#The Conductivity of Water AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 1 month ago

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still wakes the deep au | soap x f!reader

Installment 4/?: Something in the Water

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. masterlist

There’s something in the water.

The numbers that stare back at you might as well be flashing red and sounding sirens. Your hands shake—like glass with too many cracks, you feel as if you’re standing on the edge of something but can’t look forward. Not because the abyss is too dark to see, but because someone is deliberately covering your eyes as you teeter along some uneven cliff.

This is the second time you’ve done the analysis. The first time, you were careful, but when you saw the results, you panicked. Maybe you forgot to calibrate the machine. Maybe the glass wasn’t cleaned properly, and all of your samples were therefore contaminated. Maybe you were just negligent, had done this sort of thing too many times, that you must have forgot some crucial step that skewed your numbers so terribly, there was no way to conclude anything but that your analysis was too poor to record.

You did it again this time. You had the manual out, and you crossed off the steps as you did them. Your math is correct. You’ve done it more than once, used a calculator for the basic algebra, in the event that perhaps your brain could not remember how to multiply, but the numbers stay the same. You shakily bring over the report you wrote the night before and compare them. The report looks worse. Something is changing, at a rapid pace, and you feel sick.

The rig groans, and you stand up abruptly from your seat. The chair you were seated in falls onto its side behind you, and you step backwards, until you hit the wall behind you, and you cover your face with your hands.

There’s something in the water.

As a scientist, your thoughts immediately try to come up with practical assumptions. From how you’ve observed the men on this rig, they try their best, but management is poor—perhaps they’ve let something slip through the cracks. Quality control declining, safety checks abandoned, perhaps in an effort to increase production, they’ve forgone proper training, and now there are men unknowingly wreaking havoc.

The thing is—you know what you saw. Oil and water do not mix; they are immiscible liquids that, because of their innate properties, separate and pull away from one another. What you saw was not a separation, and it wasn’t something else bridging the layer between oil and water—what you saw was something you have never seen before.

It glitters, shines. You saw it move, a very mind of its own, something microscopic almost and tentacle-like attaching to the edges of the glass sample. When you shook it, it hadn’t moved, just glittered, just stared.

No eyes, and yet you could feel it looking back at you. Something alive. Something not real and yet, you see it, just there—

As a scientist, you tell yourself that the ocean is vast. The ocean is unpredictable. What you see can be explained, but you just need a few books to look through, and this rig is not a fine collector of those kinds of things.

As someone who wants to get the fuck out of here, you know that something is wrong.

There’s something in the water.

You cannot sleep. You usually don’t anyways, but your work keeps you up now, keeps your eyes glued to the water-stained ceiling. You feel suffocated here. The four walls that surround you are tiny, and the ocean is so loud outside of your window. She never shuts up—she screams, pounding on the thick glass, pulling on the rivets and digging her nails into the metal so that you know of her disdain, her displeasure.

She doesn’t want you here. You are somewhere that you don’t belong. Manmade claws dug into her very skin, and she throws it back at you as a warning because she wants you to leave. You’re not supposed to be here. You didn’t ask her for permission, and now she’s telling you to go, but you know already that no one will listen.

When you send these reports, they won’t believe you. They’ll suspect contaminated samples, and they’ll ask you do it again, and when you come back to them with the same numbers, they’ll say you don’t know how to do your job.

You’ll warn them. You’ll scream. Maybe you’ll cry—maybe you’ll beg. When they realize you’re telling the truth, you know already that it’ll be too late.

It’s in the water. It’s in the water. It’s in the water.

You shake your flashlight, hitting the side of it until the yellow bulb flickers and turns on. You grab the knob of your door, unlocking it and pushing it open, and your feet carry you down the hall. There’s a satellite phone that you can use to call someone. You want to explain yourself, you want to tell them that you tried again, and that you didn’t fail. You know what you’re doing. There is science, there is knowing, but there is also instinct.

You pick up the satellite phone from its box in accommodations. You shake it, watching it come to life, and you take a seat on the floor as you spread your reports out in front of you and dial. It takes a few tries before anyone picks up, and even then, it’s difficult to hear them. The connection is noisy, but it’s enough.

“You cannot be serious.”

That’s what they tell you. Wrong, you’re wrong, it can’t be right, there was no need to waste an expensive phone call on an analysis that was simple and easily performed. Your lip trembles, and you try to find your voice, but it escapes you.

“No,” you whisper. “I swear. I swear. Something’s not right—we need to—”

One more time. You have to do it one more time. You toss the phone, clutching your head. Your hands tangle into your hair, and you pull, just to feel something. You need to make sure this is real. Your toes curl in your shoes, and when you feel the floor of the rig resist you, you know you’re not dreaming. You’re in the middle of the fucking ocean, and there’s—

The satellite phone crackles. The speaker enables, loud, and you flinch when the screen flashes, on and off, crackling with static. You hear distant laughter through the speaker, and you crawl to the phone to pick it up.

“Hello? Hello, who’s there?”

There’s a low chuckle on the other end. You recognize it. You can practically see his smile, pearly whites all too happy, innocent, masking the nasty thing it hides under the surface. You’d liken him to the ocean, but she doesn’t keep secrets the way he does. He hides everything he really is under a pretty face. He lures you in, takes a bite, and he swallows before anyone sees the chunk he takes out of you.

“S-Soap?”

The phone crackles, and when the screen fades out, and the speaker still sounds, your body goes cold.

“You didnae hear? ‘s in the water, bonnie.”

You’ve never been to his room. You know where it is; every time you walk past him here, he reminds you. He points at the door, his name scribbled on the plaque to the side, and he tells you this is where he is, if ye ever need me ta lend ye some soap. You usually tiptoe past it; even though there’s carpet throughout the accommodations section, you fear he has memorized how your footsteps sound, and you never have wanted to give him a reason to seek you out again, but now you’re standing here, in the middle of the night, frantically knocking.

The door swings open. The look on his face, though only there for a second, is nothing but pure disgust, anger, a dullness and a depth to those baby blues that you’ve never seen when you’ve ever looked into them. At the sight of you, his entire body relaxes.

He’s shirtless. Thick, pronounced pecs that your eyes fail to look away from that follow a solid middle. He’s hairy, a nice trail that lines his chest and falls under the band of his boxers, and they hug his thighs much too well, so much so that you can see him chub up just at the sight of you at his door. He smiles.

In just a moment, the depth of his ire disappears, like he flipped a switch as soon as he noticed it was you.

“Och…’n ta what do ah owe the pleasure? Had a nightmare, luvvie? ‘s nice ‘n warm ‘n my bed.”

“Why were you on the sat phone?” You snap. It’s the angriest you’ve ever been, you think. Your eyes are watery. Your anger is a defense for all the fear that lays just under the surface. “I heard your voice. What the hell did you mean? What did—”

“As much as ah’wud like ta spend all night listenin’ ta yer pretty voice, bonnie, ah’ve no idea what yer on about.” Soap leans against the doorway, raising a brow, and while he’s trying to be coy, you’re not having it.

“Why did you say that?” Your voice shakes this time. “W-What did you mean?”

“Bonnie—”

“It’s n-not right,” you spill. You hold up the papers in your hand, and Soap stands up straight when he notices the way your hands are trembling. He steps closer, into your space, and you stay there, rooted to your spot. You look up at him, pointing to the bottom of your reports where your math and algebra sit, and you shake your head. “Something’s wrong. I know it. I know this doesn’t mean a-anything to you, but no one is listening to me, there’s something wrong, there’s something—”

His kiss is wet. He swallows your words, tongue in your mouth, and you whine instinctively when he pinches your chin between two big fingers and tilts your head to the side so he can devour. His mouth is filled with saliva, as if he was drooling for you, and you open your mouth to taste him, leaning just that much closer so that the only air you breathe is each other’s. You open your mouth again to protest, getting just a whiff of clarity, but then those hands are on your ass, and he’s squeezing the fat of it in two hands and dragging you closer to him. Your palms move to brace yourself against his chest, and you note how warm he is. He radiates heat, and the muscle does not give, and if you were somewhere else, you would lower yourself and get your lips on the skin, suckle and bite and mark him. He’d look so pretty. He is so pretty. He’s fogging your head—his kiss distracts you. You wish you had more bite, but you do not. When he spits into your mouth, you swallow it, and that simple fact makes your eyes water with shame at how easy you let him have you.

“Shhh—shh…” Rough palms spread along your cheeks, thumbs fitting just under the curve and teasing the seam of your cunt, and you let out a strangled cry when you shake your head again and try to pull away.

“Please listen to me—!”

“Ah’m listening—”

“No, you’re not! There’s something in the water!”

When you are back in your bed, Soap is the one to tuck you in. He brushes the hair off of your face, cooing as he kneels beside the bed, and you’re staring at him through wet eyes. You are so sleep-deprived—you haven’t slept a full night in days, and you must look it. You feel it, because you’re letting Soap this close to you. You’re letting him drag his lips across your skin, letting his hands under your blanket, ignoring the way he thumbs just over your breast, your nipples pebbling at the slight tease of attention.

“Ye need some rest,” Soap murmurs. You sniffle, clutching the edge of the blanket, and when his hand draws back, you reach for it, holding it tight. He scrunches his nose just a little when your nails dig into his skin.

“You believe me, right?” You whisper. “P-Please say you believe me.”

“Ah believe ye,” Soap nods, “sure. Ah ken.”

You sit up a little, getting closer, and you squeeze his hand.

“Then why…you’re not scared.”

“Ah’m no’afraid of what isnae there,” he soothes you. Soap sits up on his knees, and you try not to think too hard about how large he looks leaning over you. He presses on your shoulders, until you lay back again, and he smiles down at you. It’s softer this time. He’s trying to relax you, and it’s working, just a little. “Ah’ve been out there, bonnie. Been workin’. She moans and groans real scary like, but dinnae worry—” He touches your cheek again, and you give him those eyes. Fuck, those eyes. “Ah’ll find ye if somethin’ ‘s off, bonnie. Yer safe.”

Safe.

When you’re alone again, another wet kiss drying against your lips, you feel anything but safe.

You would be more upset if you felt like he didn’t mean what he said—but he does, you know he does. Soap is like you in a way—practical. If while he was working, he noticed something off, he would know. He’s worked rigs like this before, he’d told you so, and you’ve worked with him long enough to know that Soap isn’t stupid. In fact, he’s the most competent person on the rig, maybe, and you’ve stared at his arms long enough to know that there is nothing half-assed or improper about the way he works. He is methodical, careful, and he knows the job well. Sometimes you see him press a big hand against one of the walls of the rig and close his eyes to listen. Like the ocean speaks to you, the rivets speak to Soap.

So why are they telling us different stories?

Opposites, just like yourself. You try to put distance between you and him, and you try to hate him. You tell yourself he’s been borderline harassing you, but then why is it that your feet gravitate towards him? Even when you don’t mean to, you’re in his proximity. You never go looking for him, and yet he is there. Your thoughts are filled with it, filled with him, and even when he goes, you can’t stop thinking about him.

Those eyes. Those hands. So much of him, that you want him between your teeth, and you know if you bit down, you’d meet delicious resistance, and in the face of panic and fear, his voice—like some lilt you must know, your heartbeat slows. What he says must be truth, even if it isn’t one you want to hear. Even if it’s something disgusting and terrible and obnoxious, Soap would never lie to you.

You’re so tender. When your fingers slip under the band of your sleep shorts, you find yourself so willing. You part your thighs a little, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep quiet when you feel how soaked you are. Your panties are ruined—so slick, sticking to your skin, and you peek it back to run two fingers between your folds and shake from how nice it feels.

When you close your eyes, you think of him.

You think about the oil under his fingernails. You think about what it might taste like if he stuck those big fingers into your mouth and pet your tongue with them—how bitter and foul the oil would be. You wonder if the salt of his skin would cancel it out or if he’d pity you and feed you his cock instead. When your fingertips slide and circle your clit, your back arches, and you think about what he would’ve done if instead of berate him, you simply had pushed him into his room a few hours ago and tested how quiet his mattress springs could be.

You’re ashamed, you think. Ashamed that someone like him could have you so out of sorts. So many different jobs, so many different men, but this one has you breathless. When you wet your fingers with your own cum, you remember the only thing in your head is him telling you that everything is okay. His unforgiving chest muscle under the palm of your hand, leaning over you to whisper in your ear, to kiss just where your jaw meets your throat.

Nothing amiss, bonnie. Ah’ave ye.

It isn’t the morning sun that wakes you.

Bleary, you sit up onto your elbows. You hear voices outside your room. Lots of footsteps. You get yourself out of bed, haphazardly slipping into clothes before opening the door and stepping out.

It’s eerily quiet in the hallway. You hear a heavy door shut in the distance, but then there is nothing. You flinch when something cold and wet hits your forehead, and when you look up, the ceiling is leaking. Water damage bleeds throughout the material there, more pronounced than before. You wipe the glob off your forehead, looking down at your hand, and your stomach drops when you see something sparkle. You cringe, shaking your hand, wiping it against your pants to dry them before moving again.

The air is too humid. The salt of the ocean tastes rancid. There is some meter somewhere, you think, that has hit its limit. What it measures, you’re not sure, but something is standing too close to an edge. It will either fall over or right itself, but there is no predictability and no balance in the middle of the ocean.

She will turn it which way she wants it to go, and today, you fear it won’t be in your favor.

You see it before you feel it. You make your way to a window on the far side of accommodations, one that looks out towards the rest of the rig. You can see sparks where men are working, large towers with cranes that are swinging. The fog is dense—you can’t see anything past the rig, just clouds that make the world around the rig seem small and void. You narrow your eyes when you see something shaking. You’re convinced that you’re off balance, that maybe it’s your knees shaking and not the metal cage you currently reside on.

It takes your breath away, the first blast. Something in the distance erupts just after a bright flashing light, and you feel it in your toes. You cry out when the force of it reaches where you are and throws you backwards, enough that you hit the wall behind you and crumple into a heap onto the floor. Something incredible must have broken apart—you can feel how heavy of a break just gave out underneath you, somewhere deep within the rig, suspiciously close to where the drill rests at the deep center of it all.

Your vision spots. Metal creaks and bends, giving out under some other kind of force, and you cower and cover your head with your arms when you hear a plethora of terrible, carrying screeches. Something surrounds you now. There’s air coming out of the ducts that smells off, and at the distance of it all, you hear the ocean.

She’s not sorry. She told you to leave. No one believed her, no one believed you.

When you finally uncover your face, you look around. Everything looks somewhat normal, but off kilter. You stand on shaky legs, continuing towards the kitchen, but just as you make it to the staircase, something blocks your way.

The walls have been broken through. Metal is shredded and bent backwards, giving way to something you can only describe as bizarre. Inhuman. Not of any kind.

Thick strands of pulsating flesh take up the stairway. In brilliant, large swirls, they come from somewhere outside, twisting and moving until they break through another wall and continue where you can’t follow. The sound of it—something sticky, wet, gooey with a pearl-like substance that drips. It shines, and you blink when you realize that you recognize the way it glitters, the way it catches the light.

There is something in the water.

It draws you closer. You can hear something from inside of it. The soft flesh of it, pink and fat with something you can’t decipher, beats to a rhythm that squeezes the organs inside of you. Your feet move without you telling them to, but just as you are about to get near it, a stringy arm of flesh breaks off from the pillar of it towards you.

You scream as you fly back from it, falling onto your back as you crawl away. The sticky end of it misses you just by an inch, landing and suctioning to the floor just beside your foot. You kick your feet, crawling away from it on your elbows, and you do the only thing you’ve thought about doing since you arrived—you run.

You see spots. Something glittery protrudes what you see, but you wipe the water out of your eyes and keep running. You’re losing it—this isn’t real. You’re in a dream, and all you have to do is wake up. You’re having a nightmare. When you wake up, you’ll run your analysis again with new samples, and the numbers will read normal, and you’ll pack your bags in preparation to leave, and you’ll do just that in such little time.

You won’t have to worry about the open waters, or the ocean that won’t forgive you. You’ll realize she can’t speak to you, and that it is all in your head. There is no angry woman under the surface. There is nothing throwing off the samples. There is no flesh breaking through the rig and trying to devour you. There is only you and the terrible things the mind can do.

You scream again when something grabs you. Flesh, warm, wrapping around you and holding you solid, breaking your run and forcing you against them. You scream and thrash, trying to break free, but then flesh speaks.

“‘s me! Christ, ‘s me, bonnie!”

A hand clamps over your mouth, and you stop. You blink through wet eyes, and when you can finally focus, you see him. When he knows you won’t scream, he lowers his hand.

“S-Soap?”

“Aye. Now quiet.”

“Soap…Soap, I saw—”

He puts a finger up to his lips, and your lips close. Your eyes widen when the rig groans, something breaking under your feet, glass and metal and the crack of destruction echoing against the fog.

In the distance, you hear a cry. It isn’t a cry you recognize. It gurgles, and it echoes, and something about it is just off enough that you know it can’t be explained. When you meet Soap’s eyes, you see the same conclusion in them. Finally, you see in them what you saw in yourself, what you could read on paper and see in the water and feel just under your ribs, making your heart beat against its cage like a frantic drum.

There was something in the water—and now it has come out.

#soap x reader #cod x reader #soap/reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader

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kiame-sama · 5 months ago

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Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 2

(Unicorn Centaur Riddle wearing his dorm clothes. His hooves are golden as well, but he often wears red covers over them to prevent dirt buildup since it is harder for him to clean out his hooves and he refuses to ask Trey for help most times)

Warnings; Several yanderes, platonic yanderes, romantic yanderes, yandere behavior, monster au, fem reader, very few know reader is fem so mostly they/them pronouns used, deranged behavior, centaurs, unicorns, Nemean lions, Vampire Bats, selkies, minotaurs, genies, nagas, magic, talk of eating humans, arguing, mention of virginity, slight Monster AU history mentioned,

~~~~~~~~

The thorn prince arrived to a scene of chaos as he exited the portal from Diasomnia. Many new students were lost and confused as they had been told to stay put while most of the Housewardens searched the halls, some Vice-Housewardens were desperately trying to keep the peace or even join the search at the behest of the Headmage. He certainly wasn't concerned about what they may be searching for, instead he started heading towards his own Vice-Housewarden with a slight spring in his step, joyful at finding such an odd little creature in Diasomnia.

"Lilia."

The casual summons had the Bat Fae Vice-Housewarden turning to look at the newcomer who had not been expected to make an appearance after receiving no invitation. Naturally, Lilia was surprised that the dour Dragon chose to go against his own code of conduct and arrive at a ceremony he had no true part in. His stern expression did not seem so serious, making Lilia wonder just what had happened to bring Malleus of all students to his side.

"Malleus? I didn't expect to see you here without invitation."

"Yes, well," the prince pouted in response to the reminder, "I have plenty good reason to seek you out despite the lack of invitation."

"Oh? Do tell. You aren't often so brazen about casually entering the company of others."

"The Gargoyles have borne a child of flesh and not stone."

"... What?"

"I found the soft being sleeping beneath the Human-Gargoyle that was made 1010 years ago. They look much like the Gargoyle and don't seem to be of any other Twisted Wonderland species. As they seemed so fragile and their stone parents weren't keen to protect them, I took them to my nest. Of course, it is odd the Gargoyle child was clothed so shortly after being birthed, but removing their shoes to lay them to rest was of no trouble to me."

The conversation had drawn the attention of both the frazzled and the curious who were also equally shocked to see Malleus in the flesh. Of course, it didn't take long for the Crow Headmage to intervene, figuring what had happened rather quickly. Before the Headmage could speak, however, Lilia beat him to the punch with a much more patient tone and approach.

"Malleus, after centuries of studying Gargoyles, what do you know is true about all Gargoyles?"

"They are stone of various kinds. They double as spouts to keep water from gathering on roofs. They are often depictions of animals, creatures, and other beings."

"How often have you encountered a Gargoyle that has produced an infant?"

"... It is possible."

"How often have you encountered a Gargoyle that has produced an infant of flesh and blood?"

"..."

Lilia would have laughed in a good humored way if he were not being watched by all of the new students and their seniors who had come to aid them in settling in. It was not Malleus' fault that he came to the conclusion that the Gargoyles had produced offspring, the truth was just as far fetched.

What was interesting Lilia more than the topic at hand was the fact Malleus had taken the wayward Human into his nest. Dragons were rarely keen to share things like their nests or their Hoard with others, especially those they know little about. The simple fact that Malleus took the Human into his nest was enough to show that the dragon had already taken a unique interest and intended to make the Human a member of his living Hoard. Malleus may not often take new creatures or items for his Hoard, but the few he claimed had little room to argue as the Dragon was fiercely protective of those he viewed as his.

"What you found, Malleus, is an actual Human. Ironic they took shelter beneath a Human Gargoyle, but they had fled from here perhaps an hour before you arrived. They must have decided to use one of the portals to flee and wound up in Diasomnia instead where you found them. Don't worry, I can get them from your nest so they don't-"

"You will not be taking the Human from my nest, Lilia."

"Oh? Keeheehee~ Have you taken a liking to them, Malleus? Humans are very fragile, you know."

"They may not be the child of a Gargoyle, like I thought them to be, but that does not change the fact that they are in my nest, and under my protection."

It was then a sneering scoff came from the crowd, the new students quickly parting to let the intimidating Nemean Lion strut forward with his tail flicking in annoyance. The man himself had beautiful sun-kissed bronze skin that held the faintest golden glimmer, his shining eyes of acidic green glinted with pride and frustration. Even with his rich dark mahogany colored hair, he gave off a beautiful shine that made him look like he was sculpted out of pure gold.

"And you think you're the best choice for a Human? Human's need light, food, and water, not to be locked up in a creepy ass dungeon that doubles as a nest for an overgrown lizard. That Human is better off in Savanaclaw, not Diasomnia."

Before Malleus could respond to the clear taunt from Leona, another voice with a haughty tone cut in.

"Not even if the Seven proclaimed it, would I believe you can be gentle or safe with a Human, Leona. Nemean Lions were the last holdout group that insisted on eating Humans before they were officially declared extinct."

Approaching with far more grace than he should have was the Housewarden of Pomefiore, the Peacock Harpy Vil. He was clearly posturing as his seven head feathers sat straight up in a clear showing of his crest. Even his tail feathers were slightly fanned out as they caught the light and gave an iridescent display of colors.

"Oh? And what the Hell would you do to protect them, Vil? Doll the Human up in fancy ass clothes and make them preen like a prissy little Harpy?"

"Do speak up, Leona. I could barely hear you over your prideful bitching. Or do you want another scar to even out that scowling expression of yours? Maybe I'll take your eye this time."

This made a snarl escape the golden Lion, his tail lashing violently back and forth in response to the clear threat from the Harpy. Luckily the Headmage had called the other Housewardens to return as well as requesting the teachers to assist in the unusual situation. All he had to do was step between the Lion and Harpy in an effort to keep them from attacking one another until the others showed up.

"I will decide where the Human shall stay and who is safe enough to leave around the Human. They are an extremely rare creature and cannot be treated so callously. You both are Housewardens, please act with the proper decorum."

It was then the clear clopping of hooves on the marble floor could be heard, the others quickly returning to the Hall of Mirrors thanks to Crowley's summons.

"I demand to know the location of the Human! The Queen's rules insist that Humans must be protected and cared for properly, and I refuse to allow the mistreatment of one of the Queen's most protected species!"

Each syllable was accompanied by the distinct click of his golden hooves against the stone floors as Riddle came to a slow halt in front of the Headmage. Naturally, the Unicorn Centaur was the first to know any obscure information due to his inherent hunger for knowledge and desire to follow rules. If anyone knew of rules regarding Humans, especially any rules made in by the Queen of Hearts, Riddle would be the one to know them all.

"Riddle, I assure you that the Human will be properly cared for-"

"Have you already provided them with adequate snacks that don't have pig-fat in them? The Queen's rule 898 states that all Humans must be denied pig heavy meals as they are genetically close enough to pigs that it can cause stomach troubles but must be able to access food consistently due to their digestion processes. Queen's rule 899 states that Humans need to be kept in optimal temperatures that should not exceed the boiling point of water and should not be less than the freezing point of water. Not to mention rule 900 that talks about the proper protocol for finding mates for a Human and their regional specific breeding patterns-"

The others couldn't help but stare at the Unicorn Housewarden who continued to prattle off the various rules regarding the treatment of Humans. He was far more sensitive to the wellbeing of the Human as Unicorns were historically rather fond of Humans- female maidens especially- and were the first to oppose the idea of Humans being cattle for other species. As a Unicorn Centaur, Riddle was far more attuned to emotions and natural law than a Harpy would be and far more aware of the fragility of mortality than a Dragon would be.

"The Human will be treated properly with adherence to the rules, Riddle. We should try and trust the Headmage to do that much."

The taller and more intimidating Centaur next to Riddle now spoke, resting a hand atop the shoulder of the temperamental Unicorn. Though he shared similar coloring on his equine half to Riddle, the second Centaur was clearly of a different breed as he was larger and more stocky than the Unicorn. His green hair was ruffled and he had clearly been out searching for the Human with Riddle before they were called back to the Headmage.

"No, Trey, he won't even follow the rules of an unbirthday party! How can I trust that he will do what is required to keep this Human safe and cared for? That virgin human must be protected at all costs!"

"How are you so sure they are a virgin?"

"I can sense their purity!"

Trey continued to try and talk down the upset Unicorn, trying to be a voice of calm and reason to his hot-headed equine companion. This left room for an interjection from yet another Housewarden returning from their search for the elusive Human of Night Raven College.

"Wow! You sure know a lot about Humans, Riddle! I wouldn't expect anything else from the Unicorn who is top in his classes!"

The newcomer's approach came with a golden light that shined from somewhere within his very being. His white hair was a stark contrast to his richly toned skin and crimson eyes, the ever present smile on his face just as dazzling as the gold and jewels that hung from his figure. To his side was his ever consistent Naga companion, the blacks and reds of his scales almost bleeding together in the golden light. The faint flick of golden scales caught in the light of the Genie added to the unusual mystique of the Sand Viper Naga that followed dutifully behind his Housewarden.

"You would know these things too if you payed any attention in class, Kalim!"

"Ouch, a bit harsh, Riddle? I can't help that Trein is so boring sometimes that I fall right asleep! If I knew we were getting a Human classmate, I would have paid more attention."

It was then the Naga spoke up, his voice smooth like honey and just as rich despite the gentle way he spoke. His dark hair was neatly pulled back in intricate braids that ended with a golden trinket and kept most of the dark locks from obstructing his gaze.

"Kalim, even if we didn't get a Human classmate, you should still pay attention in class."

"I guess you're right, Jamil. But still, isn't a Human being here exciting?"

"Yes, well, it is certainly unusual..."

"I could keep them safe in my lamp and that way no one has to worry if they are in trouble or not because no one can enter my lamp without my permission anyway!"

"I don't think you could be trusted with a Human like that..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. In any case, the Human's wellbeing should be top priority given how rare they are. Most Housewardens should be able to protect the Human as needed, but that isn't even mentioning the danger a Housewarden could represent to the Human."

As the conversation carried on and the other Housewardens and Vice-Housewardens returned from their search, the older crow Fae couldn't be more pleased. Taking on a Human would be quite a bit of work for anyone, but it seemed rather clear that the Housewardens were keen to do what was needed for the Human to stay. Not to mention the fact that the heir-apparent of Briar Valley- The Prince of Thorns, Malleus Draconia- had already claimed the Human as one of his protected treasures. There wasn't much protection better than that.

Still, perhaps it would be best to not leave a fragile Human in the nest of an overly protective Dragon.

~•§•~

You woke slowly to the sounds of voices around you, feeling a soft surface beneath your head and a warm blanket wrapped around your figure. It certainly wasn't where you had fallen asleep- as you had been huddled beneath a hideous Gargoyle when sleep finally claimed you- but you weren't really complaining about the plush surface either. If anything, the voices around you that were clearly arguing were causing you more stress than the new location you found yourself in.

"The Child of Man is mine to protect! I will not allow any of you to take them from my nest."

"Malleus, please, we all know the Human needs somewhere other than your nest to live. They need their own space and their own home to feel comfortable and not die from stress."

"They are protected here and have their own space here in Diasomnia."

"Malleus-"

Your increased movements made the arguing quiet down as you sat up, letting out a squeaking sound when you stretched. It was likely the ever present haze of sleep over your mind that kept you so calm despite the unfamiliar surroundings. That calm feeling didn't last long as you received a harsh reminder that you were the only Human present. Standing in front of you was a fair-skinned man with dark black hair and monstrous features. His black wings folded slightly as he turned to look at you, bright green eyes examining you quickly for any sign of distress. Atop his head sat two twisting black horns that formed a kind of crown for the regal scaled man standing in front of you.

Past the intimidating man's shoulder you saw the familiar Crow-like man flanked on either side by equally monstrous appearing men.

One of the men had clear black and white hair that copied or complimented the black and white coat hanging from his shoulders. His steel gray eyes seeming so cold until they softened slightly, gazing at you the way one would gaze at a prized pet. This man seemed more Human than any of the others you met prior, giving you a small bit of hope that you weren't alone in your plight. Still, there was the high chance that this man was some kind of monster too and just didn't look it at first glance like the others.

On the other side of the Crow stood a man that reminded you of a Bull with long horns that would have knocked into the head of the Crow-man if the Bull were any shorter. The man had deep brown hair and bright blue eyes, his muscular build clear even beneath the red sweat-suit he wore. Despite his Human-like face, he was obviously not Human thanks to the clear horns and Bull tail waving lazily behind him.

It appeared- from first glance- that the reptilian man was guarding you from the others rather aggressively and was not keen to let you go with the Crow and his companions. Part of you was glad to feel such comfort, but you also had to wonder just what it was the reptilian man ultimately wanted from you. While you mused this, another voice from behind you startled you into almost jumping from the bed, looking back in surprise at the source of the voice.

You saw what looked like a young man with black and pink hair sitting on the bed near where you had been laying. He had apparent fangs that peaked past his upper lip and two leathery batwings that had clearly endured some damage throughout the years. Sitting square in the center of his face was a little fleshy heart-nose like some kind of Bat. This man had been present when you fell from the coffin not too long ago, so it confused you that he chose to speak to you now.

"It seems you're finally awake, little Human. Maybe you can help us with our current predicament? You are a rare species that has been believed to be extinct for more than a few centuries now. As one of the top Magic schools in all of Twisted Wonderland, it is the school's job to protect you and keep you safe from those who would wish to see Humans extinct once more. Malleus here found you sleeping under the Gargoyles and has decided to claim you- for better or worse- as one of the creatures he needs to protect. That brings us here, to Malleus' nest. They," he gestured to the Crow and his companions, "believe you would be better off with one of the professors guarding and protecting you from the common rabble. Malleus," he gestured now to the reptile man, "is of the mind that you are most protected here in his nest."

You were surprised and confused by the Bat-man telling you all of this as the Crow had given you the impression that your opinion and wants did not matter in the situation you found yourself in. As far as you were aware, the Crow intended to keep you as a pet, but this Malleus person had the same idea and didn't want to share you with the Crow.

"... Why are you in his nest too?"

"Oh, becuase Malleus likes to protect those he cares about. He is a Dragon, after all, and those he cares about are counted among his Hoard. I have been his teacher for many centuries now, so naturally I am one of his Hoard members. Only those who are part of his Hoard or Malleus himself is allowed to enter his nest without being burned alive. That means you too now, congratulations."

You now glanced back at the reptilian man, seeing the way he stood with his back to you and wings spread in a shielding action. It made sense that this man was a Dragon given his features and attributes. Despite now knowing a Dragon was guarding you, you still had no idea why these people were so desperate to get their hands on you. Even if they were right and Humans were extinct, that didn't mean it made much sense to you for them to try and keep you as a pet like this.

"So, sweet little Human, what would you like?"

"I would like people to say my name and not call me Human."

"My apologies, it has been a hectic day thus far. What is your name?"

"It's (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n)."

"(Y/n) (L/n)... The last Human in Twisted Wonderland."

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #monster yandere #twst monster au #Humans are Extinct TWST AU

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mauvecherie-writes · 1 month ago

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be mine this christmas: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x back oc!xenia richards

trope: grumpy billionaire x personal assistant au

ru’s 💌 : Please keep in mind that the Lewis in this story is not the IRL Lewis or the Lewis I typically write about. He’s a bit more of an asshole, he’s a bit more controlling. You’ll love him the same. This story is fast paced because it takes place in just about one night.

chapter: ONE

chapter warning: n/a

chapter w.c: 3.44K

𝐎𝐍𝐄:𝐗𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀

Lewis Hamilton was an arsehole.

No, arsehole was not strong enough of a word to describe the depths of her hatred. She utterly loathed the man and there were not enough words in the a thesaurus that could describe the thoughts that plagued her mind. The thought of him on fire and she still wouldn’t throw water on him to save him. In fact, Xenia would throw the continuous stack of files that sat on her desk into the fire to stock the flames.

There was so much more that she could say but there was not enough space within her mind to keep thinking about that man.

Ugh, that man.

Xenia rolled her eyes at the phrase. Lewis Hamilton was the definition of being ‘the man’. To the modern man, he was the quintessential ‘alpha’ as they called them these days. A term that equally irked her.

An egotistical twat is what she felt was better suited for the type of man that Lewis Hamilton actually was. The type of man that made an obscene amount of money just by breathing and made it known that he had no qualms flaunting it. ’Who the fuck has a designer customised pen?!’

He was the type of man who walked with his head held high, shoulders square - demanding the attention through the sea of desks to the elevator that was constructed for his private use. The peasants were to use the smaller elevator further down the corridor.

Lewis Hamilton was considered a god to the board as his legacy in motorsport alone brought the investors, begging to give the company their money. Every man wanted to be him, willing to accept being his doormat if he allowed it. Every woman wanted to be in his bed if he spared them a glance. Equally pathetic.

Xenia wanted him to disappear. Then she would know peace.

She never understood how people could see the sun that seemed to be shining out of his arsehole. He had no redeeming qualities that she could think of and she’d been his personal assistant for three years.

He was a dominating whirlwind of force that blew everything that stood in his way and he would never look back to witness the havoc that he wreaked.

Xenia was not blind - she knew that he was an attractive man. It was in her face every day, confronted by it and that drove her hatred even deeper. He had her occupying the building that held her captive for sixty hours a week.

Yes, SIXTY!

In heels on top of it! Something about looking professional at all times that was written within the office’s code of conduct. Why she could not answer the emails at home (she was already doing that anyway) as she ran around the city of London doing errands off the clock was beyond her.

There were a lot of things that Hamilton did that would qualify enough as a form of harassment for a lawsuit.

But she was still here. Why?

Well, for one, her salary was amazing and helped her afford her obsession with fashion. It also helped that the VP of Sales, Rebecca Bailey was a sweetheart who loved asking her fashion tips. Xenia had cultivated a special relationship over the years with the older woman. They got along so well most likely due to the fact that she was one of the very few women in the building who did not want to cut off Xenia’s head because of her proximity to the boss.

Another reason why Xenia loved Rebecca was because of her encouragement for her to delve deeper into her fashion interest. Which was something Xenia was craving to do. She had gone so far as to create a website that she had intended to be her homage to fashion. Granted the only thing on the homepage was a white screen with the words ‘under construction’ flashing on the page. But it was a starting point.

“What are you so focused on?” The resident gossip, Lola Braun, stood at the edge of Xenia’s desk as she eyed the article that she had been working on. Xenia quickly shut her laptop screen down before Lola could read any further. She scrunched up her recently sculpted nose up when Xenia quietly pulled her screen close.

“It’s none of your business what I’m focused on actually.” Xenia replied . If she had to be honest with herself, she was not the biggest fan of Lola, matter of fact, she hated Lola at about the same level that she hated Lewis. Lola was the personal assistant of Rebecca which angered her even more due to how close they were forced to work with each other.

Lola loved herself in a way that was deplorable. Her high arched and pulled back eyebrows , hazel green eyes and a body every model aspired to have. With hair and flawless toffee-toned skin, magazines would say that you can get from rosemary water and witch hazel. However, because of this perceived perfection, Lola had made it her mission to force everyone around her to be miserable. She despised any food that contained more than 300 calories around her. God forbid, Xenia ate a lemon and poppyseed muffin with her caramel latte.

Everyone (mostly the women) wanted to look like Lola and they all seemed to hate the way Xenia looked. She was 5’9”, body full of curves, kinky coils that defied gravity with skin tone deep and rich as the juices of blackberries. Xenia loved the way that she looked. Lola could shove a chocolate chip cookie down her throat if she didn’t.

Xenia also hated the fact that she was a blubber mouth. You only ever told her anything when you wanted the entire office building to know. Xenia learned that little tidbit the hard way when she confided in her that she thought that the boss was a dick during her first month of employment. It was a very awkward staff general meeting when Lewis reprimanded ‘staff’ for inappropriate comments about higher administration.

Yes, Xenia hated Lola a great deal.

Lola cleared her throat, as if to remind her of her presence. Like Xenia could forget that she was standing there, not when her pungent fragrance was itching her nose.

“What do you want, Lola?”Xenia asked. She then dropped a stack of files onto her desk.

“Well, from the looks of it, it seems that you don’t have much work to do so here are the sales quarter files that Mr Hamilton asked for. Should keep you occupied until late. I can bet that you don’t even have an outfit for the Christmas party tonight.”

Xenia finally glared up at her. Meeting the woman’s snarky expression through her lashes.

“You’re right.” Xenia offered her a fake smile. “How about I start on these whilst you go and get those nails filled in. They look overdue.” Lola gasped as she pulled her emerald green manicured nails towards her chest before she moved to inspect them. Before Xenia could bask in the afterglow of Lola's stunned silence, a large and tasted hand dropped a note onto the stack of files in front of Xenia.

“Okay, this sparring round is over ladies.” Her eyes rolled before they landed on Miles. Miles Chamley-Watson was the Chief Marketing Officer of Hamilton Enterprises and also Lewis’s best friend. Only four years younger than the boss, Miles still knew him the longest and was there at the inception of the company - playing a massive role in its growth with his sharp eye on marketing the brand to a more generation.

Miles was also someone Xenia considered a friend and an ally. Their first meeting happened when he had walked in as she was getting a verbal lashing from the boss man. All she had done was pour oat milk into his coffee instead of almond. As the tears brimmed in her eyes, Miles was able to de-escalate the situation and since then, he had been a shoulder to lean on when the brunt force that was Lewis Hamilton was too much for her to bear.

“I just wanted to make sure that she got the files that were being asked for, Mr Chamley. We all know she seems to let her little fashion hobby get in the way of her actual job here.” Lola smirked as she tucked her bleached strands behind her ear with a smirk.

Xenia chewed the inside of her cheek to simmer the twitch of her palm to reach over and slap her. There were a lot of things to be said about Xenia and the disdain of her current job occupation but to try and imply that she was any less but good at her job was deeply insulting. Lola, pruny and loudly made it known that it should have been her in the position that Xenia was in. And if she could switch their places, she would. But Mr Hamilton had made it clear that he only wanted Xenia, even though they seemed to have each other.

Miles sighed as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sure that Miss Richards is more than capable of her job and has everything under control. Thank you, Lola.”

Lola huffed as she brushed her bleached strands from her shoulder and scattered away from Xenia’s desk. A sigh of relief left her lungs.

“Thank you, Miles.”

“Don’t thank me yet. What was that I heard about you not having a dress for tonight?”

A noise that sounded like a disgruntled groan left her mouth. She knew what he was going to say as she conjured up her excuse.

“I’m not going.”

“Come on Nia! You always say that!” Miles exclaimed with a hint of annoyance. His animated expression almost caused a smile to break out on her face.

”Listen. I’m always here as it is and I don’t want to stay here any longer than I need to. The party is in this building where I already feel suffocated and I won’t even be comfortable enough to drink. My enemies are everywhere and a drunken Xenia would be like food for fodder to the people.” Her last statement caused Miles to chuckle.

“I would much rather spend my night at home, take a nice and long bath then watch both versions of Black Christmas.” Her preferred plans sounded boring but they were honest. Xenia would rather enjoy her solitude than be surrounded by people who did not like her.

The annual Christmas party was the one thing that Xenia never had to set up; however, it was still her who ordered the decorations, figured out the catering and then the entertainment. Xenia was the unofficial party planner - another title under her hat that she was not getting paid for.

She was exhausted beyond belief.

Besides, she had too much to figure out before they broke for Christmas - Xenia wouldn’t be missed at the party.

“You can’t not go Nia.”

“Miles -.”

“Of course, she’s going. Why wouldn’t my assistant and the planner of the party be there?”

The deep voice of Satan bellowed through the air and almost forced Xenia to flee for her life. She had not seen him all day and now as she turned in her chair, she came face to face with her boss.

Lewis Hamilton. A brooding, muscled machine covered in a tailored suit and a million dollar Richard Mille watch on his wrist. Her eyes trailed down the thickness of his tattooed neck, broad shoulders and back up to his sharp jawline covered by his beard. Then her eyes settled on his soft and full lips that were tinted a soft pink. She hated to admit it but she loved his hair. He kept it in either braids or twisted plaits tied in a low bun. This time, two braided strands hung on either side of his face with the rest tied back which seemed to bring a softness to him that he did not deserve.

He was too handsome and ugly souls like him should not be handsome.

“I’m pretty tired sir. With everything that you’re having me do, I’m pretty worn out. I think I’ll sit this one out. Maybe next year?” Xenia let the sarcasm drip into her words and revelled in the way that he rolled his eyes.

“Not this time, Miss Richards.” Lewis spoke as he placed his hands into his pockets. The side of his face twitched in a way that showed that her tone had bothered him. He looked at Miles for a brief moment before turning his attention back to Xenia.

“Have you completed the list Mr Chamley gave you?”

Xenia frowned in confusion and slight annoyance. “You mean the list that he just gave me two seconds ago?”

“Watch that tone with me Richards. Get it done and then figure out your outfit situation for tonight.” His eyes dropped down the length of her frame, the heat of his stare forced her back straighter. “I’m sure because of your little hobby, you’ll be able to figure out something in such short notice.’

Without another word, he indicated for Miles to follow him before he turned and disappeared back into his office. That was it, a demand that he expected to be followed. No please. No thank you.

Dickhead.

Miles offered her an apologetic smile before he followed behind Lewis towards the office. Then she looked down at the list that had been placed in front of her.

Lunch from Bubala: Tuna Nicoise on toasted focaccia with the soup of the day.

Coffee order from Blank Street.

Dry cleaning from Nova’s (Need the shirt for tonight.)

She stared at the list, seemingly remembering the words from her interview. How she was supposed to his right hand and right hand only. Now she was doing that and somehow also finding the time to pick up his fucking laundry. Xenia looked around her surroundings before her moving eyes settled on the falling snow through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The slow and steadiness at which the snowflakes seemed to fall was a drastic contrast to the fast pace that her mind was running. Maybe if she was lucky, Santa’s reindeer’s would run her over with his dry cleaning getting trampled on.

Xenia was surrounded by the settling blankets of picture perfect snow as she walked down the Main Street in her FENDI vintage boots. Christmas lights decorated the buildings with wreaths hanging on each lamp post. Everything around her was perfect and yet, Xenia still felt like the Grinch but who’s Christmas was being stolen from her.

Everything about the festive holiday that should give her all the joy was not giving her the warm and fuzzy feeling that it used to. This had been the feeling that had been sentiment since the first year at Hamilton Enterprises. Lewis seemed to have sucked the life out of her. However, Xenia had to take a deep breath and remind herself that she won't be a personal assistant forever.

Her fashion content was rising in popularity and it was only a matter of time before the vitality would turn into constant income then she would be able to leave. For good.

She sighed to herself once more as she hauled the dry cleaning over her shoulder as she entered into Bubala. The low lights, exposed brick and the flush of the Christmas colours added to the things that she adored about the shop. The queue to the counter was atrocious but it didn’t bother Xenia at all. It only prolonged her time away from the office. The smell of freshly baked goods, warm soup and the sounds of cheery, festive music was far more appealing to her than the four corners of her small cubicle.

As she waited in line, she scrolled through her emails, grinning at a report from Rebecca. She had already sorted through the first predicted quarter of the merchandise branch. She was a stickler for deadlines, often completing the work before the imposed time. How Rebecca was able to find the time to do it all? Xenia would never know.

“That smile will always outshine the brightest star.” A soft voice cut through the chatter of the restaurant and nestled within her ears. Her shoulder relaxed as she peered at the owner of the voice.

Nathan Fieldman.

Modality manager of the radiology department at the Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital. A Marvel enthusiast and the owner of the cutest golden daschund she’d ever seen.

Also, her ex-boyfriend.

Xenia offered him a platonic embrace, his Sauvage cologne causing her eye to water. She almost wanted to sneeze in repulsion. As they pulled apart, upon instinct, he reached out to touch her standing Afro. Yes, he was one of those men. But that wasn’t the reason that they had broken up. (even though in the long-run, it should have been a reason.)

No, they broke up because the leader of the Legion army of hell demanded so much of her time that it cut into the spending time that she had with Nathan. Their schedules did not align any more and she felt sorry for always leaving him hanging and cancelling plans last minute.

The guilt was heavy within her as she often left him to fend for himself. When she had suggested however, to quit her job and focus on being a fashion content creator, he thought that it wasn’t wise nor a sustainable career. That had been the last wedge in the relationship. So by the time that Xenia had asked for the break up, Nathan did not put up any type of fight. He was complacent in almost everything including the bedroom.

Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of things outside of her job that had resulted in the termination of their relationship.

“So what has you smiling like that Nini?” The cringey nickname made her want to vomit. Xenia did not miss that at all.

“Nothing in particular. I was just reading a report.” She kept her answer vague. Nathan’s eyes narrowed, pulling the rich brown skin at the corners of his eyes together.

“You still haven’t found your footing huh?”

“Not quite.” She answered with a smile that did not touch her eyes. She tried to ignore the rising insecurity within her at the tone of condescension in his words. He didn’t need to know that her lack of growth in the field of her passion was a soft spot for her and constantly had her worried that she would fail. The last person that she needed to confine in was her ex-boyfriend.

Clearing her throat as she shuffled forward in the queue. “So how is everything with you?”

Nathan’s eyes beamed, the skin of his cheeks spreading his five o’clock fuzz as he delved into the details of his past year in about the twenty minutes as they waited. She learned about all of the unique patients that he had come across and the department drama amongst his plans to expand into teaching university students. Along his retelling, he had mentioned that he had started dating again.

“So how’s everything with you? How are things for you these days?” Nathan finally asked Xenia as the both of them paid the cashier for their individual orders.

She shrugged her shoulders. What was there to say? Nothing had changed in the last year she had spoken to him. She was still stuck in the same job that she hated, doing things for a man she’d rather watch eat shit for pay as she struggled to produce any consistent content for her website.

“Nothing much. Just learning from the best around me, really.”

“That’s good to hear. Did you finally give up on the fashion stuff then?”

It took all of her strength to not tell him that it took an entire weekend in the Cotswolds to find the vintage Tory Burch blazer that she was wearing but the ping of her phone stopped her. As Xenia was about to offer an apology, Nathan placed a kiss on her cheek and picked his order from the counter.

“Duty calls, I know. It was nice seeing you, Nini. Take care.” A deep breath exhaled through her nose as she nodded. Xenia then grabbed her own bag from the counter as she looked down at her phone.

Arsehole: Coffee from MonMouth instead. Get one for yourself - I can’t have you sleeping before your duties are done. And sushi from Atelier for Mile.

Where were those fucking reindeers? She thought.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @cocobutterqwueen @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @iamryanl @pickingupmymercedes @eleetalks @ambs-06 @annisassintchaska @boujiestpoet @nayaesworld @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @trinitoldyouso @gwenda-fav @f1-football-fiend

#mauvecherie writes #be mine this christmas:short story #lewis hamilton x xenia richards #lewis hamilton au #lewis hamilton short story #lewis hamilton x black oc #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton #lh #sir lewis hamilton

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dem0batz · 8 days ago

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Just Pretend

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I don't normally update this frequently so please don't expect me to continue to pump out chapters for this au at the pace that I have been. I'm just following the brain worms. Summary: Based on the main story track when MC is staying in Skyhaven with Caleb. You develop a minor cold and accidentally fall asleep the night you were supposed to rescue Kevi, unbeknownst to you that it was very intentional on Caleb's part. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove; Do Not Eat, afab!mc, she/her!mc, yandere!Caleb, pseudocest, drugging MC, stalking (filed under “surveillance”), angst, brief mention of pregnancy and pregnancy loss, noncon, somnophilia, oral (f. rec), masturbation, breeding kink, cream pie Word Count: ~3000 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

“Maybe you should take tonight to rest instead of meeting up with your friends, pip-squeak. You’ve been coughing all day.”

Caleb phrased it like a suggestion but you took it for what is was. Some things never change and his bossy tendencies was one of them. You had no intention of staying in tonight, cold or not— you promised Kevi you would help him and Zayne was waiting for you to bring the boy to him so he could be smuggled out of Skyhaven before the fleet found him.

As much as you wanted to trust your brother, there was something nagging at you that he was a different Caleb than the one you grew up with. You weren’t sure whose side he would take— yours or theirs should it be found out that you are secretly suspicious of the Farspace Fleet and investigating them.

“You’re probably right,” you say, exaggerating a cough.

“I’m always right,” he teases. “Besides, Skyhaven is under lockdown tonight while the fleet conducts a clean up.”

He disappears further into the apartment and returns a few moments later with two white pills in the center of his palm. You eye the pills warily.

“Cough suppressants,” he reassures.

A weight leaves your chest. You must be feeling especially paranoid with the whole Mia and Kevi situation. You don’t trust the Fleet but Caleb would never put you in danger, despite what his orders were.

You truly believed that. He was just trying to look out for your well-being. Taking the cough suppressants would probably help with the worst of your symptoms tonight anyway.

“Thanks,” you accept the medication. Caleb watches you chase down the pills with a glass of water, a satisfied smile on his face. “Why the need for the lockdown?”

“I see you haven’t gotten any less nosy over the years,” he accuses playfully.

“And you haven’t gotten any less avoidant over the years,” you counter. Still, you continue to probe. “Is it classified?”

Huffing a laugh and shaking his head, Caleb cages you against the counter. His eyes dance playfully across your face, left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You find it a little odd, considering that he was right-handed but you quickly push it from your mind, heart racing at the feeling of his proximity. His thumb strokes your cheek, subtly checking your skin for a rise in heat to ensure you haven’t caught a fever. At least that’s what he tells himself, and it’s partially true, but really he just wanted an excuse to touch you again after nearly a year of missing the feeling.

“No, it’s not classified,” he eventually gives. It wouldn’t hurt to allow you this small bit of information. “A weird fluctuation in the tunnel is riling up the Wanderers. So teams are being sent out tonight to handle it. But it’s nothing you need to worry about because you’ll be resting. Right?”

Thankful for your years of training at the academy, you school your face though guilt wracks through you for the lie you were about to tell. Yes, you believed Caleb would always put your safety first, but you still didn’t know how involved he was in this situation with the kids. You couldn’t risk letting them down. If it turned out you were wrong and the Fleet really had their best interests in mind, then you would tell Caleb the truth once Kevi was out of Skyhaven.

“First of all, I’m a Hunter and eliminating Wanderers is my job. So of course it’s something for me to worry about,” you narrow your eyes defiantly.

The lop-sided smirk on his face only grows in amusement. He always got his entertainment out of picking fights with you and then making it up to you afterward. But things were different now. You were different now. You had to learn to survive without the safety net Caleb provided. He needed to take your job seriously and recognize that you were more than capable.

“Unfortunately though, you happen to be right about me needing to rest and get over this cough. I need to return to work next week and I would hate for a mild cold to keep me from my job.”

At the mention of returning to work, his face drops, lips pursing disapprovingly. Caleb never did like the idea of you going into such a hands-on, dangerous profession but Gran always kept him from interfering with your career too much. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t anyone to bat away the insane thoughts of keeping you locked up at bay. Truth be told, his reaction was less to do with your job now and everything to do with you leaving Skyhaven. Thankfully, those thoughts didn’t win out today as he nods, backing away and changing the subject.

The distance between you was back to feeling cold and empty.

“I need to get ready for my shift. I’ll make sure to say goodnight before I head out. Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

The way he went from hot to cold gave you the worst kind of whiplash. One minute he was playful and fun, and the next he was closed off and felt far away and unreachable, even more so than when he was “dead”.

You swallow down the painful lump in your throat as you watch the back of his white sweater disappear down the hallway to the guest room he had been staying in during your visit since you have been staying in his.

After going through your usual bed time routine so as to not make Caleb suspicious, you crawl into the large soft bed. Rolling over on your side, you cozy up to watch raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling window as yet another storm dumps on Skyhaven. You had every intention of feigning sleep until Caleb left but somewhere along the way, your eyes grew so heavy that it was impossible to keep them open. You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep and when you did, it was like being submerged in a warm, soothing bath that you couldn’t seem to come out of, falling into such a deep sleep that not even dreams or nightmares could touch you.

Many hours later, an exhausted Caleb returns home. He doesn’t even bother shedding his damp uniform, leaving the OTTO unit to clean up the trail of water left behind from his soaked boots. He only has one destination in mind after a long night cleaning up the streets of his city.

Caleb pushed open his bedroom door a crack. Peering from beneath the bill of his uniform cap, his eyes dart over your sleeping form. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to return home from work. It was something he spent his entire adult life dreaming of and now it was a reality, even if wasn’t of your own doing. Very little was when it was left up to him.

He was trained to sus out lies in interrogation rooms and could read you better than a book. After all these years, you still had the same tells though you had gotten better at concealing them. To anyone else, you likely would have been the perfect little liar but he knew your face and your body language better than anyone, despite what your new little boyfriends thought.

Yeah, he knew about them.

It was his job to know things and above everything else, you were always his first priority of business. He had continued to keep a close eye on you after his recovery post-explosion. Even if the professor hadn’t assigned you to his charge as a secret mission, Caleb would have done it regardless. His Colonel rank only gave him more resources to keep tabs on you, even if that meant occasionally having to destroy certain types of evidence to keep you safe. There were some places you went where he wasn’t able to keep watch— the N109 Zone, specifically. But it didn’t take long for the Onychinus leader to show his face in Linkon City.

Sylus may have been wealthy and full of resources competing with his own that kept his identity unknown to most other government and military entities, but he was difficult to ignore when he started showing up everywhere you went in Linkon. Wasn’t exactly subtle in the way he was pursuing you, touching you like you belonged to him.

But he would be dealt with later.

Out of all of your admirers, there was one in particular that set Caleb’s teeth on edge and that was his former best friend.

It was no secret that Gran always pushed you and Zayne together which is why Caleb invited him into your bedroom in the first place. He wanted to make sure that Zayne understood the only way he would ever get to have you was because Caleb allowed it. For years, it would seem that he received that unspoken message, never making a move on you beyond the permission Caleb directed in those intimate moments. It didn’t take long for the doctor to take advantage of your loneliness though, to swoop in and be your shoulder to cry on in his absence.

If any of your boyfriends deserved the Farspace Colonel’s wrath, it was Zayne.

This was personal.

Now that you knew the truth of Caleb’s life, there was no reason to continue to sit back and watch those four continue to take what was his. You didn’t need anyone else when you had him.

Caleb pushed the thoughts of those other men out of his mind, not wanting to spoil this rare moment he had to watch you in person again, comfortable and pliable in his sheets.

Just like when you were younger, the blanket was tossed to the side with one leg in and one leg out like your body couldn’t decide whether it was hot or cold. This gave Caleb a view of your body, his familiar oversized aviation tee that you had stolen years ago covering you. He can’t believe you still had it, and wore it regularly by the look of the thinning material. It rode up your torso, teasing a view of your stomach. The temptation to keep his hands to himself is impossible as a leather gloved finger traces the hem of your sleep shorts.

Caught in his thoughts, he’s thrown back to your sophomore year of college. He was in his last year of pilot training but made the trip from Skyhaven to Linkon as often as he could to see you. One particular weekend, he surprised you with with a visit and you surprised him with a positive pregnancy test. He was over the moon, thinking of the best way to break the news to Gran and trying to convince you to finally let him put a ring on your finger. Not that he needed your permission because he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, but hearing you say yes of your own accord would be ideal.

Yes, you were both young but he’s loved you for as long as he could remember and spending your lives together was always the plan. Not to mention, he’s been looking for a way to convince you to stay out of the Hunter’s Academy for years— a baby was the perfect reason to keep you off of such a dangerous career path. You didn’t need to risk your life when he would always be there to take care of you. Both of you.

That all came crashing down when you miscarried just a few days later.

He was devastated.

You were relieved.

Your relief broke his heart and made him angry, feeling like he was grieving the loss of your baby alone but he would never expect you to carry the burden of his pain so he kept it to himself. Regardless, he hadn’t let go of his plan for your life together; the timeline would merely be pushed back a little. He’d been patient for years at this point. A couple more wouldn’t hurt.

That was, until the explosion that left him dead to the world and confined to a bed during his recovery. For a while, he let go of that silly dream, content to watch you live your life from afar while he kept you safe from the clouds above. But now that you knew the truth and were back in his life, he felt a flicker of hope return.

Pushing the t-shirt further up your body, he hunches over to press a trail of soft wet kisses across the skin, imaging what you’ll look like swollen and heavy with his baby.

“I’m going to put another one inside you one day,” he continues peppering his lips over your stomach then resting his forehead there as his cap rolls off his head to land on the mattress. “This is my vow. As soon as I deal with the professor and we’re both safe, we will finally have the life we were always meant to, pip.”

You begin to stir under his touch, the feeling of his soft damp tendrils brushing your skin, tickling you even so deep in your sleep. The soft gasp of his name on your sleepy lips is enough to make him harden uncomfortably in his uniform pants, the starchy material leaving very little growing room. He can’t help but to bury his face in between your legs, inhaling the familiar scent of you with a shudder. It’s enough to leave the rational part of his mind behind, the last shred of his self-control slipping since your arrival as he pulls your sleep shorts down and tosses them to the side along with his jacket and gloves.

Caleb palms himself through the now unbearably tight pants before unzipping them for some relief. Kneeling back onto the bed, he carefully shoulders his way between your thighs, admiring the sight of your beautiful pussy and inhaling you again, feeling a sense of home for the first time in nearly a year. The temptation was too much to resist.

Just one taste.

That was all he needed to get by until he could convince you that this is where you belonged.

With him.

Knowing you wouldn’t wake up with the pills he fed you earlier, he flicks out his tongue to lightly spread your folds, teasing himself with the hint of your comforting flavor. He hadn’t completely lied about the nature of the pills— they would certainly heal up that cough of yours but would knock you out for a solid 12 hours before you came out of it. They basically put the consumer into a temporary coma to encourage a quickly healing process. The medication was not available for public consumption, reserved only for fleet members who needed a quick recovery but his rank gave him access that most others did not have.

Earlier, he had felt guilty for deceiving you but reminded himself that you were lying about staying in to rest and likely intended to sneak out once he was gone. He couldn’t have you wandering around Skyhaven alone at night without his protection. Not to mention, he never would have been able to do this if he hadn’t pushed you to take the medicine.

Your flavor explodes on the tip of his tongue, causing his hips to jerk into the mattress as he throws your legs over his shoulders to deepen his kiss to your center. Licking through the seam, he seeks out your clit, teasing and sucking it between his lips until you’re swollen and slick, gushing around his mouth with sleepy sighs and moans as you came on his tongue. Even if you wouldn’t remember it, he needed to make you orgasm, missing the feeling of you falling apart beneath him as if a piece of himself had been missing for ten long months.

This was the most alive he’s felt since he died.

Rising to his knees, chest rising and falling in heavy pants with your essence coating his chin, Caleb pulls his hard cock free. His head falls back in ecstasy as his hand cradles his girth. With you lying there and the lack of feeling in his right hand, he could almost pretend you were the one tugging on it, bringing him to the brink.

“Fuck, pretty girl. Missed you so damn much,” he pants, left hand climbing up your soft thigh to thumb your slick clit again. He had always been addicted to touching you, but now it was like going on a bender after getting sober and he couldn’t get enough.

Surprising himself with the quickness of his orgasm, he spurts all over you with a pained groan. Ropes of white coat the inside of your thighs and stomach, and he can’t tear his eyes away. When there’s nothing left to give, he slumps down, admiring the sight of his claim. Heart pounding in his chest, another intrusive thought invades his mind, bouncing off of the walls of his skull until he gives into the compulsion. Scooping the spend up with his fingers, he carefully stuffs you full of it, your pussy sucking them in like it was welcoming him home.

Slicking back his damp hair, Caleb feels like the storm clouds of his mind have been temporarily settled, allowing him to think clearly again. Guilt once again floods him as he thinks about what he’s done, always at war with himself when it came to you. He busies himself with cleaning you up and redressing you, ensuring to leave no tangible evidence of what he had done behind. Only the knowledge that he had left a piece of him behind for you to take back home with you.

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mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

treasure in the sea — fushiguro toji.

“Okay, then, Toji….” you teased lightly, hoping to ease the heaviness of the moment. “What’s the most complicated thing in your life right now?” He laughed softly, the sound mixing with the crash of the water. “You asking me that, here of all places, doll.” he said, shaking his head as if you had walked right into some unspoken truth. You blinked, suddenly unsure of what to say. “What do you mean?” Toji met your gaze, the teasing spark in his blue–green eyes replaced by something more serious, more real. His voice was low when he spoke, just loud enough for you to hear over the ocean. “You, probably.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), r-18, angst, fluff, first love, friends to lovers, romance, love, drama, hurt/comfort, break up, college sweethearts, smut, kissing, oral receiving, implied p-i-v sex, sexual intercourse, pining, hurt, happy ending, domestic, loss, death, grief character death, guilt, parenthood, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of pining, depiction of parenthood, depiction of guilt, depiction of grief, depiction of character death, depiction of break up, mention of parting, mention of the past, mention of character death, mention of drug overdose, mention of sexual acts and conducts, dad!toji, mom! reader, son! megumi;

WORD COUNT: 14k words

NOTE: i can't believe that toji finally won a poll and with a massive lead. i loved writing this a lot and this was so exciting to write. this was based on this japanese show called umi no hajimari and i adored the show. everything about this was just so lovely. i feel like toji in canon did love megumi and mamaguro a lot, so i wanted it to translate here no matter what. there is smut here so this is a prelude to the kinktober event that starts on october 4th, 2024. i hope you enjoy that too!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS LIKE FATE LET THIS HAPPEN. In the bustling crowd of students gathering around tables covered with colorful fliers, you spotted him: Zenin Toji, standing tall and frigid, looking somewhat out of place, his eyes scanning the scene as if he wasn’t quite sure where he wanted to be.

Meanwhile, you, shorter and bright eyed, were grabbing every flier you could find, from the Art Club to Ultimate Frisbee. It was quite crazy, to see you grab them with a smile on your face over and over in a speed he couldn’t keep up with. Toji noticed your enthusiasm, probably confused by the sheer number of papers you were collecting.

You exchanged a glance, a brief nod and a small smile. But it was clear he wasn’t sure about the whole "college club" thing. He wasn’t even sure about joining school clubs in high school.

He lingered at a few tables, undecided, but eventually, you lost sight of him in the crowd as you moved on to collect more fliers and started mingling with the upperclassmen managing the booths accommodating the freshmen. Toji thought you were a dream, a moment’s notice. And yet, what he didn’t realize is that you were anything but that.

Later that evening, you attended a dinner event hosted for various clubs, a casual mixer where students could gather, chat, and get a feel for different groups on campus. To get used to college life. The room buzzed with laughter and conversation, and tables were spread with club brochures, each one trying to outshine the others to attract new members.

You had settled at a table near the center, surrounded by people engaged in light conversation, but your thoughts kept drifting. You had collected a few fliers from the clubs you were curious about, but you still felt undecided. Well, they all had mixers in the upcoming days. So, you wanted to judge them by eating at the restaurants they went to. The better the food, the better you feel about the club!

As you chatted politely with a few others, you caught a glimpse of someone familiar out of the corner of your eye. That tall boy with that obnoxious gaze. Zenin Toji, who you'd seen earlier in the day looking equally disinterested, was seated a few tables away. His broad frame slouched back casually, yet something about his presence felt charged. The rest of the room seemed to fade for a moment as he caught your eye. A slow, playful smirk curled on his lips.

Before you could react, Toji stood and approached your table. Without hesitation, he plopped down into the empty seat beside you. "Still hoarding fliers?" he teased, his voice low and amused.

You glanced at the stack of fliers you had gathered, caught off guard by his casual confidence. “I guess I am.” you said with a small smile, half-laughing at his remark, trying to shake off the flustered feeling his sudden closeness brought. His presence seemed to shift the mood, drawing your focus entirely to him, while the rest of the room hummed in the background.

Toji leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking between you and the fliers, clearly finding humor in your indecision. “Any standouts, or are you just collecting paper at this point?”

The playful banter had a magnetic pull, and despite not knowing much about him, you found yourself leaning into the conversation.

You shifted in your seat, the weight of his presence drawing you in despite the crowded room. “A little of both, I think.” you replied with a smirk, trying to match his easygoing attitude. You glanced at the fliers in your hand, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ve narrowed it down to a few, but… haven’t quite committed.”

Toji chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Commitment issues, huh?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Maybe I just like to weigh my options. I mean, the better the food, the better the shot.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned in slightly, his arm resting on the back of your chair. “Or maybe you’re overthinking it.” he said, his voice dipping lower, more personal. “Sometimes it’s better to just pick something and see what happens.”

The sudden shift in his tone sent a ripple of warmth through you, his casual confidence making it hard to resist the pull of the conversation. He didn’t seem like the type to overthink anything, which was probably why he intrigued you so much. Toji was all instinct and ease, a stark contrast to your careful, measured approach to things.

“Is that what you did?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just pick a club and see where it takes you?”

Toji glanced around the room, as if he hadn’t really considered joining anything until now. “I haven’t picked anything yet,” he admitted, leaning back again, his arm still casually draped behind you. “Not sure if I will.”

You tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of you. “So why are you here then?”

He shrugged, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe I was waiting to see what you’d pick.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a faint blush rise to your cheeks. His teasing was effortless, and it disarmed you more than you cared to admit. “Oh, so now I’m the deciding factor?” you asked, trying to deflect with humor, but your heart skipped a beat at the playful challenge in his words.

“Looks like it.” he replied smoothly, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. There was something unspoken in the air between you, an electric undercurrent that neither of you acknowledged but both clearly felt. Toji’s laid-back demeanor only heightened the tension, making it hard to look away from him.

Before you could respond, the conversation around the table picked up, a few people asking you about the clubs you’d been considering. You answered politely, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Toji, who remained seated comfortably beside you, like he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself more and more aware of his presence—the way he occasionally leaned in to comment on something, his quiet observations that made you laugh, the subtle glances he threw your way. There was an ease to his company that surprised you, like you’d known him longer than just this fleeting encounter.

Eventually, the mixer began winding down, and people started to gather their things, heading out in groups or saying goodbyes. Toji stretched lazily beside you, his smirk still lingering.

“So, have you made up your mind yet?” he asked, glancing at the fliers one last time.

You held them up, looking between him and the colorful pages. “Maybe I’ll just join the one you do.”

Toji raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Now you’re the one following me?”

You shrugged, playing it off, but there was a spark of genuine interest behind your words. “Maybe I just want to see what happens.”

For a second, he looked at you like he was trying to figure you out, then his smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “Guess we’ll both find out, then…doll.” he said, standing up and offering you a hand.

You took it, feeling the warmth of his grip, and as you stood beside him, the energy between you shifted slightly. It wasn’t just playful teasing anymore—there was something real in the air, an unspoken understanding that this chance encounter might be the start of something neither of you had planned.

You stood there for a moment, hand still in his, feeling the weight of the moment linger between you both. Toji's grip was warm, firm but casual, and even as he let go, the imprint of that brief touch stayed with you. He glanced around the room, as if assessing how much time was left before the evening fully wrapped up, then turned back to you with a raised eyebrow.

“So…..” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Since you’re so indecisive about clubs, maybe we should keep in touch. In case you need more advice.”

You caught the playful glint in his eye, but there was an undercurrent of something genuine there too. Without really thinking it through, you reached for your phone. “Yeah, advice. That’s what I need, hm?” you joked, handing him your phone with a smirk.

Toji took it without hesitation, his fingers moving quickly as he typed in his number. He handed it back to you, and you glanced down to see his contact saved simply as Toji. No last name, just that. There was something almost intimate about the simplicity of it. He shot you a lopsided grin.

“Now you can bug me about which club to join, doll.” he teased, but his tone was soft, almost like he was saying more than his words let on.

You saved your number in his phone in return, noticing how natural it felt to exchange numbers with him, like this wasn’t the first time you’d done this. Maybe it was the easy way he carried himself, or the way his smirk softened when he looked at you, but it felt… effortless. You weren’t sure what that meant yet, but you liked it.

As you handed back his phone, you found yourself lingering, caught in the moment between what this was and what it could become. “I’ll hold you to that, you know. The advice.” you said lightly, breaking the tension but not quite dispelling it. Your gaze lingered towards him for a little too long. “You better answer, okay?”

Toji chuckled, his eyes glancing over your face like he was committing it to memory. “Why wouldn’t I?” he snickers back at you. “That means I’ll be hearing from you soon.”

The way he said it wasn’t a question—it was a certainty. Something about the confidence in his words sent a ripple through you. You nodded, feeling a smile tug at your lips as you tried to play it cool. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

He laughed quietly, clearly enjoying this little back-and-forth. “I’ll keep my phone close, then.”

Just as the room started to clear out, Toji took a small step closer, his voice lowering slightly. “See you around… and don’t overthink it. I’ve got a feeling you’re not as indecisive as you make yourself out to be.”

There was something almost intimate in the way he said it, like he saw through your front and into something deeper. Before you could reply, Toji gave you one last smirk, a teasing glance, then turned and walked toward the door, disappearing into the flow of people heading out.

You stood there for a moment, watching him go, your phone still in hand, his number glowing on the screen. The mixer’s noise buzzed in the background, but your mind was elsewhere, still caught on the feeling of that exchange—light and playful on the surface, but weighted with possibility underneath.

As you finally made your way to the exit, you found yourself thinking back on his words, the certainty in them. Maybe you weren’t as undecided as you thought. Or maybe Toji was the push you didn’t realize you needed.

Later, as you stepped into the cool evening air, your phone buzzed in your hand. A message flashed on the screen.

Toji: Already overthinking things?

You smiled to yourself, feeling the warmth of anticipation in your chest. Maybe this was the start of something, after all.

EVERYTHING QUICKLY STARTED FROM THERE. From that night, your friendship with Zenin Toji developed naturally, like you’d always known each other. You quickly fell into a rhythm of hanging out at various club events together, even though Zenin Toji never quite settled on joining any one group.

He showed up with his usual laid-back grin, fliers still folded in his pocket, but it didn’t matter. The bond you formed over your shared indecision—and the string of free dinners at the events—was enough to keep you together. It was easy, lighthearted, the way you could sit with him at these gatherings and slip into conversation like you were old friends.

Toji was an engineering major, which surprised you at first, given his carefree attitude and lack of outward focus. He rarely talked about school, yet somehow, you could picture him excelling in that structured world of machines, calculations, and practical problems. In contrast, you were a classical music major, your world filled with compositions, performances, and delicate precision. It seemed like a strange match on the surface, but somehow, the two of you worked.

The more time you spent together, the more you realized that Toji had a knack for grounding you in ways you didn’t expect. When you’d get lost in your head, agonizing over pieces of music or second-guessing your choices, Toji had a way of cutting through the noise with his straightforward advice. “Don’t think so hard, doll.” he’d say, almost like it was the simplest thing in the world. And sometimes, it was.

Weeks turned into months, and your connection with him deepened. You found yourself spending more time outside of the club events, drawn together by your shared love for adventure. It became almost a tradition between the two of you.

The spontaneous outings where neither of you planned ahead, just picking up and going somewhere on a whim. Toji had this effortless energy about him that made you want to say yes to everything, even things you wouldn’t normally do. There was something freeing about being around him, like he gave you permission to let go of the structure you were so used to.

One of his favorite places to take you was the sea. You weren’t sure how it had come up the first time, but maybe during a casual conversation, or maybe you had mentioned it while reminiscing about the littlest of things, from your childhood memories to what shape of the cloud you think you see.

But once Toji knew you had a deep connection to the ocean, he made a point of driving you there whenever he could. There was a stretch of coastline a couple of hours away, not too far but far enough to feel like an escape from the routine of classes and rehearsals.

The first time he took you, you had been stressed over an upcoming recital, feeling the weight of expectation pressing down on you. Toji had sensed it, of course, and in his usual no-nonsense way, he simply said, “Let’s go.”

The drive was quiet at first, filled with the sound of the engine and the open road. But as the scenery changed from city streets to winding coastal roads, you felt yourself relax, your worries melting away in the face of the endless horizon. When you finally arrived, the sea stretched out before you like an open invitation, the salty air filling your lungs and the rhythmic crashing of the waves soothing something deep inside you.

It was on that shore that you realized how much Toji meant to you. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. He just stood there beside you, hands in his pockets, letting you have the space to breathe. His presence was steady, grounding, like the ocean itself—a constant in your life that you hadn’t known you needed.

Over the months, those trips became your refuge. Whenever things get overwhelming; whether it was school, life, or the inevitable chaos that comes with growing up—Toji would drop whatever he was doing at the time and drive you to the sea. You’d spend hours walking along the beach, talking about everything and nothing.

Sometimes you’d sit in silence, both of you content just to be there, feeling the wind on your faces and the cool sand beneath your feet. It was sometimes better, enjoying each other’s company. Other times, you’d talk late into the night, sharing stories from your childhoods, dreams for the future, and even the occasional fear that lingered in the back of your mind.

For Toji, the sea seemed to bring out a different side of him—a quieter, more reflective side. It was during these trips that he’d let his guard down, offering glimpses into his life beyond the cool, carefree persona he usually wore.

You learned that he’d grown up near the ocean, that it had been his escape as a kid, a place where he could forget the troubles waiting for him at home. He never went into too much detail, but you could hear it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken, a part of him that he wasn’t quite ready to share yet.

For you, the sea was a place of peace. It reminded you of childhood summers spent by the shore, of simpler times when the only thing that mattered was the sound of the waves and the feeling of sand between your toes. Being there with Toji brought back that sense of calm, of being anchored in the present, and you found yourself growing more and more attached to those moments together.

Your friendship was effortless, but there was something else growing between you, something that neither of you had acknowledged out loud yet. It lingered in the spaces between your conversations, in the way Toji would glance at you when you weren’t looking, or the way your heart would skip a beat when his hand brushed against yours as you walked along the shore. It wasn’t just friendship anymore—it was something deeper, something that made your time together feel heavier, more significant.

But for now, you didn’t push it. You let things unfold as they would, trusting that whatever was happening between you and Toji would make itself known in time. And until then, you were content to keep taking those spontaneous trips to the sea, finding peace in each other’s company, knowing that somehow, no matter where you were, you always found your way back to him.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the water as you and Toji waded into the sea. The cool waves lapped at your ankles, sending shivers up your spine as you walked further in, side by side. The gentle roar of the ocean filled the space between you, and for a while, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the serenity of the moment.

The sea had become your shared escape, a place where words weren’t always needed but somehow always found their way into the quiet moments. Toji was waist-deep now, his eyes fixed on the horizon, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“You always get this serious when we’re out here, you know?” you said, splashing a bit of water in his direction, hoping to break the quiet spell. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced over at you, dodging the splash with ease. “The ocean does that to me, doll.” he admitted. “Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “Yeah, but in a good way. Like nothing else matters out here.”

Toji tilted his head slightly, considering your words. His usual laid-back attitude softened, replaced by that contemplative side he only seemed to show when you were near the water. “Maybe that’s why I keep bringing you here, doll.” he said, his voice quieter now, almost drowned out by the sound of the waves. “Keeps things simple.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the sun’s fading rays. “You do like things simple, don’t you?”

Toji gave a half-shrug, the corner of his mouth quivering. “Not everything, doll. I thought you knew that.”

There was a pause, and his words hung in the air between you. The two of you had been dancing around something for months now, that unspoken connection that neither of you had fully acknowledged. The tension between friendship and something more had always been there, simmering beneath the surface like the waves that rolled in at your feet.

“Okay, then, Toji….” you teased lightly, hoping to ease the heaviness of the moment. “What’s the most complicated thing in your life right now?”

He laughed softly, the sound mixing with the crash of the water. “You asking me that, here of all places, doll.” he said, shaking his head as if you had walked right into some unspoken truth.

You blinked, suddenly unsure of what to say. “What do you mean?”

Toji met your gaze, the teasing spark in his blue–green eyes replaced by something more serious, more real. His voice was low when he spoke, just loud enough for you to hear over the ocean. “You, probably.”

Your breath caught for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t joking, not this time. There was no playful smirk, no light teasing. He was being honest in that way only Toji could be—blunt, to the point, but with a tenderness you weren’t used to seeing from him.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the depth of the water around you, the way it mirrored the depth of what was happening between you two. “I didn’t think I was that complicated.” you managed to say, your voice soft but laced with a nervous laugh.

Toji took a step closer, the water swirling around his waist, but the space between you felt even more significant. “You’re not. You never have been.” he said. “But what I feel for you? That’s the complicated part.”

His words sent a jolt through you, and your heart started pounding in your chest. The two of you had spent months building this connection, this unspoken bond, and now—here, in the middle of the sea, surrounded by nothing but water and the fading light of the evening—he was finally saying it out loud.

“I wasn’t sure in the beginning, doll.” Toji continued, his voice still low, careful, like he was treading new ground. “At first, I thought it was just us hanging out, being friends. But then… I don’t know. The more time I spent with you, the harder it got to keep things simple. And it all just….it just stopped becoming clear.”

You felt the pull between you growing stronger, the unspoken tension finally surfacing. It had been there all along, in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the way his casual touches lingered just a little too long. You could feel your heart beating out your chest, your eyes tense as you looked at him.

“Toji….” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel it too.”

He didn’t say anything right away, but the relief that washed over his face was unmistakable. It was as though the tension disappeared as his shoulders dropped. The waves lapped gently at your legs, the soft push and pull mirroring the emotions between you. Toji stepped even closer, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his presence despite the cool water surrounding you both.

“I don’t do complicated things, doll.” he said, his bright beautiful eyes locking onto yours.“but I’m willing to try if it’s with you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you like a wave. Toji, the man who seemed so laid-back and sure of himself, was standing here, opening up in a way you hadn’t expected. He was offering you something real, something he didn’t give easily.

You reached out, letting your hand find his beneath the water, your fingers intertwining with his. “I don’t need simple.” you said, smiling softly. “Well, not without you. I just…. need you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, the only sound the steady crash of the waves, the only feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. Toji’s gaze softened, and in that moment, it felt like something between you had finally clicked into place. Something unspoken, something that had always been there, was now laid bare between you.

He smiled then, that familiar, easy grin, but this time, it was softer, more genuine. “Guess that settles it, huh?”

You laughed, feeling the tension finally break, replaced by a sense of peace that only the sea and Toji—could give you. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

And as the two of you stood there, hand in hand, the sun setting behind you, the waves rolling gently at your feet, it felt like the beginning of something new—something neither of you could predict but both of you were ready to dive into together.

IT WAS LIKE FLOATING IN THE CLOUDS, EVERYTHING AFTER THAT. After that day at the sea, things between you and Toji shifted into something deeper. You started dating officially, but it wasn’t much different from before, just more intentional. You went everywhere together—spontaneous weekend trips, late-night diner runs, quiet evenings at your place with takeout and music playing in the background.

He made you laugh like no one else could, and you found yourself feeling lighter in his presence. No one could make you feel this happy. Not anyone. Just your Toji. After that day at the sea, everything changed between you and Toji, but in the most natural way.

The shift wasn’t abrupt—it was like everything you both had been dancing around finally clicked into place. You were officially together now, but it didn’t feel that different from before, except for the fact that everything seemed more deliberate, more real.

Dating Toji was a blend of excitement and comfort. You found yourselves constantly making spontaneous decisions, from late-night drives to nowhere, to impromptu weekend getaways. He had this knack for making every moment feel like an adventure, even if all you were doing was stopping by a hole-in-the-wall diner at 2 AM for greasy burgers and fries. Somehow, the world felt bigger with him, like there was always something new to discover as long as he was by your side.

The quiet moments became just as meaningful. You’d sit together at your apartment, the dim glow of the city outside your windows, takeout containers spread across the coffee table as some old-school vinyl hummed softly in the background. Toji wasn’t one for endless conversation, but when he did speak, it was either to crack a joke that left you laughing uncontrollably or to say something so unexpectedly sincere that it left you speechless.

And the way he looked at you, with those sharp eyes softened just for you, made your heart race in a way no one else ever could. He had this rough exterior, intimidating to most, but with you, he was different—gentler in a way that seemed reserved for you alone. There were times when he’d pull you close without a word, his arms wrapped around you, as if to remind you that he wasn’t going anywhere, that you were his, and he was yours.

You never realized how easy happiness could feel until him. Sure, life had its ups and downs, but with Toji, the weight of the world seemed lighter. He made you laugh like no one else ever could, often in the simplest, silliest ways. Whether it was his dry humor or those stupid pranks he'd pull just to see you roll your eyes—everything about him had the power to brighten your day.

And then there were the quieter realizations, the ones that snuck up on you when you least expected it. Like when you’d catch him glancing at you from across the room, and there was something so tender in his gaze that it almost took your breath away. Or when he’d grab your hand in a crowded place, lacing his fingers through yours as if it were second nature, making you feel like the safest person in the world.

The truth was, no one made you feel the way Toji did. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but neither were you, and that was what made it work. There was no pretense with him, no need to hide or hold back. He saw you for who you were, accepted you, and made you feel like you were more than enough. In his presence, you felt lighter, freer, like everything was easier when you were together.

No one else could do that. Not anyone. Just your Toji.

He was your person, your unexpected joy, and as things deepened between you, you realized that he had become so much more than just a part of your life. He was your home.

He was at your place again after finals. It was like a magnetic pull; he couldn’t stay away from you, even after the grueling physical test that left him spent and drenched in sweat. Yet, here he was—unbothered by his disheveled state. His body craved yours, and you could sense that same hunger in yourself. You had been waiting, yearning to close the distance, to touch him, taste him—everything.

As your boyfriend’s hand tenderly wrapped around your wrist, he tried with all his might to stop you. He had that surprised look on his face, almost as though he’d been caught off guard. You could feel your boyfriend's grip firm but almost too careful, almost too cautious. You looked at him with those bright doe eyes.

“Doll, what are you doing? I’m supposed to be the one to go down on you—”

You didn’t let him finish at all, leaning towards him and kissing him passionately. You smiled against the way he kissed you back, his palm touching your cheek as the gravitational pull drew you both closer, deeper and deeper into the kiss. You parted your lips from him and took a moment to pull his hand away from your wrist. It was strong but tenderly gentle. You shove it away. You slowly knelt in front of him.

“Let me do this first. Please.”

Toji could feel his breath hitch deeply. All he could feel at that moment was the way his knees trembled. He was sure that he was feeling it. It was too obvious. Everything about this was giving away the struggle between resistance and desire.

“Here? In your kitchen, doll?” His voice cracked slightly, weary hesitance betrayed by the heat that cut through the reverberation of words. His blue–green eyes darted down to where you were, your hardened resolve so clear, and then back to him with a wanton glance at the sweat on his bright tan skin. “You can’t be serious, I have to cook our dinner now—”

“Please. Now.”

“Now?” Toji's question was more like a whisper, a mix of confusion and longing. It was as though he wasn’t sure if he should stop you or let you take him, right there, without a second thought. It was as though he was having a hard time figuring it out. “I can’t…I can’t just have you do this in the kitchen. It’s not even clean….”

His body told you all you needed to know. He wanted this as much as you did. You didn't answer him with words. Instead, you held his gaze, your intensity silencing the doubt that lingered in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, your fingers trailed along his thigh, firm but teasing. His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and his hand flexed at his side as if unsure whether to stop you or let you take full control.

"Just let me, baby. Please, Toji." you whispered, your voice low and thick with need. It was a command, but more than that, a plea. You needed this—needed him.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and you watched his resolve melt away. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath ragged, as though he was on the edge of a precipice, uncertain whether to fall or hold back. But when his hand, the one he'd tried to use to still you earlier, moved to your head, fingers tangling softly in your hair, you knew his decision.

"You’re—" He tried to speak, but the words failed him. Whatever argument or hesitation he had left was swallowed by the way his body responded to your touch. The tension in him snapped like a taut string, and all that remained was the heat between you.

You leaned closer, lips ghosting over his skin, the salt of his sweat mixing with the warmth radiating from him. Every inch of him felt alive under your hands, and you could feel his pulse racing, mirroring your own urgency.

His grip in your hair tightened ever so slightly, and the sound that escaped him was one of surrender. "Fine…fine." he breathed out, a soft growl that sent a shiver down your spine. "Whatever you want… just—"

His words faltered again, but it didn’t matter. You knew exactly what he meant. Your fingers slid down his abdomen, feeling the tension ripple beneath his skin as you lowered yourself further. His muscles twitch involuntarily under your touch, betraying his anticipation despite his earlier hesitation. You could hear his breath hitch again, faster this time, his hand still tangled in your hair, half-pulling, half-guiding you as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold back or let go.

You knew, though. He wanted this as badly as you did, even if his mind had yet to catch up to his body’s desires.

You pressed a kiss just above the waistband of his pants, slow and deliberate, feeling him tense beneath your lips. His hips jerked slightly, a reaction he couldn’t contain, and you smiled to yourself at the effect you were having on him. Your fingers toyed with the waistband, teasing him, drawing out the moment just a bit longer.

“Stop teasing…” he muttered, voice breathless and strained. His grip in your hair tightened for emphasis, but it lacked the conviction to pull you away. He was already lost in this, even if he tried to pretend otherwise.

You finally obliged, tugging down his pants, the fabric sliding against his skin, revealing him fully. His body shuddered at the sudden exposure, and a soft, involuntary groan escaped his lips as the cool air met his flushed skin.

You didn’t waste time after that, leaning in with purpose, your tongue flicking out to taste him. The groan that followed was deeper, rawer, his hand now gripping your hair tightly, holding on as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His legs trembled beneath your touch, and his breath came in ragged gasps as you moved, your mouth working him over with a slow, deliberate pace.

Every sound that escaped him, every twitch of his body, spurred you on, and you could feel him losing control. His hips buckled forward, desperate for more, and his other hand clutched the edge of the sofa behind him, knuckling white from the strain.

“Fuck.” he breathed, voice hoarse and barely audible, his entire body tense with the pleasure building inside him. “Don’t stop… just like that…”

You could feel him unraveling, every touch, every flick of your tongue driving him closer to the edge. And you were glad for it. You were giving it to him. You were the cause of his pleasure. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, and his body trembled under your ministrations.

He was close, and you knew it, but you kept going, pushing him further, not giving him a moment to recover or catch his breath. His head fell back, his chest heaving as he surrendered completely to the sensations coursing through him.

And then, with a final, ragged groan, he came undone beneath you, his entire body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over him. His grip on your hair loosened, and he slumped back against the sofa, utterly spent, chest rising and falling heavily.

You pulled back slowly, watching as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes half-lidded, glazed over with satisfaction. His hand slid weakly from your hair, his body still trembling in the aftershocks of his release.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room filled only with the sound of his heavy breathing. Then, finally, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as though in disbelief at what had just happened.

“God.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You really don’t play fair, do you?”

You smiled, wiping your lips as you leaned back on your heels. “I told you to let me do this.”

He laughed again, softer this time, eyes meeting yours with a mix of exhaustion and adoration. “Yeah, doll.” he whispered, voice still breathless. “You did.”

As the air settled between you, his breathing evened out, and he leaned forward. Before you could react, Toji’s strong hand cupped your face, pulling you in for a strong, passionate kiss. It was sudden, raw, his lips crashing into yours with the kind of intensity that took your breath away.

His mouth was warm and demanding, and the taste of his. It was making him feel hotter. And it made you hotter that the taste of his juice was being shared between the two of you. It was too good, the heat, salty taste and something uniquely his—flooded your senses.

You felt a shiver race down your spine as his tongue brushed against your lips, coaxing them apart. Without thinking, you melted into him, letting him take the lead. The way his hand moved from your face to your neck, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel his power, sent your mind spinning. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, the kiss growing more fervent with each passing second.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for air, his dark, sharp eyes locked onto yours. A smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, and there was something dangerous in his expression—something that made your heart race faster than before.

“My turn, doll.” Toji rasped, voice low and gravelly, dripping with intent. His thumb traced your bottom lip, as though marking the spot where his mouth had just been. "You didn’t think I’d just let you have all the fun, did you?"

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, rough but purposeful, guiding you up and onto the couch. His grip was firm as he pressed you down, positioning himself between your legs, eyes dark with hunger. He wasted no time—there was no hesitation in his movements, only a primal desire to return everything you’d given him moments ago.

Toji’s lips found your neck, trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone. Each kiss, each brush of his lips against your skin sent electric jolts through your body, heightening your senses. He was taking his time now, savoring each second as he moved lower, his breath hot against your chest.

He paused briefly, looking up at you, that same wicked smile playing on his lips. "Relax. You’re gonna want to enjoy this."

With that, he moved lower, and your breath caught in your throat as his mouth descended. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. His tongue was slow and deliberate, moving with the kind of precision that had you gripping the edge of the couch within seconds. Your back arched involuntarily, and a soft moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"That’s it." he murmured, the vibrations of his voice against your skin making you tremble. "Let me take care of you."

Toji’s pace was unhurried, savoring the way your body responded to him, but there was a ferocity behind his touch that let you know he wasn’t going to stop until you were completely undone. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, his strength evident in every subtle movement.

Each flick of his tongue, each stroke of his lips sent you spiraling, and soon you were lost in the sensation. Your hands found his hair, fingers gripping tightly as you struggled to stay grounded, but it was impossible. Toji was relentless, expertly pushing you further and further, until you were right on the edge, your entire body trembling under his touch.

"Toji," you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity. "I—"

But he didn’t let you finish. Instead, he quickened his pace, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pushed you over that edge. The sensation hit you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering as the pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and shaking beneath him.

For a moment, the world went hazy. All you could hear was your own heartbeat, loud and fast in your ears, and the sound of Toji’s deep, steady breathing as he slowly pulled away.

When your vision cleared, he was leaning over you, eyes filled with satisfaction. His lips curled into a familiar smirk as he wiped his mouth, clearly proud of the way he had left you undone. "Told you it was my turn." he teased, his voice smug, but the warmth in his gaze softened the edge.

You couldn’t help but laugh, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah," you managed to say, voice hoarse. "I think you made your point."

Toji leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, this time slower, more intimate. "Good." he whispered against your mouth. "Because I’m not done with you yet."

EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP, IT WASN’T PERFECT. And you always knew that, even in the best of moments. There were times when Zenin Toji’s recklessness frustrated you or when his silence left too much unsaid. But none of that ever seemed to matter in the grand scheme of things.

What mattered was that it was real, and despite the flaws, both of you were genuinely happy. Toji had a way of making life feel effortless, as though the weight of the world didn’t matter when you were with him. His presence made everything feel simple, even when it wasn’t.

For a while, you let yourself believe in that simplicity. You believed that the two of you could live in this uncomplicated, happy bubble forever, like nothing could shake the foundation you’d built together. Every laugh, every stolen glance, every spontaneous trip made it easy to forget about the uncertainties that loomed in the background. With Toji, life felt lighter, almost as if the two of you existed in a world separate from everyone else’s struggles and complications.

But then something shifted. It was subtle at first, a creeping unease you couldn’t quite place. Until one day, your world came crashing into focus. You found out you were pregnant.

The moment the test came back positive, the air seemed to leave the room. You sat in the bathroom, staring at the two lines on the test, your mind racing but stuck at the same time. Hours seemed to pass, or maybe just minutes. Time had no meaning at that moment. All you could focus on was the weight of the news in your hands and the way everything suddenly felt heavier, more real, more terrifying than you’d ever imagined.

How could this have happened? Sure, you and Toji had been careless at times, but it never seemed like a real possibility….until now. And now, you were faced with a reality you hadn’t prepared for, a future that felt overwhelmingly uncertain.

You were scared. Not just for yourself, but for Toji too. You had no idea how he’d react, and that terrified you even more. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who liked to plan or think too far ahead. He thrived on spontaneity, on living in the moment, and the idea of something as permanent and life-altering as a baby… you weren’t sure how he’d handle it.

Would he be angry? Dismissive? Or worse—indifferent?

The thought of having that conversation made you feel physically ill. You had played out the scenario a hundred times in your head. Maybe he’d shrug it off like it was no big deal, or maybe he’d walk out without a second thought. Or maybe he’d surprise you, like he had so many times before, and show a side of himself you hadn’t expected. The uncertainty gnawed at you, filling your chest with a kind of dread you hadn’t experienced before.

You spent the next few days trying to find the right moment, the right words, but nothing ever seemed good enough. Each time you looked at him, your throat tightened. He’d catch your gaze, and you’d quickly look away, afraid that he’d somehow see the truth written all over your face before you were ready to say it out loud.

But it was inevitable. You couldn’t hide it forever, and sooner or later, you’d have to face what this meant for both of you. Would it change everything? Could your relationship survive something so monumental? You didn’t know. The only thing you knew for sure was that your world had already shifted, and there was no going back.

That evening, when he came over to your apartment, you were sitting on the couch, your hands clasped together, trying to gather the courage to tell him. Toji sat beside you, noticing your tense posture immediately.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Toji, I need to tell you something.”

His expression shifted, becoming more serious. “Okay. What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant.” The words fell from your lips like stones, sinking into the quiet space between you. You watched his face closely, trying to read his reaction, but it was hard to tell what he was feeling at first. He blinked, his mouth slightly open, as though trying to process the information.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, his mind working behind his eyes. You could see the shock there, the confusion, the disbelief. His silence made your heart pound even harder.

“Toji?” you prompted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Are you… sure?”

“Yeah. Of course I am.” you nodded, your throat tightening. “I took a test.”

Another silence stretched between you, the weight of the situation settling in the room. Toji leaned back slightly, his face unreadable as he stared at the floor, his brows furrowed in thought. It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t joy either. It was something heavier, something more complicated.

“I—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

The pit in your stomach deepened. You had known this would be hard, but seeing him so stunned, so lost, was more painful than you had anticipated.

“Toji, listen…. I just… I already planned this out and I thought about it.” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t want to make this hard on you.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes sharp, questioning.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice low.

You took another breath, already feeling the tears welling up behind your eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it. Calmly. And…honestly.… I’ve decided I’m going to get an abortion.”

His blue–green eyes widened slightly, and for the first time since you’d told him, you saw a flicker of something raw, something close to fear in his expression.

“An abortion?” he repeated, his voice sounding hollow.

“Yeah, I am.” you nodded, trying to stay composed. “I don’t think we’re ready for this, Toji. I don’t want to complicate your life any more than it needs to be. With your family being rough and everything, I just…I don’t want this to add to your life. And I don’t want it to be harder on us, I mean we’re in college with nothing.”

He was quiet for a long moment, but the tension in his body was palpable. He was thinking, processing, trying to make sense of everything. When he finally spoke again, his voice was firm, but there was something broken underneath it.

“Are you… doing this for me?” he asked, his jaw clenched. “Because if you are, don’t.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden force in his words. “Toji, listen… I’m just trying to make it easier for you—”

“No, no.” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t make that decision because of me. If you don’t want this, fine. But don’t do it because you think I can’t handle it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as the conversation turned heavier than you had anticipated. Toji had never been the type to be openly vulnerable, but there was something in his eyes now, something deeper than shock. It was fear. Not of the pregnancy itself, but of you taking that choice away from him.

“I’m not. I promise, I’m…” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “It’s not just about you, Toji. It’s about me too. We’re not ready for this—”

“And what if we are?” he cut you off again, his voice strained. “What if we could be?”

You shook your head, tears finally slipping from your eyes. “It’s too much. We’re not even finished with school. I don’t want to mess up your life.”

Toji reached out, his hand gripping your arm, not hard, but firm enough to make you stop. “You think this would mess up my life?” he asked, his eyes searching for yours. “What about yours?”

The question hit you hard. You had been so focused on how Toji would react, on how this would change his future, that you hadn’t fully considered what this meant for you. It wasn’t just his life that would change—it was yours too. And the truth was, you were terrified of that change.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whispered, finally letting the fear show in your voice.

Toji’s expression softened, and for the first time since the conversation started, he pulled you into his arms. His grip was strong, steady, like he was trying to anchor you in the chaos of your own emotions.

“We don’t have to decide everything right now, doll.” he said softly, his voice close to your ear. “But don’t do this just because you think it’s the right thing for me.”

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, letting the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t know what the future held, or what the right decision was. All you knew was that, for the first time in a long while, you weren’t facing this alone.

IT WAS A FEW WEEKS LATER. Zenin Toji sat in the crowded cafeteria, only half-aware of the conversation around him. The buzz of his classmates discussing internships, upcoming exams, and their futures faded into the background as he absentmindedly poked at his food.

His thoughts were elsewhere, drifting between the monotony of the day and the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It had been a few days since he last saw you, but with finals and the usual chaos of student life, it wasn’t unusual. He figured you were busy, like everyone else.

But then a group of your friends approached. Their faces were drawn with concern, their eyes darting nervously around the room as they stopped in front of him. Toji barely registered their presence at first, his mind still elsewhere, until one of them spoke up.

“Toji, hey.” her voice was soft but edged with worry. “Have you seen her?”

He frowned, snapping back to the present. “What are you talking about? Who?”

“Her. You know…” she repeated, her words hitting a little harder this time. “Your girlfriend. She’s not in her dorm, and we haven’t seen her around campus. She dropped out, Toji. The professors said she withdrew from all her classes.”

The fork in his hand froze mid-air, his breath hitching as the words landed with a gut-wrenching thud. Dropped out? You? No. That couldn’t be right. You hadn’t mentioned anything about dropping out or even considering it. The last time you spoke, everything seemed normal—at least as normal as it had been lately. But this? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like you to just disappear, especially not without saying anything to him.

Toji’s chest tightened, panic swelling beneath the surface, though he tried to mask it with his usual composed demeanor. “What?” he asked, his voice sharper than intended, laced with disbelief. “What do you mean she dropped out?”

“I don’t know..” one of your friends replied, her own uncertainty mirroring his. “She’s just… gone. We checked everywhere—her dorm, the library, even the places she liked to hang out. She’s not answering her phone. And when we talked to the professors, they confirmed it. She withdrew from all her classes yesterday.”

His heart pounded in his chest, a sinking feeling spreading through him. Gone. The word echoed in his mind, heavy and suffocating. None of this made any sense. He thought back to the last few times you were together, searching for any clue, any sign that you were planning something like this. But nothing stood out. You had been a little distant lately, maybe, but you always brushed it off as stress from school.

The thought of you leaving without saying a word, of just vanishing from his life like that, was like a punch to the gut. Toji wasn’t used to feeling powerless, but right now, that’s exactly what he felt. He had no control, no idea what was going on, and the uncertainty of it all gnawed at him like a vicious storm.

“Did she… did she say anything to any of you?” he asked, his voice rougher now, desperate for some kind of explanation. “Anything about why she’d do this?”

Your friends exchanged uncertain glances, but none of them had answers. One of them finally spoke, shaking her head. “No, she didn’t say anything. She’s been quiet lately, but we didn’t think she was planning to leave like this.”

Quiet. Distant. It all started to add up, piece by piece. You had been pulling away, hadn’t you? It was subtle, barely noticeable at first, but now, in hindsight, it seemed so clear. Toji’s mind raced with possibilities—was this about the pregnancy?

Did you feel like you couldn’t tell him? Did you think he wouldn’t want this? His stomach twisted at the thought. He wasn’t the best at dealing with emotions, but if you had come to him, if you had just told him… he would’ve figured it out with you.

He pushed away from the table, standing up abruptly, his heart racing. “I’m going to find her.”

“Toji—” one of your friends began, but he was already moving, his mind set. He had to find you, had to understand what had driven you to this decision. Whatever was going on, he needed answers—needed to hear it from you.

Because the idea of losing you, of you walking out of his life without even a word, was something he wasn’t prepared to face.

Without a second thought, Toji pushed his chair back, standing up abruptly. His classmates glanced at him, startled, but he barely registered their reactions. His phone was already in his hand, and he started dialing your number as he made his way out of the cafeteria, his steps quick and purposeful.

The ringing on the other end felt like it lasted forever. His heart pounded harder with each unanswered ring, his mind racing with questions. Why hadn’t you told him? Why had you left?

Finally, you picked up.

“Toji.” you said quietly, your voice strained, almost like you had been expecting this call but had dreaded answering it.

“Where the hell are you?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the frustration and panic out of his voice. “Your friends came up to me. They said you dropped out. What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a heavy silence on the other end, before you finally answered.

“I left.” you said softly.

“What do you mean you left?” His voice was sharper now, disbelief and anger mixing together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.” you replied, your tone distant, guarded.

“Couldn’t?” Toji repeated, his frustration growing. “You just decided to leave without saying anything? That’s it? That’s your explanation?”

You were quiet for a moment, and Toji could hear the sound of your breathing on the other end. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way toward your dorm, his pace quickening. He could feel it, something’s not right. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like this.

“I just… I can’t do this anymore, Toji.” you finally said, your voice cracking, though you were trying hard to keep it steady.

His chest tightened at your words. “What are you talking about? Can’t do what? We’re supposed to figure this out together!”

“I don’t want to make things harder for you.” you said, your voice soft and strained. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

Toji stopped in his tracks, standing just outside your dorm. His hand was already on the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock. “Trapped?” His voice was low now, disbelief coating every word. “You think I feel trapped?”

“You deserve more than this, Toji.” you said, your tone hollow. “More than me. I can’t keep doing this to you.”

“To me?” His voice grew louder again, anger mixing with the hurt that was now undeniable. “You think leaving without a word, without even trying to talk to me about it, is making things easier? You think this is what I want?”

Another silence stretched between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

“I can’t do it anymore, Toji.” you repeated, your voice more final this time. “I can’t do… us.”

Toji’s hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white as he leaned his head against the door, trying to hold back the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He had never been good with feelings, never been good at expressing what was going on inside his head, but this—this was different. This was you.

“Why?” he asked, his voice raw, the hurt finally slipping through the cracks in his defenses. “Tell me why. I thought we were in this together.”

Your breath hitched on the other end of the line, and Toji knew you were trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I have to do this. I’m breaking up with you, Toji.”

His stomach dropped. He had heard the words, but they didn’t feel real. Not yet. Not when you were still on the other end of the line, not when he was standing outside your door.

“Don’t do this, doll.” he said, his voice low and pleading now. “We can figure it out. Whatever it is, we can fix it. You don’t have to run.”

But you didn’t answer. The silence on the other end grew heavier, suffocating, until it became clear what you were doing.

“You’re really doing this?” Toji asked, his voice thick with disbelief. “You’re just leaving?”

“I’m sorry, Toji.” you whispered again, and then the line went dead.

He stood there, the phone still pressed against his ear, the empty dial tone ringing in his mind. You were gone. You had left, just like that. The weight of it all hit him at once—the pregnancy, the future you both had avoided talking about, the life that had suddenly unraveled in a single moment.

For the first time in a long while, Zenin Toji felt lost.

HE BLINKED AND IT WAS THE FUTURE. Years had passed since that fateful conversation, and life had unfolded in unexpected ways for Zenin Toji. He had poured himself into his work, rising through the ranks to become a top engineer at his company. His days were filled with projects and deadlines, and while the ache of the past lingered in the back of his mind, he had learned to compartmentalize it.

He was dating someone new now, a woman who brought laughter and light into his life. They shared quiet dinners, spontaneous weekend trips, and plans for a future that felt bright and hopeful. Toji had learned to enjoy the moments, to savor the present without the weight of what could have been pulling him down.

But one afternoon, as he was wrapping up a meeting, his phone rang. The name on the screen made his stomach drop: it was one of your old friends.

He answered, his tone casual. “Hey, what’s up?”

The silence on the other end was heavy, laden with a gravity that sent a chill down his spine. “Toji… I need to talk to you. It’s about uh….her.”

The way she said your name made his heart race, an instinctual dread creeping in. “What about her?” he asked, his voice tightening. It has been years. Years since he’s heard your name. Years since that feeling of the sea wallowed its way into his heart. You. The very thought of you was spring, endless spring. “What happened?”

Another pause. “She… she passed away.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs. “What?” he managed to stammer, disbelief flooding his mind. “What do you mean, passed away?”

“She had an accident. It was sudden. I’m so sorry, Toji.”

He felt the world tilt on its axis, the room around him blurring as the shock set in. “No, no, that can’t be right.” he said, shaking his head as if the motion could change the reality. “When? How?”

“We don’t have all the details about it yet.” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I thought you should know. She had some friends over… and then it happened, after they all left. There’s suspicion that it was an accidental drug overdose, medication. Um, but we’re not sure if that’s true. Because…she’d tell us, if she was sick.”

The words began to sink in, but they felt surreal, detached from reality. How could this be happening? You had once been a part of his life, and now… now you were gone. The memories surged back—your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about music, the softness in your voice when you told him you were leaving.

“I… I need to go.” he said, his voice shaking. “I need to be there.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern echoing in her tone. “Toji, breathe.”

But Toji couldn’t respond. He ended the call, the weight of what he had just heard pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He stared at the wall, his thoughts racing, heart pounding. Everything he had built, the life he had created, suddenly felt meaningless in the face of this loss. All shattered. Both the past, the present and future — all at once, dying.

He stood up, feeling unsteady, as if the ground beneath him had vanished. The world outside his office window looked the same, but everything felt different—bleak, muted, and empty.

Without thinking, he grabbed his jacket and left the office, his mind a whirlpool of memories and emotions. He could hardly focus on the road as he drove, the city blurring past him. All he could think about was you—what you had meant to him, the moments they shared, the unfinished conversations that hung in the air.

When he finally arrived at the location your friend sent, everything about the scene was somber, filled with familiar faces that had once been part of your life. He made his way through the gathering, his heart heavy in his chest. He saw your friends, their faces drawn with grief, and the realization hit him like a wave: you were really gone.

Zenin Toji found a quiet corner, his back pressed against a wall, as the reality settled in. The laughter and joy he had learned to embrace felt like a betrayal now. You should have been here, sharing these moments, navigating life together, just as you once had.

As he stood there, memories flooded back—moments of joy, of connection, of love. And in that instant, he understood that he would always carry a part of you with him, a lingering ache that would never truly fade.

The world moved on around him, but Toji felt frozen in place, grappling with the loss of someone who had shaped him in ways he had never acknowledged until now. And in that moment, he knew that no matter how much time passed, he would never forget you.

Toji stood at the edge of the gathering, the atmosphere heavy with sorrow and disbelief. The small chapel was filled with familiar faces, all of them grieving the loss of you, and he felt an ache deep in his chest as he took in the scene. Your family stood near the front, your mother clutching a bouquet of flowers, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Your father stood beside her, a stoic figure trying to hold it all together.

As the service progressed, Toji’s gaze wandered, and he noticed a young boy standing close to your mother. The child couldn’t have been more than five or six, his small frame almost dwarfed by the adults around him. He had dark tousled hair and bright, green – blue eyes echoing with curiosity that seemed to scan the room, searching for something—or someone.

Toji’s heart dropped as he took a closer look. The boy had a striking resemblance to him. It was subtle but unmistakable—the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, and the way he tilted his head when he looked around. The realization hit him hard, like a punch to the gut.

Just then, the boy moved toward your casket, his tiny hands reaching out to touch the smooth wood. As though he wanted to stroke your face with the warmth of a thousand suns. Toji felt a surge of instinct, wanting to protect the child from this pain, but before he could react, a white-haired man stepped in. With an air of calm authority, he gently scooped the boy into his arms, pulling him away from the somber sight.

Toji’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the man—Gojo Satoru, a familiar figure from your past. He was your friend in college too. Protege, in the science department. He was a chief mourner today. The very presence of him felt like a ghost, both comforting and painful. He had always known Gojo Satoru to be a charismatic enigma, with his goofy smile and unserious eyes. But now his demeanor was serious, focused on the child in his arms.

“Hey, little guy.” Gojo said softly, kneeling down to the boy's level, his voice a soothing balm against the surrounding grief. “Let’s give her some space, okay?”

The boy looked up at Gojo, confusion etched on his young face. “But I want to say goodbye to my mama.” he said, his voice small and tremulous.

Toji felt his heart clench. Who was this child? Why did he look so much like him? Was he really…?

“Let’s remember her in a different way.” Gojo suggested gently, still holding the boy close. “We can share stories about how amazing she was, okay?”

The child seemed to consider this, his brows furrowing in thought. Toji felt an urge to move closer, to find out everything he could about this boy, but he was rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away.

As Gojo began to lead the boy away from the casket, the child turned back one last time, his wide eyes filled with innocence and sorrow. “I miss her already. I miss my mama already.” he whispered, and Toji’s heart shattered at the sound of those words.

He watched as Gojo knelt down again, whispering something in the boy’s ear. Whatever it was, it made the child’s face light up with a fleeting smile, and for a moment, Toji felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this boy could carry on a part of you—your spirit, your laughter, your love.

But the reality of the situation crashed over him once more. You were gone, and this child, whom he instinctively felt a connection to, was a reminder of everything that had been lost.

Toji took a step forward, the urge to reach out to the boy overwhelming him. He had to know. “Excuse me.” he said, his voice cutting through the murmur of the gathering, his eyes locked on Gojo and the boy. “Who is he?”

Gojo looked up, surprise flickering in his gaze before a knowing look settled in. “This is your son, Toji,” he said gently. “He’s her child. Your child.”

The words hung in the air like a weight, and Toji felt the ground shift beneath him. He had a son? The realization was like a tidal wave crashing over him, overwhelming and disorienting. All the moments he had missed, the life he hadn’t known he had—everything rushed to the surface, leaving him gasping for breath.

“I didn’t know….I….” he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips. “I didn’t know I had a son…”

Gojo nodded, his expression softening. “She wanted to tell you, but things got complicated. She loved you, Toji. She always did.”

The ache in Toji’s chest deepened, a mixture of regret and longing flooding through him. He wanted to reach out to the boy, to embrace him and promise to be there, to make up for all the lost time. But he felt frozen, unsure of how to bridge this sudden chasm between them.

The boy turned to look at him, his innocent eyes searching, and in that moment, Toji knew he couldn’t turn away. He took a step forward, his heart pounding, ready to face the truth of his past and embrace the future, whatever it might hold.

Toji took a deep breath, his mind racing as he processed the weight of everything Gojo had just revealed. “Who are you, exactly? To her.” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt. “Why are you here with him?”

Gojo regarded him with a measured gaze, a mix of understanding and sympathy etched across his features. “I’m Satoru Gojo, her ex.” he began, his tone calm yet heavy with unspoken history. “We had our time together, but she broke up with me to focus on raising him—Megumi.” He paused, his expression shifting slightly, as if weighing his next words. “But… I helped out when she started to suffer from her illness. We…we also worked together.”

The revelation hit Toji like a punch to the gut. It was hard to hear that you had suffered, and he couldn’t fathom how you had faced such a struggle. You have always been so vibrant, so full of life. The image of you laughing by the sea, dreaming about the future, felt so far removed from the harsh reality of illness. How could this happen? How could you be dead? The thought churned in his stomach, leaving him feeling hollow and lost.

He felt a wave of panic and disbelief. You had been taken away from your son. From Toji. It was like that again—just when he had thought he was on the cusp of something beautiful and real, everything crumbled. You had left him once more, not by choice this time, but by fate’s cruel hand.

“Why didn’t I know?” Toji’s voice was barely a whisper, laced with frustration and sorrow. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Gojo’s eyes softened with empathy. “She wanted to protect you, Toji. You had a life too. She thought that by keeping her distance, she could spare you the pain. She didn’t want you to feel trapped by her son and her illness. It was incurable, all there could be was maintenance. So…she thought it would be better to leave before the damage was done.”

Trapped. The word stung. He had always wanted to be there for you, to share the burdens and the joys. “But I would have wanted to be a part of it, for bitter or worse.” he replied, his voice trembling. “I could have helped. I could have been there for both of you.”

Gojo nodded, understanding the turmoil in Toji’s heart. “She knew that, but she was scared—scared of what her illness would do to you and to Megumi. She wanted to give him a chance at a life free from that burden. It was a hard choice, but she thought it was the right one.”

The realization crashed over Toji like a wave. You had made that decision alone, believing it was the best thing for your son. And now, that choice has cost you your life. Anguish twisted inside him, and he felt a growing anger not towards you, but towards the circumstances that had taken you away.

How could it be fair? How could the universe allow such a beautiful spirit to slip away while leaving behind a child who would now grow up without knowing his mother?

Toji felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. The name hit him like a jolt, reverberating through him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. “Megumi.” he repeated softly, the sound wrapping around his heart like a lifeline.

It was the name you had once discussed with such warmth and hope while watching the waves crash against the shore, dreaming of what could be if you ever started a family together. The memory came flooding back—the laughter, the carefree joy of that day, and the vivid images of a future that felt so tangible then.

“Yeah, she loved that name.” Toji murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I did too.”

He struggled to hold back tears, remembering how your eyes sparkled when you spoke about having a family, the way you imagined little Megumi running along the beach, chasing after waves with unabashed joy. That dream had felt so real, and now it felt like a cruel joke, a glimpse of what might have been.

Gojo nodded, his gaze steady. “She was a great mom, Toji. Megumi was her whole world. She did everything she could to raise him right, even when things got tough.”

The weight of those words settled heavily on Toji’s heart. “What happened to her?” he asked, his voice trembling. He needed to know; he had to understand how it had come to this.

“Heart disease.” Gojo replied, a shadow of sadness crossing his face. “Giving birth to Megumi made it worse, but she…she thinks Megumi was the best thing in her life. Her treasure in the sea, she calls him.”

Gojo’s words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling deep in Toji’s chest. He could feel the slow, painful collapse of his heart as the reality of the situation set in. The woman he once cared for, the mother of his son, had been struggling in silence all this time, carrying the burden of her illness alone while he lived his life, unaware. The thought gnawed at him, twisting the guilt deeper into his soul.

“She never regretted it,” Gojo continued, his voice steady but soft. “She said you had a good life. And she did too, despite everything. She wanted to make sure Megumi had the best, and she gave him all the love she could.”

Toji clenched his jaw, fighting against the flood of emotions surging inside him. Anger, sorrow, regret—it all mixed together into a tight knot in his chest. He felt sick with it, sick with the thought that while he was out there, living his life without a care, she had been suffering. And she hadn’t reached out to him. Hadn’t told him how bad things were. She’d shouldered it all on her own.

“But why didn’t she reach out to me?” Toji’s voice trembled, his words barely above a whisper. He needed to know. He needed to understand why she’d kept him in the dark. “I could’ve helped… I would’ve done something. Anything.”

Gojo’s gaze softened, sympathy shining in his eyes. “She didn’t want to burden you. That’s what she always said. You had your own life, your own path. She didn’t want you to feel tied down by everything she was going through.”

Toji’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. He wanted to scream, to curse the universe for being so cruel. How could she have thought he wouldn’t want to help? How could she have carried that weight alone?

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression solemn. “She never saw it as a sacrifice, Toji. In her eyes, you both lived your lives as you were meant to. She loved Megumi with everything she had, and she believed she made the right choice by not involving you. It was her way of protecting you, even if it meant doing it on her own.”

“To protect me?” Toji muttered bitterly, his chest tightening even more. The thought of her enduring so much pain while thinking she was doing it for his sake felt unbearable. “But it wasn’t just about me. I had a right to know… Megumi’s my son, too. I should’ve been there for him. For her.”

“I know,” Gojo said quietly, his tone gentle but firm. “But in her mind, this was the best way. She wanted you to live your life freely. No regrets, no guilt. And in the end, she did what she thought was best for Megumi.”

Toji’s heart ached at those words. The image of her, alone with Megumi, doing her best to raise him while struggling with an illness that had only worsened over the years—it was too much to bear. He couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that clung to him, the overwhelming regret of not knowing, not being there when they needed him most.

“She called him her treasure in the sea,” Gojo added softly. “He was her everything.”

Toji swallowed hard, his throat tight. “And now what?” he asked, his voice strained. “What happens to Megumi now?”

Gojo’s gaze was steady, full of understanding. “Now, it’s your turn, Toji. Megumi needs you. You might not have been there before, but you can be there now.”

The gravity of Gojo’s words hit him like a tidal wave. Megumi was his responsibility now. His son. And no matter how much he regretted the past, he couldn’t change it. All he could do was move forward and be the father Megumi needed.

Toji’s heart felt heavy, but amidst the pain and regret, a flicker of resolve began to grow. He couldn’t undo what had happened, but he wouldn’t let his son down. Not again.

“I’ll be there for him. I….I will be there, just like she was.” Toji whispered, more to himself than to Gojo. “I won’t let him go through this alone.”

Gojo nodded, his expression softening. “That’s all she ever wanted.”

“Megumi….I….” Toji whispered, a smile breaking through the haze of grief. “I never knew…” His voice trailed off, choked with emotion.

Gojo watched him intently, gauging his reaction. “You can get to know him, Toji. You can be part of his life if you want. He deserves to know his father.”

Toji felt a rush of determination mixed with fear. “I want to be there for him. I want to be part of his life,” he said, his voice firm. “But how do I do that? How do I even begin?”

Gojo stepped back, giving Toji space while still keeping Megumi close. “You take it one step at a time. Start by introducing yourself. He needs to see that you care.”

Toji looked at Megumi, who was now watching him with wide, innocent eyes, curiosity mixing with uncertainty. It felt surreal, being in this moment—a chance to connect with the child he never knew existed.

“Hey, Megumi.” he said softly, kneeling down to the boy’s level. “I’m Toji. I’m your… father.”

The boy’s gaze flickered between Gojo and Toji, processing the words. “Father?” he echoed, his voice small and hesitant.

“Yeah.” Toji said, his heart racing. “I didn’t know about you until today, but I promise I want to be here for you. I want to know you.”

Megumi’s expression shifted, uncertainty still lingering, but there was a flicker of something else—hope? Curiosity? Toji couldn’t tell, but he felt compelled to keep talking. “Your mom and I talked about you once, you know. We dreamed about what it would be like to have a family. We even picked your name together.”

At the mention of your name, Megumi’s eyes brightened a little. “Mom loved me?” he asked, his voice small but filled with longing.

Toji nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “More than anything. She thought you were the most special person in the world.”

Gojo watched the exchange, a subtle smile of encouragement on his face, and for the first time, Toji felt a sense of connection to this boy. A connection that reached beyond the pain and the past, into a future that was now possible.

“Can we talk about her?” Megumi asked, his small voice filled with the innocence of a child who wanted to keep your memory alive.

“Of course.” Toji replied, his heart swelling with affection. “We can talk about her all day. She was amazing, Megumi. And I want to share all the stories with you.”

As they stood there, the weight of loss began to shift, creating space for something new—a tentative bond that could grow into something meaningful. Toji knew it would take time, but he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him.

“I’m here now.” Toji said, looking deep into Megumi’s eyes. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

EVERYTHING HAD BEEN A WHIRLWIND. Fushiguro Toji’s life changed in ways he never anticipated. The news of your passing was like a shockwave, reshaping his world overnight. He left his family. He broke up with his girlfriend. He changed his last name to match yours and Megumi, after he had asked your parents. He needed to focus on raising Megumi. Like you would have wanted. Like it should have been.

Taking on the responsibility of being Megumi’s father was daunting. Every day brought new challenges and revelations. Toji found himself learning how to care for a child, adjusting to late-night feedings and school projects, and discovering the joy of small victories—like Megumi’s laughter during playtime or the pride in his eyes when he accomplished something new.

Yet, amid the routine of parenting, there was a void that lingered deep within him. He wasn’t over you. He never had been. Memories of you flooded his mind—your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about the future, the dreams you had shared together. It felt like a cruel twist of fate that he now held the title of father while grappling with the reality that you were gone.

Every time he looked at Megumi, he saw pieces of you—the way he scrunched his nose when he concentrated, the softness of his smile, and the kindness in his heart. Toji often found himself reminiscing about those conversations you had on the beach, envisioning the life you had both dreamed of. It hurt to think of the family that could have been, the moments that would never materialize.

Despite the pain, he pushed forward. For Megumi’s sake, he channeled his grief into being the best father he could be. He read parenting books, reached out for advice, and did his best to create a stable home filled with warmth and love. He wanted Megumi to feel secure, to know that he was cherished and valued.

But as the days turned into weeks and then months, the ache of your absence remained a constant companion. Toji would often catch himself staring out at the ocean, remembering the life you envisioned together, and it struck him anew how unfair it all felt. You had left too soon, and now he was left to navigate the complexities of fatherhood alone, always carrying a piece of your heart with him.

The sea stretched out before them, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore filling the air with a soothing melody. Toji stood at the edge of the water, the salty breeze brushing through his hair as he watched Megumi run ahead, his small figure framed against the vast expanse of the ocean. The boy’s quiet demeanor softened in the presence of the sea, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he bent down to pick up a shell, the sunlight catching in his dark hair.

Toji’s heart tightened as he watched him, an unexpected flood of emotions surging through him. This was your place—the sea. You had always talked about how peaceful it made you feel, how the endless horizon made everything seem possible. He remembered the times you’d come here together, how you’d sit by the water, your laughter carried away by the wind. And now, here he was, with your son—his son—standing in the same place you had once loved.

He raised the camera in his hands, snapping a picture of Megumi as the boy turned toward him, holding up the shell in his hand as if to show it to him. Toji couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time. There was something about Megumi in this moment, something in his quiet curiosity, the way his eyes softened as he gazed at the sea, that reminded him so much of you.

It hit him like a wave—how much of you lived in Megumi. Not just in his looks, but in his spirit. The calm, quiet strength, the way he approached the world with a sense of wonder, but always with his guard up. You had given Megumi more than just life; you had given him a piece of your heart, a piece of the love you had carried for both of them.

Toji took another picture, capturing the way the light danced across Megumi’s face, the way the sea reflected in his eyes. And for a moment, he could see you—standing there beside him, your laughter mingling with the sound of the waves, your hand resting gently on his shoulder.

He lowered the camera, his gaze softening as he watched Megumi return to the water’s edge. He was beginning to understand now, the words you had left behind, the meaning of what you had called Megumi—your treasure in the sea. It wasn’t just about the boy himself, but what he represented. The love you had for him, the love you had for Toji, even if life had taken you down separate paths.

Megumi was that love. He was the bridge between you and Toji, the one thing that connected them both, even after you were gone.

Toji closed his eyes, taking in the sound of the sea, letting it wash over him. For so long, he had been angry, filled with regret for not being there when you needed him most. But now, standing here with Megumi, he realized that you hadn’t left him behind. You had left him something more precious than anything else—the love you shared, alive in your son.

As Megumi looked back at him, the shell still in his hand, Toji smiled. He walked toward him, crouching down to meet the boy’s gaze.

“You know,” Toji said, his voice soft, “your mom used to say you were her treasure in the sea.”

Megumi blinked, tilting his head slightly. “What does that mean?”

Toji reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Megumi’s face. “It means she loved you more than anything. She saw something special in you, something worth holding onto. And she was right.”

Megumi looked down at the shell in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. “Do you miss her?”

Toji’s chest tightened, the familiar ache of loss rising to the surface. But for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel so overwhelming. He glanced back at the sea, the horizon stretching out endlessly, just like the love that still connected them.

“Yeah,” Toji admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I do. But you know what? I see her in you. Every day.”

Megumi’s eyes widened slightly, and he gave a small nod, as if trying to absorb the weight of his father’s words. They stood there in silence for a moment, the gentle sound of the waves filling the space between them. Toji pulled out the camera once more, capturing one last picture—Megumi standing at the shore, his small frame against the endless sea, the shell still clutched in his hand.

At that moment, Toji understood. Megumi was not just your treasure; he was your treasure. The love that both of you had poured into him, the love that endured, even when everything else had changed.

And now, standing beside his son, Fushiguro Toji felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The peace only you could give him.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Code of Conduct 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work.

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Mr. Rogers leaves without saying a word. His face is pale as his hand opens and closes in a fist at his side and he strides past your desk. You watch after him, thinking for a moment that you should follow. No, he has to sort this out on his own. You’ve already done too much.

You go through his calendar and cancel his only other meeting. You don’t think that’s going to happen.

It’s strange sitting there alone. Mr. Rogers comes and goes often but not know when he’ll be back puts you on edge. An hour passes then another. You spend your lunch outside in the sunshine then come back in to the stale office air.

Your phone rings and you answer. You’re surprised when Rogers’ voice comes from the speaker. You expected it to be Dizzie for some reason. She’s been awfully quiet today.

“She changed the locks,” he croaks.

There’s static on the line and thrum that’s so loud it nearly drowns him out.

“Sir?” You sit up straight.

“Peggy. She locked me out. I don’t... I don’t know what to do. I’ve just been sitting here in my car...” his voice is a dull murmur.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers. Is that—can she do that? Can you call your lawyer? The police?”

“Police told me to call the lawyer. Lawyer says it’s gonna take a while so... yeah.”

“I’m so so sorry,” you touch your cheek. “I can’t even imagine... that’s horrible.”

“Yeah, I mean, who would leave you, Rosie? No, that’d be crazy.” He sniffles, “guess I deserve this. I worked so much, all so I could give her the life she wanted but it turns out I worked just enough to drive her away.”

“Sir,” you utter.

“Guess I could go to a hotel. I mean, might as well spend the money before I have alimony to pay,” he laughs crisply. “Bucky’s not picking up. I thought maybe I could stay there but... just because my life is falling apart doesn’t mean he needs to pick up the pieces.”

He sounds so broken it makes your heart rend. Something about his cadence also worries you. He doesn’t sound healthy.

“Sir, where are you?”

You realise then what that noise is. Water.

“By the bridge. The water looks cold.”

You swallow and stand up. “I’ll come to you, alright?”

“Rosie? Why...”

“Just, it’s okay, sir, I’ll be there. Is that Collingswood Bridge? I love the flowers there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he answers.

“Alright, I’m on my way okay, so let’s stay on the phone.”

“Rosie, why do you sound so upset?”

“I’m not upset. I just think you need a friend so I’m coming. Did you want me to message Mr. Barnes as well.”

“I told you, he’s too busy for me,” he mopes.

“But just in case--”

“Oh, woah!” He exclaims.

“Sir, what--”

“Nothing, nothing, I just... this bridge is so high up.”

You tamp down your worry and take a breath, “sir, I canceled your meetings. Oh, did I tell you, they’re opening a new donut place downstairs too! I know your favourite is the one with the sprinkles.”

“You remember,” he says softly.

“Of course, sir,” you assure him.

You keep chattering about nothing in particular as you swipe up your bag and race out of the office. You try not let him hear you panting as you rush down to catch a cab. You mute the phone to tell the driver to head to the bridge then get back on the line.

The conversation rolls on as you don’t let Rogers stop talking. You get out with a hasty thanks and tip to the driver. You rush down the bridge without looking ahead and only after you’re halfway down do you see your boss sitting on the railing. Holy moly.

You slow and walk up to him slowly, letting out quiet mhm’s and uh huhs and you grab onto his forearm. He flinches and you tug on him. You won’t be able to stop him from going over if he slips but you didn’t want to just call out to him and give him a warning.

“Rose!” He looks at you and lowers his phone. “How’d you get here?”

“Mr. Rogers, please, will you get off the railing?” You ask softly.

He stares at you then looks out at the water. He laughs and turns to hang his legs over the inside of the bridge. “Sure, Rosie. Were you worried?”

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay, sir,” you cling to him until he’s on his feet. He glances down at you grip and you finally let go.

“I’m good. I’m great, now that you’re here. Did you find me a room yet?” He asks.

You wince. You’ve been on the phone this whole time. When does he think you did that?

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Of course, of course,” his eyes are red from tears, his cheeks pallid and streaked.

“Um, I’m sorry, everything’s booked up,” you say, “how about you come to my place? You can stay on my couch. Just for tonight.”

“Really?” His brow wrinkles, “you’d do that for me?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer. You don’t think leaving him alone right now would be smart. Nor could you forgive yourself if anything happened. “It’s fine. My place is just a bit small.”

“Mm, I don’t mind,” he smiles and pushes his shoulders up in a shiver as a breeze blows across the water. “It’s cold out here.”

“It is, sir,” you agree. “Where did you park?”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #au #bad bosses #code of conduct #drabble #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america

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zarnzarn · 6 months ago

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@irondork tags on the first post made me go heheh out loud so heres part two of the reverse odyssey au

1/2/3/4

They set out in the morning.

Laertes and Anticles have taken over the throne until they return with the lost king, tears in their eyes as they wave the ship off, the smallest and sleekest one, fitted with twice the sails. Penelope and Telemachus keep their eyes on Ithaca until the last moment, her nails digging into his shoulder as they stand at the bow, and then she sighs and turns them to the captain's cabin with determination.

They turn into the open ocean with nothing but hope, all thirty five men that could fit in the boat rowing unrelentingly. She remembers some of them from the march out. They had left years ago as farmers and theives, come back as weatherbeaten soldiers, loyal and hardworking.

And guilty. Grieving, even, that their king gave up his life for them, thirty-five of them with either no one to go home to, or over-dedicated to the king, or filled with some odd sense of machismo, Cmietine had said, the night before they left.

Penelope knew better. They loved her husband, these men, to the bone, as had all the others who had begged and pleaded to be chosen to come. She knew better than anyone what it was like, after all, to have Odysseus look at you with his Athena-gifted eyes, to have him pull you in with a warm around your shoulders and a rakish grin as he flattered and joked and laughed. Knew better than anyone what it felt like to be caught in his wit and loyalty, to have his love and knew that helplessly, you could not help but love him in return. And for him to have fought by their side for ten years, brought almost every man home alive?

She knew the men loved Odysseus.

And she would use that well.

"Full speed ahead!" She shouts, trying to remember the confidence of her husband's orders, and keeps her eyes on the birds.

The first year, they sail until they run out of food, all the way back to Troy and then around, with one man in each direction awake at all times to search for even a glimpse of their wayward king. Penelope demands stories while they sail, of every scrap of her Odysseus from their eyes, encouraging them with what she can, making plans and strategies with Polites and Eurylochus and everyone else for when they find him.

They treat her with respect, to her surprise, never favouring another's order over hers or hesitantly explaining the reasons why they couldn't instead of dismissing her outright, that she wryly thinks must be at least partly borne of fear.

"I mean no offense, my lady," one of them says one day, rowing hard as he talks, after she says this. "But he really never shut up about you, ever. He once spent an entire evening after battle yelling at us how you would have done better."

She laughs at the thought, cheeks hot, even as the other sailors yell about disrespect and conduct before the queen and throw various things at the young man's yelping face.

Telemachus grows well on the ship. He finds it as easy to adapt as both his parents, and is beloved by the sailors as their own as he learns to handle ropes and oars and sails.

He does not understand the curse, does not understand why the adults around him weep so much, only knows that his father now swims in the waters and needs to be brought home.

Perhaps that is why he is the one to glimpse the scales in the water on the day they run out of food, despite Penelope's strictest rationing, when they all gather on the deck to hang their heads before one last speech, as the order is finally given to turn the ship back around home.

"Hello!" He shouts, waving wildly. "I'm Telemachus! Your son!"

His father blinks at him with five eyes- greyer than his, but still grey like his own- then smiles widely, waving back.

Telemachus hears gasps and cries and his mother's shout, but doesn't really wanna turn- he's finally seeing his father! After so long! Which means they can finally go home!

Penelope nearly trips them both overboard with how hard she rushes into him, one hand to her mouth as she sees Odysseus at last, at last. He looks gaunt, tail no longer silver but bright with dappled orange and red and yellow, dark brown like his hair, and they watch his expression wobble and tears leak onto his wet face as all thirty five of them clamber to the side of the ship, trembling with emotion as they shout greetings at him.

"Odysseus!" Penelope screams, laughing with joy as she gathers her chlamys up and steps onto the edge of the ship, ignoring the panicked rush of men trying to grab at her and the begging for Telemachus to stop trying to follow her bad examples. "Come here, you great idiot- where have you been?"

He swims closer almost hesitantly, diving under a wave and then reappearing next to the boat. He looks- shy, of all things, something like raw fear crossing his face as he flicks his tail and comes closer, even as the men run to get the nets, the ropes, the tub. Penelope laughs and reaches over the bow of the ship to strain downwards, arm outstretched to her husband, tears streaming down her face as he catches the next wave enough to meet the tips of her fingers.

And then Eurylochus next to her bellows, "NO!"

They all nearly jump out of their skin, and Penelope turns to look at her brother-in-law running across the deck to where one sailor is undoing the rope wound around a dirty rucksack, bag falling from his hand in shock.

Odysseus' fingers barely touch her own as the wave passes by, and then the winds of Aeolus still trapped in the bag burst out in a furious maelstrom, carrying their ship away in one direction, pushing the ocean waters in a forceful blow in the opposite, leaving Penelope screaming her husband's name in desperation as they're pulled apart once more.

Odysseus' answering scream of horror carries on the wind back to them, and then nothing at all.

#odyssey #odysseus #penelope #odypen #reverse odyssey au #eurylochus #polites #yall didnt think this was over did u :)#tried to put in as much of canon as i could. hence the shy lmao #telemachus #the whole kingdom of Ithaca versus the fucking sea

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artyandink · 2 months ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 2

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, daydreaming, talk of rape, sa, abortion, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: The Man by Taylor Swift

new country

“Madam President!”

“Over here!”

“What are your plans to reform America?”

Paparazzi kept on yelling those questions even though you were perfectly capable of stating every one of your new legislations and ideas one by one. Lucky this was a closed conference, lowering the chance of an assassination, and Dean’s eyes were scanning the crowd anyway for any reporter who could suddenly yank out a .38.

You raised your hand, clearing your throat. “It’s only been about a week since I’ve been elected, but I can, with confidence, share with you my plans to reform legislations and laws in the States. As of tomorrow, after a majority vote, abortion has now become legal in all fifty states.”

The statement became an outcry, reporters and journalists yelling questions as to why, so you had to hold up your hand again with a strong urge to roll your eyes in disdain. Seriously, why can’t these guys ever shut up? “It’s a controversial decision.” You agreed, looking intently at the members of the audience. “I’m wholeheartedly aware, but we have to think of the people who would suffer. Victims of rape who end up pregnant would have to keep their child, and depending on the case, the mother could end up with severe post-natal depression which could affect both the child and their mother, which would do more harm than aborting the child. If a mother’s baby won’t make it to birth, she can’t do a thing to stop the baby’s suffering from happening in the first place. Abortion is a right that should be possessed by every woman in the country, and in addition to this, a psych evaluation will be conducted by licensed professionals to determine any external pressures or lingering doubts.”

You had felt your air running out, so you took a sip of your water before continuing on with your long list of tasks and responsibilities for the presidential serve. “I want to improve relations with our allies in NATO, and there will be foundations in order to support anyone in the States who is in need of education. And, by the end of my service as this country’s president, I want to have America make the switch to renewable sources of energy and be sure that the production of energy in factories is the minority.”

“Any questions?” Becky asked, waving her pen around a little as she looked inquisitively around the room, this fucking room with pretentious reporters who ask stupid questions.

One reporter raised their hand, so Becky nodded and pointed with her pen. “How does it feel, being the youngest elected and the first female to become president? You’re making history.”

“Well, as John F Kennedy said: it’s time for a new generation of leadership.” You smiled— that question wasn’t half bad, really. You knew you were breaking history’s records and taking America in a new direction, but it was for the best. “It’s an odd feeling, as I’ve been raised in a country with men as our presidents, but I’d say I owe a lot of my success to my family, my friends and my fellow candidate, Amara Shurley. She gave me a run for my money, and she’s an incredible woman that only inspired me to do better.”

Another reporter with his hand up. “A lot of women across the States see you as a symbol for feminism. What is your response to this statement?”

Well, that one wasn’t unheard of, you’d give it that. “I’m whoever the people want me to be.” You gave a light shrug, you didn’t really think of that question. You just said what felt natural. “If they need a feminist symbol, they can look to me. If people need reassurance and safety, they can look to me. The only thing I won’t be able to stand is that the good citizens of America can’t put their trust in me because of a contingency or the other.”

You glanced at Becky, who nodded toward the man. He was middle-aged, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a self-assured smirk that screamed, I’ve got something to prove. The logo of his network—one notoriously critical of your policies—was emblazoned on his press badge.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice carrying an edge of condescension that set your teeth on edge. “You’ve outlined ambitious plans for reform, and your stance on women’s rights is certainly bold. But there’s one decision you’ve made that has raised quite a few eyebrows.” He leaned forward slightly, as if positioning himself for a dramatic reveal. “What do you say to critics who question the wisdom of hiring an ex-hitman—someone with a documented history of violence—to serve as your personal bodyguard? Isn’t it hypocritical to preach about progress and morality while employing someone like him?”

For a moment, silence blanketed the room. The question hung in the air, sharp and cutting, as the reporters collectively held their breath, waiting to see how you would respond. You felt the prickle of heat rise along your neck and shoulders, not from embarrassment, but from sheer frustration.

You glanced briefly at Dean, whose expression was impassive, though his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He stood still, his hands resting lightly at his sides, but you could tell the question had landed like a punch to the gut.

You took a deep breath, the crisp scent of polished wood and faint cologne grounding you. Then, with a calm but unmistakable authority, you leaned forward into the microphone.

“That’s an excellent question,” you began, though your tone suggested otherwise. Your eyes locked on the reporter, and your gaze was steady, unflinching. “And it gives me an opportunity to address an issue that’s long overdue for clarification. You see, I don’t make decisions lightly—especially not decisions that concern my safety and the safety of this nation. When I selected Mr. Winchester as my personal bodyguard, I did so with full knowledge of his history.”

The reporter opened his mouth, but you held up a hand, silencing him without a word.

“Let me finish,” you said, your voice firm. “Yes, Dean Winchester has a past. But let’s talk about what that past really means. This is a man who, for better or worse, was shaped by circumstances beyond his control. He didn’t choose a life of crime; he was born into it. And yet, despite everything, he possesses a set of skills and a depth of experience that make him uniquely qualified to protect me—and, by extension, the American people.”

You straightened, your tone sharpening. “Critics like you are quick to point fingers and make judgments from a position of privilege, ignoring the fact that people can change. Redemption isn’t just a talking point for me; it’s a belief I hold deeply. If we can’t offer second chances to those who’ve earned them, then what kind of country are we building?”

The murmurs in the room grew louder, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the noise.

“Dean Winchester has spent the last year proving himself. He passed the most rigorous background checks, psychological evaluations, and combat training our government has to offer. He’s saved lives, prevented threats, and put himself in harm’s way to protect others. And for that, I trust him with my life. So if you want to question my decision, you’re not just questioning his character—you’re questioning mine.”

The room fell silent again, your words hitting their mark. You could feel the eyes of every reporter on you, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Becky nodding subtly, her expression one of quiet approval.

You leaned into the microphone one last time, your gaze boring into the reporter who had asked the question. “And let me be perfectly clear: I don’t answer to cynics like you. I answer to the American people. So, if you’d like to discuss this further, I suggest you start by addressing me with the respect this office demands.”

The tension in the room was electric, the kind of silence that felt loud in its weight. The reporter, clearly taken aback, sank slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced by a look of unease.

You straightened your posture, smoothing the front of your blazer as you surveyed the room. “Next question?”

A younger journalist, her notebook clutched tightly, hesitantly raised her hand. Becky nodded to her, and she stood, her voice steady but cautious. “Madam President, thank you for your response. Building on that, how do you see your administration addressing broader issues of criminal justice reform and rehabilitation?”

Finally, a question with substance. You allowed yourself a small, appreciative smile. “That’s an excellent question,” you said. “One of my top priorities is ensuring that our criminal justice system focuses not only on punishment but on rehabilitation. Too many people are trapped in a cycle of incarceration because they’re not given the tools or opportunities to reintegrate into society. We need to invest in education, job training, and mental health support—both inside and outside of our prison system.”

You glanced briefly at Dean again, finding a flicker of reassurance in his steady presence. “Because if we’re serious about building a better future, we need to recognize that people are more than their worst mistakes.”

The press conference continued, the reporters slowly shifting their focus back to policy questions and legislative plans. But the earlier exchange lingered in the back of your mind, a reminder of the battles yet to come.

As the session wrapped up and you stepped away from the podium, Dean was there, a quiet shadow at your side.

“Hell of a response,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, catching the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. “They don’t pay me to hold back,” you replied, your tone wry.

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning the room one last time as he followed you toward the exit. “They pay you to lead.”

And as you stepped into the corridor, leaving the chaos of the press behind, you couldn’t help but feel that, for once, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

“No offence here, ma’am, but I think your fans are crazy.” Dean chuckled as he saw a post on Instagram that was now trending because he apparently was giving daddy.

Whatever the fuck ‘giving’ meant. He was a giver in the bedroom, if that’s what it was referring to. Below it were hundreds of comments, many of which seemed less than presidential.

You glanced at the phone, then back at him, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “Welcome to my world,” you replied dryly, setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can spiral over a photo.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through the comments. “‘He could protect me any day’,” he read aloud, his tone mocking but amused. “‘Please, sir, ruin my life.’” He glanced at you with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I’m literally hired to ruin other people’s lives if necessary?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “They probably think that’s part of the appeal.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t even know what half of this means,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Apparently I’m ‘giving daddy’? Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and it only made the situation funnier.

You laughed outright at that, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Dean, it just means they think you’re hot.”

His smirk widened as he pocketed his phone. “So, basically, I’m a meme now.”

“Pretty much.”

Dean leaned against the edge of your desk, crossing his arms as he gave you an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You know,” he began, his tone teasing, “I’m starting to think you hired me purely for my looks.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile didn’t falter. “Oh, please.”

“No, seriously,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Be honest with me, ma’am. You saw the jawline, the broad shoulders, the smoldering intensity—”

“Smoldering intensity?” you interrupted, arching an eyebrow.

He gestured toward his face, grinning. “And you thought, This guy? Perfect for standing around looking menacing and driving Instagram wild.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head as you looked at him. “Dean, I hired you because you’re qualified. Your record speaks for itself.”

He tilted his head, feigning skepticism. “But you did notice the jawline, right?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” you said, swatting at his arm playfully.

He chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, ma’am. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone appreciates the package.”

You sighed, folding your arms and giving him an exaggeratedly serious look. “Fine. You’re attractive, Dean. Happy?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very.”

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “that’s not why I hired you. I needed the best, and you are. Everything else is just a… bonus.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the usual weight of your responsibilities felt lighter.

The playful banter between you continued, a rare moment of levity in the otherwise intense environment of the Oval Office. Dean settled into the chair opposite your desk, leaning back with an easy confidence that only added to his inexplicable charm.

“So,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “how does it feel knowing your bodyguard is officially the internet’s new crush?”

You smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Honestly? It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You’re all stoic and intimidating most of the time, and now half the country wants to climb you like a tree.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Well, if you ever get tired of being President, you could have a solid career in stand-up comedy.”

You grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than you cared to admit. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A short pause, but it felt good, light. He didn’t seem like the typical bodyguard, you could actually have conversations with him.

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching slightly, “if you ever want to go viral again, just let me know. I’m apparently great at it.”

“Noted,” you replied with a grin.

As he made his way to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his smirk firmly in place. “And for the record, ma’am? If I ever need a second career, I’ll just put ‘hot bodyguard’ on my résumé.”

You laughed, shaking your head as he disappeared into the hallway. “Good luck with that, Winchester.”

And as you returned to your work, a small smile lingered on your lips. Dean might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like this made it impossible not to appreciate the man behind the reputation.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the Oval Office, filtering through the tall windows and highlighting the meticulously maintained room. Papers were spread across your desk in organized chaos, and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. You’d been working for hours, signing documents, reviewing proposals, and making notes in neat, precise handwriting. The quiet hum of the office was almost soothing—your assistant, Becky, had left to run errands, leaving you to your thoughts and tasks.

You leaned back in your chair for a moment, massaging the tension from your neck. The weight of the presidency wasn’t something you’d underestimated, but there were days, like today, when it pressed harder than usual. Still, the sense of purpose it gave you was unshakable. Every signature on these documents was a step toward the vision you had for the country.

As you reached for your coffee mug, the door opened quietly, and Dean stepped inside. You looked up, unsurprised—his ability to move without a sound still startled most people, but you’d grown accustomed to it.

He was out of his suit jacket now, the dark gray fabric slung over one arm. His white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed strong forearms, and the faint shadow of a day’s stubble added to his rugged appearance. Dean wasn’t one for idle conversation or intrusions without purpose, so you set your pen down and gave him your full attention.

“Madam President,” he began, his voice as steady and low as ever. But there was something in his tone—an edge of hesitancy, maybe even guilt—that caught your attention.

“Yes, Dean?” you prompted, tilting your head slightly.

He stepped closer, standing just in front of the desk, his hands resting on the back of one of the chairs. He seemed to consider his words carefully before speaking.

“I wanted to say… you didn’t have to do that. Back at the press conference.” His green eyes met yours, earnest and unguarded in a way they rarely were. “Defending me like that, in front of all those reporters. It wasn’t necessary.”

You blinked, surprised by his sincerity. You leaned forward slightly, resting your forearms on the desk. “Dean,” you said gently, “of course it was necessary.”

He shook his head, the movement quick and almost dismissive. “No, it wasn’t. My past is my burden to carry, not yours. You’re already under enough scrutiny as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside you. Dean Winchester was a fortress of a man—strong, guarded, and unflinching in his role as your protector. But in this moment, he was letting you see the cracks in that armor, the part of him that carried the weight of his past like a scar that wouldn’t heal.

You stood, pushing your chair back slightly as you rounded the desk. His eyes followed you as you came to stand beside him, your expression calm but firm.

“Dean,” you began, your voice softer now, “I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I chose you for this job. I knew your history. I knew how people might react. And I didn’t care.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as though struggling to accept your words.

“Listen to me,” you continued, stepping closer. “I’m not just your employer. I’m your ally. And when someone questions my decisions —when they question you— it’s my responsibility to set the record straight.”

He let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and looked back at you. There was something in his expression that made your chest ache— a mix of gratitude and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite fathom why you’d stand up for him so fiercely.

“You’ve earned your place here, Dean,” you said, your tone unwavering. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was contemplative, a shared moment of understanding. Dean nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“You’re stubborn,” he said after a moment, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.

You chuckled softly. “I’ve been called worse.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a brief moment, you felt the intensity of it like a tangible weight. But then he straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if shrugging off the last remnants of doubt.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For believing in me.”

“Always,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a small, sincere smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the earlier tension giving way to a more relaxed ease. Dean glanced at the paperwork strewn across your desk, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ve been at this all day,” he said, nodding toward the stack of documents. “When’s the last time you took a break?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll take a break when I’m done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “That’s not how that works, Madam President. You can’t run a country if you run yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing he had a point but unwilling to admit it outright. “I’ll take a break soon,” you conceded.

“Good,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and genuine. “I’d like to see you try.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, you saw the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made your chest feel lighter.

As he turned to leave, you called after him. “Dean.” He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” you said, your smile soft but full of meaning, “I think you’re doing a damn good job.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he gave a small nod, his lips curving into a quiet, appreciative smile.

“Thanks, boss,” he said, and with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading into the hallway beyond.

You returned to your desk, the papers waiting patiently for your attention. But for the first time that day, the weight of the work didn’t feel quite so heavy. You’d stood up for someone who deserved it, and in doing so, you’d strengthened a bond that went far beyond the professional.

As you picked up your pen, a thought crossed your mind—one that made you smile. Dean Winchester might not be perfect, but he was exactly the kind of person you wanted in your corner. And if the rest of the world couldn’t see that, well, that was their loss.

The day after the press conference, the Oval Office was already humming with its usual controlled chaos. You were deep in paperwork, focused on revising yet another draft of a new energy initiative, when your assistant, Becky, buzzed in to inform you that Bella and Steph had arrived.

You sighed fondly. Of course, they had. They’d been texting nonstop since the moment the press conference aired, full of commentary about your plans and, predictably, about Dean.

“They’re here to see you,” Becky said over the intercom, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you replied, shaking your head with a small smile.

Bella and Steph didn’t wait long. As soon as they were cleared to approach the Oval Office, they strode down the hallway, chatting animatedly, their voices carrying just enough to alert Dean, who stood stationed just outside the office door.

He looked up from where he was scrolling through security updates on his phone, his sharp green eyes assessing the two women as they approached. His posture was relaxed but professional, and his expression shifted to one of slight curiosity as he took them in.

Bella was the first to notice him. She slowed her pace, her jaw slackening just slightly as her gaze took him in—head to toe and back up again. Steph, walking just behind her, barely contained a whistle as she caught sight of Dean standing there in his dark suit and tie, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

“Uh, excuse me?” Bella said, stopping directly in front of him with a hand on her hip. Her voice was playful, bordering on flirtatious. “You must be the Dean Winchester.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, tucking his phone into his pocket. “That’d be me,” he replied, his tone even but laced with caution.

Steph stepped up beside Bella, giving him a once-over with such blatant appreciation that Dean shifted slightly, his expression an amusing mix of bemusement and wariness. “Oh, wow,” Steph said, dragging out the words. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re even better-looking in person.”

Bella nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, we saw the pictures, but they didn’t do you justice. You’re—what’s the phrase?—‘giving everything.’”

Dean blinked, his lips quirking into an involuntary smirk despite himself. “Appreciate it,” he said dryly, “but I think you’re looking for the President. She’s inside.”

Bella waved a hand dismissively. “We’re her friends. She won’t mind if we take a moment to admire her excellent taste in bodyguards.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not exactly how she put it.”

Steph leaned in slightly, her grin downright mischievous. “So, Dean, what’s the story here? Are you single? Because if you’re not, you really need to start considering the President. You two would be perfect together.”

Dean raised both eyebrows at that, his smirk turning incredulous. “That’s… bold,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bella wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, and now she’s the President. And you? You’re a literal ex-hitman who looks like you walked off the cover of GQ. It’s a match made in tabloid heaven.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he might’ve said was interrupted as you stepped out of the office, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the scene unfolding before you.

“Really, ladies?” you said, your tone dripping with mock exasperation.

Bella and Steph whirled around, both grinning guiltily but unapologetically. “We were just getting to know your bodyguard,” Bella said, batting her lashes innocently.

“And suggesting he hook up with you,” Steph added helpfully, earning her a sharp elbow from Bella.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, sighing. “I knew letting you two anywhere near Dean was a mistake.”

“Can you blame us?” Bella asked, gesturing toward Dean like he was an exhibit at a museum. “I mean, look at him.”

Dean, to his credit, remained perfectly composed, though there was a faint pink tinge to his ears that you didn’t miss.

“I am looking at him,” you said dryly, then turned to Dean with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them. They don’t have a filter.”

Dean gave a half-smile, his voice carrying that familiar note of humor. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve heard worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you replied, shooting Bella and Steph a pointed look. “But I’d rather they not embarrass themselves—or me—any further.”

Steph raised her hands in mock surrender. “We’re just stating the obvious. And for the record, you’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked, exasperated.

“For giving you the perfect opportunity to admit he’s hot,” Bella said, winking.

You sighed, shaking your head as you stepped aside to usher them into the office. “Dean, can you make sure no one else tries to instigate a matchmaking session while I’m in there?”

He nodded, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “Consider it done.”

As Bella and Steph passed him, they both threw him one last playful look, Steph muttering, “Call us if you ever get tired of babysitting.”

Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as the door closed behind them.

Inside, you turned to your friends with your hands on your hips. “Seriously? You couldn’t even wait until you got inside to start embarrassing me?”

Bella flopped onto one of the chairs, grinning. “Hey, we’re just looking out for you. And honestly, if you don’t lock that man down, someone else will.”

Steph nodded, leaning back against the desk. “He’s got that whole brooding, dangerous vibe going on. And those arms?” She mimed fanning herself, grinning wickedly.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You do realize he’s standing right outside, don’t you?”

Bella shrugged. “Maybe he’ll take it as a compliment.”

You shot them both a look, your annoyance tempered by the amusement you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re impossible.”

As the three of you settled in to talk about why they’d actually come to visit, your thoughts briefly wandered to Dean outside the door. His composure, his humor, and the way he’d handled your friends’ antics—it all reminded you why you trusted him so much.

And, fine, you’d admit it. They weren’t wrong about the jawline.

The Oval Office was unnervingly quiet, save for the scratch of your pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of documents. You had spent hours entrenched in policy revisions, draft reviews, and enough bureaucracy to numb your senses entirely. A dull ache had started to build behind your eyes, but you powered through. It wasn’t like the President of the United States could take a sick day.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a long sigh as you pushed your current stack of papers aside. The late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing the room in a warm golden hue. For a moment, your mind wandered, your focus slipping as you stared at the faint pattern of light on the ceiling.

Then, the door to your office creaked open.

Your attention snapped back, your heart skipping at the sight of Dean stepping inside. He was dressed sharply as always, his dark suit tailored to perfection, though his tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts as he pressed closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. “You’ve been working too hard,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed into yours, claiming you in a kiss so heated and consuming that it left no room for thought. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.

It was overwhelming—the warmth of his body, the taste of his kiss, the way his fingers dug into your waist with a possessive edge that sent sparks shooting through you.

And then—

“Madam President?” Becky’s voice crackled over the intercom, pulling you violently back to reality.

You blinked, your surroundings snapping into sharp focus. You were still in your chair, your desk untouched, your papers neatly stacked where you’d left them. Dean wasn’t in the room—wasn’t shirtless, wasn’t lifting you onto your desk, wasn’t kissing you like the world was ending.

Heat flooded your face as you sat up straight, your heart pounding in your chest for entirely different reasons now.

“Yes, Becky?” you managed, your voice slightly hoarse.

“You’ve got a visitor—Director Landry from the FBI. He’s here for the meeting regarding Agent Winchester’s appointment.”

Your stomach dropped, the implications of the daydream compounding the embarrassment that already burned hot in your chest. “Send him in,” you replied, clearing your throat to steady your voice.

Moments later, the door opened, and Director Landry entered, his crisp suit and severe demeanor a stark contrast to the imagined chaos of moments ago.

“Madam President,” he greeted with a nod.

“Director,” you replied, standing to shake his hand. “Please, have a seat.”

The two of you settled across from one another, and Landry wasted no time getting to the point. “I understand Agent Winchester’s appointment as your personal bodyguard was an unconventional decision.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you replied, your tone neutral but firm.

Landry leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on his lap. “While Agent Winchester’s skill set is undeniable, I have to express my concerns. His past… affiliations and actions make him a controversial figure. Are you certain this is the image you want associated with your administration?”

You straightened in your chair, your expression hardening. “Director, I appreciate your concerns, but Dean Winchester was vetted thoroughly before I made my decision. His record speaks for itself—he’s one of the most skilled operatives we’ve ever had.”

“His record also includes a stint in ADX Florence,” Landry countered, his tone measured but pointed.

You didn’t flinch. “I’m aware. And I also know he served his time and cooperated fully with authorities during his incarceration. Dean Winchester has earned his second chance, and I’m not in the business of denying people opportunities based on their past mistakes—especially when they’ve proven themselves more than capable.”

Landry’s gaze narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You leaned forward, your voice steady and resolute. “Dean has already demonstrated his loyalty, his discretion, and his ability to protect me in ways no one else could. He’s not just a bodyguard, Director—he’s a deterrent. Anyone who knows his reputation would think twice before making a move.”

The director regarded you for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re confident in your decision, I’ll respect it.”

“I am,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

As the meeting concluded and Landry left, you let out a long breath, sinking back into your chair. The tension from the conversation—and the residual heat from your earlier daydream—left you feeling drained and slightly disoriented.

You turned your chair toward the window, letting the fading sunlight warm your face as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could almost hear Dean’s gravelly voice teasing you: You’ve been working too hard.

Dean stood outside the East Wing of the White House, bathed in the faint golden light of the late afternoon. It was one of those rare moments when the world around him seemed to pause, granting him a sliver of peace amidst the relentless schedule of his new life. The crisp November air carried a sharp bite, and Dean savored the sensation as he leaned against a marble column, his hand loosely wrapped around his ever-present phone.

The quiet was interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call. The number wasn’t saved, but Dean knew it immediately—he recognized the area code, the unmistakable pang of familiarity twisting in his chest like a rusty knife.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring out. But he knew better than to ignore a call from them.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Winchester,” a deep, gravelly voice snarled on the other end of the line. The accent was unmistakable—Brooklyn through and through. “You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

Dean let out a slow exhale, his gaze flicking to the horizon as he stepped further into the shadows of the colonnade. His voice was calm, measured. “What do you want, Frank?”

“What do I want?” Frank barked a harsh laugh. “How about an explanation, for starters? You think we wouldn’t see it? You strutting around on TV in a monkey suit, playing babysitter for the goddamn President of the United States?”

Dean didn’t flinch, though the venom in Frank’s tone was enough to make most men’s blood run cold. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said simply, his voice low but firm. “I haven’t for a long time.”

“Bullshit!” Frank snapped. “You don’t just leave, Winchester. You don’t walk away from the family and decide to play hero. That ain’t how this works, and you know it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. The word “family” left a sour taste in his mouth—it was always their go-to excuse, a leash they used to drag their people back into the fold.

“I didn’t walk away,” Dean replied, his tone sharper now. “I was locked up, remember? ADX Florence. Solitary confinement. Twenty-three hours a day in a cell the size of a broom closet. You didn’t exactly come running to my rescue.”

“You think that gives you a free pass to spit on everything we built? On everyone who had your back?” Frank growled, his voice crackling with fury. “You don’t get it, do you? You didn’t just screw us, Winchester. You screwed the whole damn network. You’re a traitor.”

Dean’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “I’m not a traitor. I’m just done. Done with the jobs, the lies, the blood on my hands. I’ve paid my dues, Frank. I’m not going back.”

“Not going back?” Frank repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “You think you can just slap on a suit, play by their rules, and call it a clean slate? Newsflash, buddy: your past doesn’t just disappear because you want it to. The network doesn��t forget.”

The network. The tangled web of organized crime that had once defined Dean’s life. It was a world of favors and debts, alliances and betrayals, a world where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. Dean had clawed his way out of that pit, but its shadows still clung to him, no matter how far he tried to run.

“I didn’t ask for a clean slate,” Dean said, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “I know who I am, and I know what I’ve done. But I’m not your guy anymore, Frank. I don’t take orders from you, and I sure as hell don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Frank was silent for a moment, but the static of his labored breathing was still audible. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than ever. “You think you’re untouchable now, huh? That shiny badge of yours makes you bulletproof?”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grim smile. “I think you know better than to try me.”

There was another long pause, the weight of unspoken threats hanging heavy in the air.

“You’ve made your choice, Winchester,” Frank said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “But don’t think for a second that we’re just gonna let this slide. You’re walking a fine line, and sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.”

The call ended abruptly, the click of the disconnect echoing in Dean’s ear. He stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand as the tension coiled in his chest like a spring wound too tight.

The air around him felt colder now, the shadows deeper. Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, the Washington Monument rising like a silent sentinel against the darkening sky.

The ghosts of his past were never far behind, and tonight, they’d made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.

Back inside, the warm lights of the White House felt almost alien after the cold, harsh conversation. Dean made his way to the security wing, nodding to a few Secret Service agents as he passed. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of Frank’s words pressing down on him.

You don’t just leave.

Dean knew that all too well. He’d spent years trying to carve out a life for himself that wasn’t defined by the blood and chaos of the criminal underworld. But no matter how far he ran, it always found a way to pull him back in.

As he reached his quarters, Dean leaned against the doorframe, letting out a long breath. His eyes drifted to the small desk in the corner, where a few case files and a polished Glock rested side by side.

He knew he had made the right choice—choosing a path that, while complicated, gave him a chance to do something good. To protect someone who genuinely wanted to make a difference.

But as he sat down, his mind lingered on Frank’s final words.

Sooner or later, you’re gonna fall.

Dean clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with resolve.

Not if he could help it.

Frank slammed the phone onto the mahogany desk in front of him, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The ornate office—more of a lair, really—was as ostentatious as it was oppressive, with heavy red drapes and polished wood paneling that seemed to suck the life out of the air. A crystal tumbler of bourbon sat untouched on the desk, catching the faint golden glow of the single overhead light.

His face was twisted with anger, the veins in his neck bulging as he clenched his fists and let out a string of curses.

“That ungrateful son of a bitch!” he barked, his voice reverberating through the room. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Across from him, Lou, his most trusted advisor, stood with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression carefully neutral. Lou had been with Frank for over two decades, a steady presence in the volatile storm that was the New York mafia. He knew better than to interrupt when Frank was in one of his moods.

“He’s got a death wish, that’s what,” Frank continued, pacing behind his desk now, his expensive Italian shoes thudding against the Persian rug. “Thinks he can just walk away, like the past doesn’t mean jack. Like we don’t mean jack.”

Lou cleared his throat delicately. “He’s always been a loose cannon, Frank. You knew that when you brought him in.”

Frank whirled on him, his face contorted with fury. “Yeah, well, I also knew he was the best. The best hitter I ever had. He cleaned up messes nobody else could, and he did it without batting an eye. I gave him everything, Lou. Everything! And this is how he repays me?”

Lou didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough to diffuse some of Frank’s rage. Then he asked, carefully, “What’s the move, boss?”

Frank ran a hand through his thinning hair, exhaling sharply as he tried to collect himself. He reached for the bourbon, downing it in one gulp before slamming the glass back onto the desk.

“The move?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “The move is reminding every last one of them what happens when you cross me.”

Lou raised an eyebrow. “You want us to go after him?”

Frank let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No, no. That’s too small. Dean Winchester’s a nobody without that badge he’s wearing now. No, Lou—this is bigger than him.”

Lou tilted his head slightly, waiting for Frank to elaborate.

Frank leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk as he stared at his advisor with cold, calculating eyes. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The pictures? Him standing there, all smug, right next to her.”

“The President,” Lou said, his tone careful.

Frank nodded. “The goddamn President of the United States. He’s not just working for her—he’s protecting her. Like she’s some kind of queen, and he’s her loyal knight.”

Lou remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he began to piece together Frank’s train of thought.

Frank straightened up, pacing again as his mind raced. “You know what that makes us look like? Weak. Powerless. Like we let one of our own turn his back on us and walk away without so much as a scratch. It’s a slap in the face, Lou. A slap in the face to the entire goddamn network.”

Lou shifted his weight slightly. “So… what are you suggesting?”

Frank stopped pacing, turning to face him with a grim smile. “We send a message. Not just to him, but to everyone. To the entire world.”

Lou’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about—”

“I’m talking about taking her out,” Frank interrupted, his voice low but resolute. “The President. You want to send a message, Lou? There’s no message bigger than that. You kill the President of the United States, and suddenly, everybody remembers who the hell we are. They remember who I am.”

Lou’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “That’s… a bold move, Frank. High risk. High profile.”

“Yeah, and high reward,” Frank shot back. “Think about it. This isn’t just about revenge, Lou. This is about power. Control. We pull this off, and we’re untouchable. Nobody messes with us, not the feds, not the other families, not even that bastard Winchester.”

Lou hesitated, clearly weighing the implications of such a move. “It’s not gonna be easy. Security around her is tighter than anything we’ve ever dealt with. And Winchester’s no slouch. He’ll see us coming a mile away.”

Frank smirked, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Then we don’t let him see us coming. We hit her when she’s vulnerable, when nobody’s expecting it. And as for Winchester… well, let’s just say I’d love to see his face when he realizes he couldn’t protect her.”

Lou nodded slowly, though his expression remained guarded. “All right. I’ll put the word out, see who’s available for a job like this.”

Frank’s smile widened, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. “Good. And Lou?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Make sure it’s someone we can trust. Someone who understands what’s at stake. This isn’t just another hit—this is history.”

Lou inclined his head, then turned and left the room, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.

Frank sank into his chair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips as he poured himself another glass of bourbon. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies.

Dean Winchester thought he could walk away from the life. Thought he could play the hero, stand in the light, and leave the darkness behind. But Frank knew better. The darkness had a way of finding you, no matter where you ran.

And soon, Dean would learn that lesson the hard way.

The alley was dark, a maze of cobblestones and shadows that swallowed up the last traces of daylight. The smell of stale garbage and rain-soaked concrete hung in the air, thick and oppressive. It was the kind of place where deals were made in whispers, where the murky dealings of the underworld could be carried out without the watchful eyes of the world’s authorities.

Lou stood at the entrance to the alley, the tip of his polished shoes barely touching the edge of the grime-covered street. He had a hand in his coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around a wad of cash, his eyes scanning the alley with practiced indifference. He wasn’t here to make friends. He wasn’t even here to talk, not really.

He was here to ensure the job was done—no questions asked, no mistakes. Frank had given the order, and Lou was the one who would make sure it was carried out to the letter.

The shadows at the far end of the alley shifted, and Lou stiffened. The figure emerging from the darkness was tall, a silhouette whose face remained hidden in the dimness, a hood pulled up over their head to shield their identity. They moved with deliberate grace, footsteps silent against the damp ground, their presence unsettling, as if the shadows themselves had brought them to life.

Lou didn’t flinch. He had met people like this before. People who operated in the dark, who carried out their work with ruthless efficiency. People who didn’t need to be seen to make an impact.

“You got the money?” the figure rasped, their voice low and gravelly, as though it had been worn down by years of disuse.

Lou pulled the cash from his pocket, holding it up to the faint light spilling out from the windows above. He glanced at it for a moment before slipping it into a plain envelope. It was a sizable sum—enough to make even the most hardened hitman pause, but that wasn’t why Lou was here. Money was always the easy part. It was the message that had to be delivered, and that was worth more than any amount of cash.

“Everything you need is in there,” Lou said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s not just about the money. It’s about making a statement. A clean job. No mess. It has to be perfect.”

The figure stepped closer, now within arm's reach. Their silhouette was more defined now, the curve of their shoulders broad under the dark fabric of their coat, but still, their face remained hidden.

“A statement?” The figure's voice was skeptical, but there was something in the way they asked the question that suggested they had heard it all before.

Lou didn’t hesitate. “The President. You’re going to take her out. Make it clean, make it quick. No mistakes. And when it’s done, it needs to be clear—this wasn’t just some random attack. It’s a message. A message to everyone who thought they could turn their backs on us. He turned his back on us, and now we pay him back.”

The figure’s face remained in shadow, but Lou could see the faint movement of their head as if they were considering the weight of the job.

“You’re talking about her, the new President?” the figure finally asked, the tone slightly amused. “I thought she was untouchable.”

“She’s not. No one is.” Lou’s voice hardened. “You do this, and everyone will know. You send a message to every fucking player in this game—no one walks away clean.”

There was a brief pause, then the figure took a step forward, the shadows lifting slightly as they approached. Lou’s eyes narrowed, scanning them closely. There was something familiar about their movements, the way they carried themselves. The way they moved like they owned the dark.

Lou took a step back, the envelope still clenched in his hand. “You understand what I’m asking?”

The figure nodded slowly, then pushed back the hood.

Lou’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the face emerged from the shadows.

It was him.

The man standing in front of him wasn’t just a hitman. It was Benny Lafitte, one of the most notorious operatives to ever work for VIPER. The same man who had helped Frank build his empire, the same man who had been second only to Dean Winchester in terms of skill and ruthlessness. Benny was a ghost, someone who had disappeared from the underworld years ago after a particularly bloody job, but now he was back. And he was standing in front of Lou, as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Benny,” Lou said, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and respect. “I didn’t expect you to be the one on this job.”

Benny’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I’d hear about Dean’s little betrayal? Of course I’m involved. You think I’ve been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for the last few years?”

Lou was still processing the fact that Benny Lafitte—the ghost of the criminal underworld—was standing before him, ready to take on one of the most dangerous assignments Frank had ever given. Benny had a reputation for being precise, deadly, and entirely unpredictable.

“You always did like to be the best,” Lou muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Benny was back.

Benny chuckled lowly, the sound dark and almost amused. “The best doesn’t retire, Lou. The best waits for the right time to come back. And it looks like the right time is now.”

Lou handed him the envelope. “The target’s the President. Make it look like a clean, political hit. We need the world to see it as a message. It’s not just about her—it’s about what Dean’s done. This is for him. For betraying the family.”

Benny took the envelope from Lou with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against Lou’s briefly. Then he turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it were a piece of fine art rather than a job request.

“I’m clear on the details, Lou,” Benny said, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “But just so we’re clear… this is his punishment, not hers, right?”

Lou’s eyes darkened, his gaze cold. “This is for Dean. The President? She’s just in the way.”

Benny gave a nod, his eyes glinting with something darker now. “Then we’ll get this done. Clean. Quick. And unforgettable.”

Lou turned to leave, already hearing the faint sound of Benny’s footsteps receding into the shadows behind him.

One thing was for sure: If anyone could send a message like Frank wanted, it was Benny Lafitte. And once it was done, the underworld would know—no one walked away from VIPER. Not even Dean Winchester.

Benny stood still in the alley for a moment after Lou had walked away, his hand still wrapped tightly around the envelope. His eyes flickered up to the narrow slice of moonlight overhead, a reminder of just how far he’d fallen—and how far he was willing to go to make sure Dean Winchester didn’t come out on top.

The plan was simple: in and out, make the shot, leave no trace. Frank had asked for precision, but Benny had other ideas.

Why make it clean, when you could make it memorable?

After all, what was the point of sending a message if no one remembered it?

And so, as the chill of the night air wrapped itself around him, Benny’s mind began to race, already plotting the President’s downfall in the most spectacular way possible. He had no love for Dean, and he had no love for the President either. They were simply obstacles in a game much larger than any of them could comprehend.

And Benny Lafitte? Well, Benny was the one who would tip the scales.

This was going to be a hell of a show.

As Benny disappeared back into the shadows, Lou stepped into his car, the weight of the job heavy on his mind. Frank had given the order, and Benny would follow through. The message would be loud and clear.

The underworld would never forget what had happened tonight.

And neither would Dean.

NEXT UP:

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.