between your moist lips.

He sucked in air through his teeth, taking in every inch of your body. Every curve, every soft piece of skin. He'd mentally promised himself this would be a one time thing. It felt awful invading your privacy like this, but his hormones were getting the better of him.

His cock was released from his pants and he began pumping it furiously. Biting his lip to hold back the moans once again, he watched the way your chest rose and fell as you slept. It only took a little bit and he was cumming, quicker than he ever had in his entire life and more intensely than he'd ever felt.

The rational part of his mind told him to leave no messes, so he made sure to cover the leaking tip of his cock with his hand to not spill his seed everywhere. Still, he couldn't help himself. He dipped a finger in his own cum, then pressed it against your slightly open mouth, wanting you to at least taste him a little.

The sight of you suckling that cum off his finger, lips pursed and wet with drool, the sight had him hard again already, but he decided against tempting fate. He'd finish himself off in his room again. This was a one time thing after all.

Was what he'd told himself, but he found himself in front of your door again, going to your room almost every night. It was like an addiction, standing in your room next to your sleeping form and fucking his cock into his hand while looking at you. And he grew bolder as the nights went on.

Moving your panties to the side to finally get a full view of that wet cunt, rubbing the tip of his cock against your lips to get you to suckle on it like before, he even managed to slip a finger inside your entrance, getting to feel your warm walls for the first time. The way you coated his fingers nearly made him grunt and he thrusted it in and out of you, watching your face contort in your sleep, little moans and mewls dropping from your lips.

Diluc imagined that it was his cock instead of his finger getting to fuck your pussy, that it was his cock making your eyebrows knit together and your fingers twitch. He could only imagine though, his other hand fisting his cock at the same pace as his finger.

He'd even gotten so bold as to start licking your cunt. His tongue poking out of his mouth, he'd tongue at your clit and watch you squirm in your sleep. Your taste was intoxicating, the juices your tight hole would secrete tasted better than what celestia would feel like, and while lapping up your folds between your legs, his dick would twitch and he'd cum inside his pants, completely untouched.

All good things must come to an end. A sad, but truthful statement. And Diluc wanted this to end. He really did. Each day he'd say that this would be the last one, that he wouldn't do this to you again, that it was becoming too risky, but sure enough he was back at your door the next day. He'd spend the whole night finding new ways to pleasure himself with your sleeping body.

All good things come to an end. Maybe he should've been thinking that when he arrived at your door on the night of a harsh thunderstorm. If his mind wasn't clouded by lust, if all his blood wasn't flowing to his lower regions, then maybe he would've remembered how particularly scared of thunderstorms you were. If his face wasn't buried between your legs again, then maybe he would've remembered the maids saying the only time you woke up easily, is when there was a storm and heavy wind outside. If he wasn't pumping his cock while licking at your pussy, going practically drunk from your taste, maybe he would've noticed that you'd begun to stir more than usual, more than out of a sleepy, unintentional pleasure.

The last thing Diluc was expecting was to look up and meet your gaze. With his lips still suctioned around your clit, your face was a mixture of disgust and mostly fear. Eyes wide and filled with tears, you opened your mouth, maybe to scream, maybe to yell at him, he didn't know. He was on top of you before you could let out a peep, one of his hands covering your mouth. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to use the other hand to hold both your wrists above your head.

“I'm- I'm sorry!” He gasped as you thrashed beneath him, but you were no match for his strength and all you were doing was wearing yourself out, “I-i swear! I don't know what came over me!”

But something has been coming over him for weeks, months even. If you knew how long he'd been doing this, you'd look at him in even more horror. Your eyes. So big and filled with tears, it only made his heart thump against his chest harder, but what else was he to do?

He laid on top of you, hand covering your mouth for what felt like hours, dick still twitching and conveniently between your folds. This was the worst time for him to be hard, not while you were awake. Not while you were scared of him to the point of crying, but he couldn't help it. It was you. You did this to him.

“I'm so so sorry,” he muttered as he angled his hips, the tip of his cock finally at your entrance. He didn't think your eyes could open any wider, but sure enough, they did when he forced every inch of himself inside you, bottoming out without stopping while pleading for your forgiveness. Your yelp, the noise you made as you were made to take him, was muffled by his palm, body squirming even more as you tried to get away.

He always said his first time with you would be gentle. It would be loving as passionate. He would take things slow and kiss every inch of you, to make sure you were ready for him. But the way you felt around him, the way you clenched around his length, it felt like his hips had a mind of their own as they started a rough, brutal pace. Slapping against yours so hard, even the headboard of the bed had begun to hit the wall.

“Fuck! Ahh! Fuck fuck! I'm so sorry! Hnng- please…ah! Please! I'm sorry,” he whined, but he didn't slow down for a second. You were so warm inside. So wet. This was made for him, he was sure of it, “Please, you- you hah- have to forgive me.”

You could thrash and squirm and cry as much as you wanted to, but Diluc had had his taste and he wouldn't be satisfied with any less anymore. He kept fucking into you, pounding you so hard, rutting his hips into you like an animal in heat.

You saw the way his eyelids flutter, you felt the way his hips stuttered, his pace grew sloppy, his grip loosened, drool fell from his lips, his moans grew breathier. You saw it all and you knew what was about to happen.

“Fuck,” he gasped between thrusts, eyes rolled back. He forced his dick as he could inside you, balls deep and held it there, feeling the way your silken walls contracted around it, “I'm gonna cum.”

There was no way to tell him no with his hand over your lips, so you were made to watch and feel in horror as he grew even more aggressive with his fucking. There were no thoughts behind his eyes, just pleasure, just lust and the primal urge to finish.

“Inside. Hah- aanh. Cumming inside, fuck!” He affirmed your fears through his filthy moans. His dick twitching inside you made your heart sink. You could feel it. The way his cum was spitting out of his length and hitting your walls. It felt neverending, like he'd stored so much waiting for this moment, some of it even spilling back out of your entrance and onto his balls.

Reality must've hit him after he came, because he was off of you in an instant. His length softened and his face filled with dread. Cum leaked onto your bedsheets, but despite the fact that he was no longer muffling you with his hands, you couldn't scream. You couldn't even think for a second as you realized what happened.

He looked just as scared as you did, but why? What gave him the right? Why did he deserve to be scared when he was the one who did it?

“I fucking hate you,” you spoke through strangled sobs and you watched his world crumble.

Those words felt like you were slicing his heart out and stabbing it over and over again. They made him tear up as well. But somehow, the sight of you, disheveled, with his seed leaking from your hole, somehow that made his dick twitch back to life. Even your crying face, while not as appealing as you sleeping peacefully, was gorgeous. Arousing even.

His cock twitched back to life as he looked upon you, half undressed and practically ready for him. He began a slow crawl towards you again, his urges wanting to take over once more. You already hated him. What was the harm in doing more?

[orbitsaturn]

the virtues of a hero.

─ he truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

until he met you.

kinich x reader angst + 2.8k words TW: death + graphic imagery spoilers for kinich's character stories

────────────

Kinich always wished for freedom. It was an escape from the wars in his household, the violent voice of his father ringing through the walls, and the arguments that plagued his home every week.

He hated his father.

He hated how his family fell apart because of his violent outbursts, hated how he always yelled at his mom and hated how he chased his mom away. He longed to get away from his father, to be free from the negativity that consumed his life, he wished for freedom.

On his seventh birthday, he got what he wished for.

"Dad, do you know where mom went?"

Kinich looked up at his dad expectantly, the smell of alcohol hitting his nose. It was his birthday today, usually, he wouldn't ask for anything but the curiosity of where his mother is ran through his mind often.

But he came to regret his words for years to come, the moment he mentioned his mother, his dad was instantly enraged.

"You little brat!"

The giant figure above him looked at Kinich with stricken eyes, the sight filling the young boy with dread. That wasn't his father anymore.

That was the monster who ruined his family.

With the looming figure's hands raising to hit the boy, he fled. The figure chasing him in pursuit. It was terrifying for a boy his age. He ran through the highest cliffs in Natlan, the sight of the monster behind him pervading him with the sense to flee.

"You wretch! Come here-"

As the man yelled at him he lost his footing due to the steep terrain, plummeting down the cliff. Only when Kinich's adrenaline wore out, did the realization hit him. He stared at the body of his father down the cliff. Kinich slowly crawls down the steep terrain, his palms and knees getting abrase from the rocks.

"Dad."

"Dad."

"Dad!"

"Dad?"

Kinich can only yell for the prospect of his father responding. Any response, whether it'd be a movement of his hand, the utterance of a groan, anything that could show that he's still alive, but there was nothing. The only thing that in his hearing is his own voice, one that's growing wearier and wearier. Yet the only thing in his sight was his dad's lifeless body.

Kinich's father was dead.

His father, the man he lived with for years, the man who frequently yelled at him, and his mom, the man he detested was dead.

Kinich's stomach churned, and the sight of the lifeless body overwhelmed the young boy. He could only stare in a daze before tears threatened to spill out of his amber-green eyes.

The only thing he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, scrunched his nose, twisting his face to prevent any tears from spilling. His lips pressed shut, preventing the whimpers that threatened to come out.

He hated his father, but he was still his father at the end of the day.

It's absurd how you remember a person's greatest qualities, even if they were a terrible person once they're gone.

Kinich could only bury the times when his father would spoil him with sweets, how heroic he looked when he would secretly watch him use his grabbling hook, and how he would always hug him when his mother was still around.

Kinich gained his wish for freedom, yet the only thing he truly gained was solitude.

───

After the departure of his father, Kinich became adept at living alone. He never sought help from anyone, and he didn't trust anyone.

Thoughts of his old life often plagued his mind. He questioned why he still kept the old alcohol bottles from his dad, why images of his family frequently haunt him in his dreams, and why he would ever ask about his mother on his seventh birthday.

All of this was witnessed by Elder Leik, the individual responsible for the children's education in the Scions of Canopy.

So when Kinich visited the market he was approached by the elder. The young boy was offered education in return for courier services. Yet, Kinich refused, and he bid goodbye to the elder before returning to do business at the tribal market.

But that wasn't the last time he'd see the elder.

Every time Kinich visited the market, he'd be met with the familiar face time and time again with the offer of an education. So after months of the elder's insistent offers, he finally relented.

───

Curious stares permeated Kinich's figure, yet the intense looks from peers his age didn't bother him. All he needed to do right now was listen and leave after to do more substantial activities anyway.

"Kinich have a seat anywhere you like!" Elder Lief exclaims with a big smile, happy to see Kinich attending a class.

Without any word, he heads away from the circle of kids, before a hand pulls him down. Catching him off guard, he looks to the owner of the hand, a young kid his age.

"Sit next to me!" You give him a toothy smile, patting the space next to you, "okay," Kinich obliges, not wanting to bring any more attention to himself if he sat away from the other kids.

"I'm (name)! What's your name?" you whisper to him, and he turns to look at you with an inexplicable look, "Kinich."

"Hi Kinich!" you stretch your hand towards him. He hesitates for a bit before grabbing your hand and shaking it.

"Ahem, now children, settle down," Elder Leif coughs, beckoning the kids to quiet down, "Today we'll talk about our honored heroes and their stories, with each of them deserving to be remembered by their contributions and their self-sacrifice for the nation of Natlan!"

Kinich raises his hand, "Why would they want to sacrifice themselves?" he looks at the Elder inquisitively, to which he responds by gently smiling at him, "It's not a question of why, it's simply a virtue innate for heroes to do whatever they can to help those they love."

"And what did their self-sacrifice get them?" Kinich asks again,

"Virtue is a priceless trait, those with it gain the highest rewards"

"The highest rewards? Like fame or mora? "

"Haha, those are part of the rewards," the elder chuckled, "But that wasn't the reward they obtained. They gained and maintained their virtue, they stayed a hero due to their unchanging morals." The elder gave him a sincere smile.

Kinich didn't really understand how a trait could be the greatest reward for self-sacrifice. Would the forest boar be filled with virtue as they relieved his hunger? And would the river water be a hero since it relieved his thirst?

If anything, he wanted to become a hero to gain the reward of mora.

"Hah! Of course, a dirty kid like you would only think of mora!" a little boy shouted, laughing, "Just leave if you're just a money-grubbing monkey!"

"Children! Mind your words!" Elder Leif scolds them, not noticing Kinich already heading out.

"Wait!" you stood up, grabbing his wrist, "Don't take their words to heart, they're only self-projecting!" you whisper to Kinich, "In fact! I heard them talking about how they don't even need to be a hero since they're well-off already! Ugh! Selfish jerks right?" you give him a reassuring smile.

Kinich stares at you, "oh," he pulls something out of his pocket, "Here, this herb can help you heal your scrape." He looks down at your scraped knee, handing you the herb.

"Wow! Thank you so much!" you reply, waving goodbye to him as he leaves the Learning Lodge.

Although he declared that he only wanted to be a hero due to the prospect of mora. You knew deep down that wasn't the case.

Why else would he look down at your scraped knee with a slight furrow of his brows and the apologetic look he gave Elder Leif when he left without informing him?

───

As the years grew, so did Kinich's reputation. He was incredibly skilled, and more and more people started coming to him for dangerous commissions. Kinich also grew closer to the old man he once found annoying, Elder Lief. The old scholar guided him throughout the years, giving him invaluable lessons that would help him for years to come. Yet the only thing the Elder wanted in return for his teachings was the promise with Kinich to learn what it truly meant to be a hero during his journeys.

He also grew closer to you, the first person who gave him words of reassurance ever since his mother's departure.

You were the complete opposite of him, you had a bright personality, always helping others freely. Yet, you were his best friend, even though he was different from you like night and day, You never judged him for his demeanor, you encouraged it.

"Let the people get mad! I mean, you're only making sure they aren't scamming you right?" You exclaim to him, "Mhm, I'm simply making sure I get paid adequately," he smiles at you amused by your unrelenting support for him.

"Yeah! So keep doing what you're doing." You throw your arm around him, "Don't think about those old geezers complaining," you flash him an earnest look. "Let's buy some Saurus Crackers once you're done for today!" you give him a grin.

"I'll pay using those old geezers' money." Kinich gives you a smirk.

And when you give the smile you frequently flash, he finds himself getting dragged into your world every time.

He didn't understand what it meant to be a hero.

But if he had to pick who would be fit to be a hero,

It would be you.

───

Kinich was still the same old Kinich even when he gained an ancient name and a 'pet' dragon. So when he emerged victorious in the Pilgrimage and threw himself into the Night Warden Wars with no hesitation it wasn't a surprise to everyone. Yet, only one person was surprised, it was Kinich.

You were participating in the Night Warden Wars along with him.

"Worried to see your little partner participating? Heh." The dragon beside him said in an irritating voice, causing him to smack it.

"Hey!" the dragon growls.

He knew how strong you were, and that you could easily fend for yourself. But he had an inexplicable feeling in this gut, one he couldn't identify.

As Kinich's team headed into the Night Kingdom and began fighting off the abyss his gut feeling became stronger.

There was something wrong with this place.

"Kinich!" A yell from his left direction catches his attention, "T-There's something wrong with this place! The creatures they can mask as your─" yet before his comrade could relay the news, he was ambushed by a creature of the abyss.

The creatures were disguising themselves as their loved ones.

The warriors that emerged from the pilgrimage were faced with the vile tricks of the abyss. The faces of their loved ones appeared before them, which caused them to hesitate to draw their weapons.

And that hesitance proved to be deadly.

One by one, many warriors that came down to fight in the Night Kingdom were ambushed. Only a few remaining comrades prevailed through the harsh conditions.

"Kinich?"

A familiar voice called out to him, one he thought he had long forgotten. He turns around, seeing his 'mother', who he hadn't seen for years.

The figure opens her arms to hug him, yet, the instincts and reflexes he honed over the years caused him to swing his weapon.

With one swift movement of his claymore, he cut through his 'mother's' body.

"Wow. Heartless." Ajaw laughed heartily.

"Hah..." Kinich wipes the sweat off his forehead. The situation was getting dire, more and more abyssal creatures were flooding near him. Yet, he didn't relent, one by one he slayed every creature that came near him, each making his heart and body fatigued. Once he was done with all the abyssal creatures in his area he looked around, yet he could only see the wretched landscape of the abyss, with no sight of his comrades in sight.

The continuous fighting made him lethargic, but he had to prevail so his fallen comrades could come back again. He looks up, checking the crack in the sky. It was getting smaller, he needed to find his comrades soon, he needed to find you soon. As he drags his tired body to the other areas of the Night Kingdom, a deep pit of worry fills his stomach.

Is (name) okay?

As he scans his surroundings again he spots you lying on the ground, seemingly lifeless. A feeling of dread washed over him.

"(name)!" Kinich runs over to you with a worried expression. His eyes were quivering, a sense of relief washing over him once he saw you breathing.

You were still alive.

"Kinich! I'm okay, just catching my breath!" You reassure him, giving a tired smile, "No, your arm is gashed," he says breathlessly. With his hands trembling he holds your arm before taking out the gauze in his pocket.

He wraps the gauze around your injury tightly, yet the hold on your arm is gentle, careful even.

Looking at you with concern he shoves a herb in your mouth. Which you immediately spat out in response, you give him a disgusted look, "Kinich! You know I hate that herb!"

"But you gratefully accepted it back when we first met, didn't you?" Kinich laughs before stretching his hand towards you, "That's cause I didn't need to eat it!" You grab his hand and he hoists you up.

"We need to go, the opening is going to close soon." He looks up, the crack in the sky getting smaller and smaller.

"Mm. Let's hurry, you nod in response.

The two warriors run to the crack in the sky with hordes of abyssal monsters pursuing them. It was getting smaller and smaller, they needed to be quick. He made sure you were in front of him, it's okay if he didn't make it back. At least one of you needed to return the Ode of Resurrection, and he wanted it to be you.

He didn't want you to experience the feeling of death.

"Kinich!" You yell, spotting a rift hound that caught up to him. The sight of it preparing to attack Kinich made you act without thinking.

Kinich has a better chance of going back.

Without having the time to react, Kinich finds himself pushed onto the ground. You get slashed by the rift hound but you put it down with the last of your strength.

"(name)!" Kinich yells out your name in horror.

Deep gashes painted your abdomen, causing you to wince in pain. You press on your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding but it barely does anything to no avail. Kinich runs over to you, his eyes quivering, lips pursed together.

"(name). (name). (name). Please." he supports your limp body in his arms. Fumbling in his pockets for any gauze, medicine, herbs, anything to keep you alive.

He couldn't lose you.

He was fine losing everything but you.

He sets you down on the ground, hastily wrapping the scarce gauze he had left on your stomach.

"Kinich," you look up at him, giving him an apologetic smile, "Go without me." His hands stop momentarily, before going back to bandaging your abdomen.

A brief moment of anger flashes in Kinich's mind

"Are you serious?" Kinich looks at you in disbelief. He quickly finishes wrapping your abdomen. He hoists you up, the feeling of your limpening body causing panic to bubble in him.

He should've been the one who got slashed.

Why did you go out of your way to save him?

You cough, before putting a hand on his cheek, "You know you're stronger than me, if anyone was getting out alive, it'd be you." you give a weak smile.

"No, you're making it out. You're gonna be okay (name). Please," his hold on you tightened, "Please don't leave me." he looked at you in distraught, his voice trembling. "(name). Please, please don't leave me."

"I should be the one saying that." you laugh at him weakly, causing Kinich to glare at you, "Go without me Kinich. I'm quite heavy." Your hand falls down from his cheek, your eyes slowly shutting close.

"I really need a good sleep too."

Kinich's eyes quivered, his hold on your limp body weakening.

"(name)."

He calls out to you.

"(name)."

This time he shakes your shoulders.

"(name)!"

This time he yells out your name.

He looks at your face, it looks peaceful even with the amount of wounds that littered your body. He strokes your head, fixing any stray hairs and clearing the hair from your face.

He takes in a deep breath.

He doesn't linger any longer, he stands up and starts heading to the crack again.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, he scrunched his nose again, and his face twisted to prevent any tears from falling again.

The bright light seeping from the crack created a stark contrast compared to the dark environment.

He looks back to the direction where you last stood before the light took him back.

He truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

Until he experienced you.

───

a/n: guys don't worry ode of resurrection magic

ill do part 2 (?)

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim with hannaki disease

spending his childhood choking on flowers

Barely able to breathe rejection after rejection

Jason is attacking him at the tower and he can’t stop coughing out flowers

when dick gives Damian Robin, Tim leaves the cave spitting out petals

imagine if he died of suffocation during the Bruce quest

Fuck. I love hanahaki disease.

Tw: death, blood, asphyxiation, fictional disease, dead body description, gore

For those of y'all unaware, it's a completely fictional disease where having unrequited love results in the person growing flowers in their chest. It's usually romantic, but I prefer the platonic versons (especially child-parent angst, holy fuck).

I've seen two types of hanahaki:

The love is actually unrequited

The person only perceives the love as being unrequited

Either way, the progression is as follows:

Person coughs up one petal

They start coughing up more and usually blood

They cough up an entire blossom

They die trying to cough up the entire flower (blossom and stem)

There are four outcomes to hanahaki disease, depending on what rules you are working with:

Love becomes requited

Person dies

They have a surgery to remove their ability to have feelings

They lose (voluntarily or not) their memories about their unrequited love

Some people play with flower meanings of the petals being coughed up. I fucking love those versions so much.

Let's get into the AU! The timeline is mine to fuck around with, so excuse any non-canon progressions.

~~~~

Tim has chronic hanahaki disease from his parents. They visit often enough to quell the worst symptoms and mitigate the damage, but they don't stick around enough (or show enough constant attention) for the petals to go away.

Janet once asked Tim if he'd like to get the surgery. Tim said no. Janet respected that choice and never asked again even though Tim was like nine at the time. It also becomes a fear of his. He wakes up in cold sweat at the phantom idea of just not being able to love anyone. It terrifies him, even if the feeling of asphyxiation is the only other option.

When Janet dies and Tim becomes Robin, he does his best to hide his condition from Bruce. It worsens, from the way Tim adores and loves the Bats, but Tim manages.

It's a rough few years, but slowly, the ice begins to melt. The Waynes show Tim more and more affection. YJ also shower him in so much care to the point that Tim has days of uninterrupted breathing.

It's a novel but welcome feeling.

Jack waking up from the coma complicates shit. His condition worsens again, but it's manageable.

Until Tim's sixteenth birthday.

The teen will never admit, but that test nearly fucking killed him. Bruce never finds out how close he was to killing his Robin, but Tim knows. He'll never forget how thorns scraped along his throat at the idea that he can't trust anyone. He'll never rid himself of the intimate knowledge of how blossoms taste in his mouth and the sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with flower petals.

Tim has to quit Robin, for his safety, health, and as a "fuck you" to Bruce, but realizes he can't keep in contact with Dick, Alfred, or Barbara without it. He can't contact his team.

He has to go back, so he does.

Tim's not sure if it's better or worse that Bruce didn't know about the hanahaki. If the man did, would he still have done the test? Due to him never showing remorse or guilt for his actions, the teen doesn't know.

The question pesters him even when his dad finds out about Robin.

It plagues him through Steph becoming Robin and dying.

It festers into his bones when, while wearing those same damn colors, he hears his father die.

That is one or many reasons "Uncle Eddie" was created.

Tim can't quite trust Bruce, but he finds himself still loving the father-like figure in his life. He finds himself forgiving him. He leans into the hair ruffles, shoulder pats, and gruff words of affection. He lets himself be loved.

Then, an undead asshole in a gleaming red bucket comes to kick Tim's ass. The teen can't help but laugh at the way his life bounces between breathing and dying at the drop of a hat.

He's just barely able to hide the flowers from both Red Hood and the Titans.

A little assassin appears, and each attack brings a petal.

Each new death hampers Tim's ability to breathe. Tim tries, but it's so fucking hard. How is he supposed to live without them?

With the ticklish scrape of petals, Tim doesn't think he's supposed to.

Bruce isn't dead. Tim knows, with every fiber of his being, that Bruce can't be dead. Tim won't survive if he is.

Even if Tim loses everything, even if these damn fucking flowers consume him, at least his death will have a purpose.

That's what he tells himself as he lies in a pool of blood beneath the stars. The sand at his back is soft in comparison to the stem piercing his throat and tongue. The sound of his choking is joined by the bubbling wheezing of Pru.

Ra's peers down at the body already set with rigor mortis. Tim's jaw is pried apart by a bouquet of yellow carnations dripping in blood.

The demon head hums at the sight, a dangerous gleam to his eyes. With the flick of a hand, two assassins grab the young detective's corpse. The other three bodies are taken as well.

Tim's eyes fling open as the teen gasps for air.

It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong. He's empty.

He's surrounded in green.

Oh fuck.

For awhile, Tim just soaks in the soft expansion of his lungs. He marvels at their capability.

He can't remember a time when he's been able to breathe so easily. It's enchanting and allots the teen a giddy sort of relief.

Through the destruction of both the Spiders and the LoA, he finds himself taking small moments to just breathe. It's a simple joy he can't help but partake in.

Tim logically knows there's a price. His breaths cost him, though he doesn't know their price. He should be dead and buried within the flowers.

He is neither.

He is alive. He is free (from the petals. It takes him a little bit to become free of Ra's).

Tim brushes aside these valid and alarming concerns to focus on his goals: escape, take down Ra's, and derail whatever retaliation occurs.

So that's what Tim does. He ignores the insistent sense of wrongness and focuses on the task at hand. He coordinates his friends and family. He faces down Ra's. He gets kicked out of a window.

With a grim smile, his body goes lax and his eyes flutter shut

He's done.

When Tim springs up from unconsciousness, Steph's voice reassures him he's safe. She tells him he's in the batcave.

The tension to bleeds from his body as Damian mutters a demand. Tim's eyes dart from Robin to Batgirl to Batman (Dick) to Alfred.

That sinking feeling of wrongness returns.

Dick's eyes are trained on the teen as he asks Tim, "How did you know I'll be there to save you?"

It's obvious the man is worried. It's obvious he's so fucking glad he caught his younger brother.

The lie falls from Tim's lips as smooth as any truth, "You're my brother, Dick. You'll always be there for me."

Dick's face brightens with fond relief.

Tim watches. He observes the reactions of his older brother. He catalogs the effect of his words on the man he's admired and loved for thirteen years.

He notes all of this.

And he feels nothing.