#and instead my muse hit me with this chapter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratzkoo · 3 months ago

Text

yours, always and forever | jeonghan

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: perfumer! jeonghan x estrange wife! reader Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 5.9k Warnings/note: went on a shopping trip with my mom and i cried when i smelled rose kabuki by dior. Happy National Boyfriend's Day to our boyfriend, Jeonghan.

summary: Perfumer Yoon Jeonghan took the Perfume industry by storm with his intriguing perfume names that seems to be inspired by one specific person which makes the industry question, who is he even naming his creations after? Only Y/N, Jeonghan’s estrange wife knows the answer.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The soft glow of the setting sun painted the New York skyline in hues of gold and pink, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern interior of the penthouse apartment where Yoon Jeonghan stood, gazing out at the city he'd conquered. In his hand, a delicate crystal glass held a swirl of amber liquid, its aroma mingling with the lingering scents that always clung to him—a symphony of olfactory notes that had become his signature.

Jeonghan took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, reflected the city lights beginning to twinkle in the twilight. At thirty-two, he was at the pinnacle of his career, a prodigy in the world of perfumery, and the toast of the fashion and beauty industries. For the third year in a row, the title of Perfumer of the Year sat comfortably on his shoulders, a crown he wore with a mixture of pride and nonchalance that only added to his allure.

The gentle ping of his phone drew his attention away from the view. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. They had been pouring in all day, ever since the announcement of his latest triumph. Jeonghan ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to his workspace—a sprawling, custom-designed lab that took up nearly half of his living area.

Here, amidst the orderly chaos of beakers, pipettes, and countless vials of essences and extracts, was where the magic happened. This was where he crafted the scents that had taken the world by storm, perfumes that didn't just smell divine but told stories, evoked memories, and stirred emotions in ways that left critics and consumers alike in awe.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed over the labels of his latest collection, a small smile playing on his lips as he read each name aloud:

"You, in the Garden."

"You, in Greece."

"You, in the Club Holding Your Favorite Drink."

"You, in New York."

Each name was a whisper of the past, a fragment of a story that the public could only guess at. And guess they did. Entire forums were dedicated to deciphering the meaning behind Jeonghan's enigmatic perfume names. Who was this mysterious 'you'? A lover? A muse? A figment of the perfumer's vivid imagination?

Speculation ran rampant. Some theorized it was a marketing ploy, a clever way to personalize each scent for the wearer. Others believed Jeonghan was leaving breadcrumbs, telling his own story through these olfactory chapters. The more romantic souls insisted it was an ode to a lost love, each perfume a memory crystallized in scent.

If only they knew.

Jeonghan's smile faded as he picked up the bottle of "You, in New York." The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should, laden with memories he both cherished and tried to forget. He uncapped it, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Notes of crisp apple and bergamot gave way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by a base of sandalwood and vanilla. But beneath these carefully orchestrated notes lay something else, something only he could detect—the ghost of her perfume, the one she wore on that last night.

Across the city, in a modest but charming brownstone in Brooklyn, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and birthday cards. The celebration had been small but joyful, a gathering of the close friends who had become her support system over the past few years. As the night wound down and the last guest departed, she found herself alone with her thoughts and the pile of gifts yet to be properly examined.

One box in particular caught her eye. It was elegant, wrapped in matte black paper with a single silver ribbon. There was no card, no indication of who it was from. Curiosity piqued, Y/N carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.

Her breath caught in her throat as she revealed the contents. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a bottle she recognized all too well, even though she had never held it before. The clean lines of the glass, the minimalist label with its distinctive handwritten font—it was unmistakably one of Jeonghan's creations.

With trembling hands, Y/N lifted the bottle. "You, in New York," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How fitting, how cruelly ironic that of all his perfumes, this would be the one to find its way to her.

New York. The city where dreams came true and hearts were broken. The city where, five years ago, she had celebrated her last birthday with Jeonghan. It had been magical—a surprise weekend getaway, a whirlwind of Broadway shows, candlelit dinners, and long walks through Central Park. It was the last time she remembered feeling truly, incandescently happy.

It was also the weekend that marked the beginning of the end.

Y/N uncapped the bottle, hesitating for just a moment before bringing it to her nose. The scent hit her like a wave, transporting her instantly back to that weekend. She could almost feel the crisp autumn air on her skin, hear the bustling streets, see Jeonghan's smile as he pulled her close on top of the Empire State Building.

Unbidden, tears began to fall, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Five years. Five years since she had spoken to him, seen him, been in the same room as him. And yet, with one carefully crafted scent, he could still reach across that divide and touch her very soul.

They weren't divorced—the paperwork sat untouched in a drawer in her study, a task neither of them seemed able to bring themselves to complete. But they might as well have been strangers for all the communication that passed between them. Estranged was the word the media used when they bothered to mention her at all. Jeonghan's mysterious wife, who had disappeared from the public eye as swiftly and suddenly as Jeonghan had risen to fame.

Y/N set the bottle on her nightstand, unable to put it away but unwilling to hold it any longer. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the countless birthday messages until she found the one she was looking for. It was from her best friend, Mina:

"Hey birthday girl! Hope you loved all your gifts. That last one... the perfume. I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw it, I just thought... well, maybe it was time. You can't run from the past forever, Y/N. Call me if you need to talk. Love you!"

So it had been Mina. Y/N wasn't sure whether to thank her friend or curse her for this unexpected trip down memory lane. She fell back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.

Did Jeonghan know his perfume had found its way to her? Did he still think of her when he created these scents? Was she the 'you' in every bottle, or had someone else taken her place in his heart and his art?

Questions she had buried for years bubbled to the surface, demanding attention. Y/N closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and provide a temporary escape. But the scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a persistent reminder of all that had been and all that was lost.

Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Jeonghan had moved from his lab to his home office. The wall opposite his desk was covered in framed magazine covers and articles, a testament to his meteoric rise in the industry. His eyes, however, were fixed on a single frame tucked away in the corner of his desk. It was turned face down, but he knew every detail of the photograph it held—him and Y/N, laughing and in love, on their wedding day.

He reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and turning it over. They looked so young, so full of hope and dreams. Jeonghan traced the outline of Y/N's face with his finger, wondering not for the first time where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him.

A notification on his computer screen drew his attention. It was an email from his publicist, marked urgent:

"Jeonghan,

The press is buzzing about your win and the launch of 'You, in New York.' Vogue wants an exclusive interview, and they're particularly interested in the inspiration behind your perfume names. I've held them off so far, but we need to give them something. The mysterious artist angle only works for so long.

Also, there's been some renewed interest in your personal life. A few gossip blogs have dug up old photos of you and Y/N. Nothing scandalous, but we should be prepared for questions.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

- Somin"

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. He had known this day would come eventually. The perfume industry thrived on stories, on the personalities behind the scents. He had managed to maintain an air of mystery for years, letting his creations speak for themselves. But now, with his continued success and the increasingly personal nature of his perfume names, the world wanted more.

How could he possibly explain the truth? That each perfume was a love letter, a memory, a piece of his heart poured into a bottle? That 'You, in the Garden' was born from lazy Sunday mornings spent in their tiny apartment's rooftop garden, Y/N's laughter mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers? That 'You, in Greece' captured the essence of their honeymoon, sun-kissed skin and salty air and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love?

And 'You, in New York'... Jeonghan's gaze drifted back to the photograph. Their last happy moment, preserved in glass and scent. He had poured every ounce of his skill into that perfume, trying to capture not just the smells of the city, but the feeling of that weekend—the joy, the love, and the bittersweet edge of what was to come.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He hadn't deleted it, couldn't bring himself to erase that last tangible connection. But he hadn't used it either, not in five long years. What would he even say?

"I'm sorry"?

"I miss you"?

"Every scent I create is a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory of us"?

Jeonghan set the phone down, leaving the call unmade. Instead, he turned back to his computer and began to type a response to his publicist:

"Somin,

Set up the Vogue interview. I'll give them the story they want.

As for my personal life, it remains personal. No comments on old photos or relationships.

- Jeonghan"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. It was time to give the public a peek behind the curtain, to feed the curiosity that had been building for years. He would craft a story, something romantic and mysterious enough to satisfy the masses without revealing the raw, painful truth.

After all, isn't that what he did best? Create beautiful illusions, capture feelings in a bottle, tell stories through scent? This would just be another performance, another carefully constructed facade.

But as Jeonghan stood to pour himself another drink, his eyes fell once more on the photograph of him and Y/N. For a moment, the mask slipped, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. All the success, all the accolades, all the adoration from fans around the world—none of it filled the Y/N-shaped hole in his heart.

In the quiet of his luxurious apartment, surrounded by the fruits of his success, Yoon Jeonghan—three-time Perfumer of the Year, creator of the most sought-after fragrances in the world—had never felt more alone.

As the night deepened, two souls on opposite sides of the city lay awake, each haunted by memories and might-have-beens. The scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a fragrant bridge across the chasm that separated them. Neither knew that this birthday, this perfume, this moment of remembrance, was about to set in motion a chain of events that would force them to confront their past and decide their future.

The sleek, modernist interior of Vogue's New York office buzzed with nervous energy as staff scurried about, making last-minute preparations. Today was no ordinary day—they were about to interview Yoon Jeonghan, the enigmatic perfumer who had captivated the fashion world with his mysterious creations.

Jeonghan sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as the artist applied a light touch of powder to his already flawless skin. He exuded an aura of calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced. This interview was a calculated risk, a chance to satisfy the public's curiosity while maintaining the mystique that had become his trademark.

"Mr. Yoon, we're ready for you," a young assistant called, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie—a deep, midnight blue that brought out the intensity of his gaze—and stood. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, greeted him with a professional smile. "Mr. Yoon, thank you for joining us. Shall we begin?"

As the cameras rolled, Clara launched into her questions, starting with the safe and expected before gradually probing deeper.

"Your latest fragrance, 'You, in New York,' has taken the world by storm," Clara said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell us about the inspiration behind it?"

Jeonghan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "New York is a city of dreams and memories," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to capture the essence of a perfect moment in time—the crisp air of a fall evening, the excitement of possibility, the bittersweet beauty of a fleeting experience."

"And the 'you' in the title?" Clara pressed. "Your fragrances all seem to be addressing someone specific. Is there a story there?"

For a fraction of a second, Jeonghan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—pain? longing?—crossed his face before the mask slid back into place. "The 'you' is everyone and no one," he said carefully. "It's the wearer of the perfume, the object of desire, the memory of a love lost or yet to be found. I believe that the most personal stories are often the most universal."

As the interview continued, Jeonghan wove a tale of inspiration drawn from travels, fleeting encounters, and imagined romances. It was a beautiful story, crafted as carefully as his perfumes. But those who knew him best might have noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers occasionally twitched as if reaching for something—or someone—just out of grasp.

---

The publication of the Vogue interview sent shockwaves through the fashion and beauty world. Social media exploded with theories and interpretations of Jeonghan's words. Fan forums dissected every sentence, looking for hidden meanings and clues about the mysterious muse behind his creations.

@ScentObsessed tweeted: "OMG, did you catch how his voice changed when talking about 'You, in New York'? There's definitely a real story there! #YoonJeonghan #PerfumeMystery"

A popular beauty vlogger released a 20-minute video analyzing Jeonghan's body language during the interview, claiming to have spotted at least five instances where he seemed to be holding back tears.

Even serious fashion critics couldn't resist speculating. A piece in WWD posed the question: "Is Yoon Jeonghan's entire oeuvre an olfactory autobiography? The clues hidden in his fragrances."

---

Across the city, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside her as she stared at her laptop screen. The Vogue article was open, Jeonghan's face looking back at her from a series of artfully shot photographs.

She had promised herself she wouldn't read it. Had sworn she was past all this, that she had moved on. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name—had gotten the better of her.

Now, as she read his carefully crafted words, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions churning inside her. Anger at the half-truths, sadness at the memories his words evoked, and a traitorous flutter of her heart at the moments where she could see through his facade to the man she once knew so well.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Y/N closed the laptop quickly, as if hiding evidence of a crime, before going to answer.

"Ms. Y/N?" A woman with a press badge stood in the hallway, notepad in hand. "I'm Mia from Style Weekly. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Yoon Jeonghan's latest interview."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to close the door.

The reporter's foot blocked the doorway. "Please, just a moment. Your connection to Mr. Yoon is a matter of public record. Surely you must have some insight into the inspirations behind his work?"

"No comment," Y/N managed, her voice strangled. She pushed the door closed with more force, hearing the reporter's muffled protests from the other side.

Leaning against the door, Y/N slid to the floor, her heart pounding. It was happening again. The life she had carefully rebuilt, separate from Jeonghan and his world of glitz and glamour, was threatening to crumble around her.

---

In his penthouse, Jeonghan paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. "Somin, I thought we agreed to keep my personal life out of this," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

His publicist's calm tones came through the speaker. "Jeonghan, we did our best, but you have to understand. The public is hungry for this. Your story, the mystery—it's what sells. The interview was a huge success."

"At what cost?" Jeonghan muttered, more to himself than to Somin.

After ending the call, he walked to his workspace, surrounded by the tools of his trade. His fingers trailed over the bottles of his creations, lingering on "You, in New York."

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember—truly remember, not the sanitized version he had presented to the world. He saw Y/N's smile as they watched the sunset from the Top of the Rock, felt the warmth of her hand in his as they strolled through Central Park.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand reached for his phone. Y/N's contact information stared back at him, unchanged after all these years. His thumb hovered over the call button.

A war raged inside him. The desire to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, warred with the fear of rejection, of reopening old wounds.

In the end, he set the phone down, the call unmade. But the desire, the need, lingered.

---

"Y/N, have you seen this?" Mina's voice came through the phone, excitement evident. "Jeonghan's Vogue interview. Girl, he's talking about you."

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mina, please. You know I don't want to hear about—"

"No, listen," Mina interrupted. "He talks about a moment in New York, watching the sunset from a rooftop garden. That was you two, wasn't it? On your last birthday together?"

Y/N's breath caught. She remembered that evening with painful clarity—the golden light, the gentle breeze, the feeling that everything was perfect. It was mere days before it all fell apart.

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Honey," Mina said gently, "I think it does. He's been telling your story all along, in every bottle. Maybe... maybe it's time to tell yours."

After hanging up, Y/N found herself once again staring at the bottle of "You, in New York." She uncapped it, letting the scent envelop her. In that moment, she allowed herself to truly feel everything she had been suppressing for years.

The realization hit her like a wave: Jeonghan hadn't forgotten. Every perfume, every story, was a message in a bottle, cast out into the world in hopes that someday, somehow, it would reach her.

---

The charity gala was in full swing, the cream of New York society mingling amidst the glittering decor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jeonghan moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, the perfect image of the successful artist.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a fashion designer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with an old friend—one he shared with Y/N.

"Jeonghan," the friend said, a strange mix of emotions playing across their face. "It's been too long."

As they talked, catching up on the years that had passed, Jeonghan found himself hungry for any scrap of information about Y/N. He tried to be subtle, but his old friend saw right through him.

"She's doing well, Jeonghan," they said softly. "She's strong. But... I think she misses you too."

The words hit Jeonghan like a physical blow. He excused himself, making his way to a quiet corner of the museum. His carefully constructed world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

Across the city, Y/N was experiencing a similar upheaval. A mutual friend had let slip that Jeonghan had asked about her, that he still kept a photo of them on his desk.

As the night wore on, both Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves standing at a crossroads. The walls they had built, the distance they had maintained, suddenly seemed more like obstacles than protection.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both reached for their phones at nearly the same moment. Fingers hovering over screens, hearts pounding, they stood on the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

In the air, the faint scent of "You, in New York" lingered, a reminder of what was lost and what, perhaps, could still be found.

The stage was set. The next move was theirs.

The Autumn chill nipped at Y/N's skin as she stood outside the small café, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street, searching for a familiar face she hadn't seen in years. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through her veins.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed. A text from Jeonghan: "I'm here."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she spotted him rounding the corner. Jeonghan looked much the same as she remembered, yet somehow different. His hair was styled differently, and he carried himself with a weariness that hadn't been there before. But his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at her with such love—were as intense as ever.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the busy New York street faded away. It was just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a chasm five years in the making.

Jeonghan reached her first, stopping a few feet away. "Y/N," he said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Jeonghan," she replied, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded.

An awkward silence fell between them, years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions creating an almost tangible barrier.

"Should we..." Jeonghan gestured towards the café, and Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

Inside, they found a quiet corner booth. The warm, coffee-scented air was a stark contrast to the tension between them. They ordered—an Americano for him, a latte for her, just like old times—and then faced each other across the small table.

"You look well," Jeonghan said, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar packet.

Y/N managed a small smile. "So do you. I... I've seen your interviews. Congratulations on all your success."

Jeonghan's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. I hear you're doing well too. Teaching, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, literature at NYU. It's... it's good."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Y/N took a sip of her latte, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

"Why did you want to meet, Jeonghan?" she finally asked, setting her cup down perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since they sat down. "I... I missed you, Y/N. Every day for five years, I've missed you."

The raw honesty in his voice caught Y/N off guard. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back furiously.

"You missed me?" she repeated, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. "You're the one who left, Jeonghan. You chose your career over us."

Jeonghan flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. Y/N's breath hitched as she recognized it—"You, in New York."

"Every scent, every name," Jeonghan continued, his voice thick with emotion, "they were all for you. About you. My way of holding onto what we had, what I threw away."

Y/N stared at the bottle, memories flooding back. The laughter, the love, the pain—it all came rushing back in a dizzying whirl.

"I thought I was protecting you," Jeonghan said. "The pressure, the spotlight—it was destroying us. I thought... I thought if I let you go, you could have a normal life. Be happy."

"That wasn't your choice to make," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."

Jeonghan nodded, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made Y/N's heart ache. "I know that now. God, Y/N, I know. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward."

Y/N felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble. She reached out, almost unconsciously, and took the perfume bottle from Jeonghan's hand. As she did, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"I tried to hate you," Y/N admitted, her thumb tracing the label of the bottle. "I tried so hard to forget, to move on. But then I'd catch a whiff of one of your perfumes, or see your face on a magazine cover, and it all came flooding back."

Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... is there any chance? For us? I'm not the same man I was five years ago. I've learned, I've grown. And I know now that nothing—no amount of success or fame—means anything without you."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she saw that Jeonghan's eyes were also wet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You hurt me, Jeonghan. Deeply. That's not something that can be fixed with a conversation and some pretty words."

Jeonghan nodded, his face falling. But before he could speak, Y/N continued.

"But... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you too. That I didn't still love you, despite everything."

Hope bloomed in Jeonghan's eyes. "So... what does that mean?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means... it means maybe we can try. Slowly. No grand gestures, no rushing back into things. We need to relearn each other, rebuild trust. Can you do that?"

Jeonghan reached across the table, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The familiar warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y/N, I would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. We'll go as slow as you need. I just... I just want a chance to make things right."

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try."

The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through Central Park, where Jeonghan and Y/N walked hand in hand, their steps slow and purposeful. Two years had passed since that fateful night when they both reached for their phones, finally bridging the gap that had separated them for so long.

"I still can't believe we're here," Y/N said, squeezing Jeonghan's hand. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

Jeonghan brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "If it's a dream, then I never want to wake up," he replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

They found a quiet bench overlooking the lake, the same spot where they had sat years ago, planning their future together. Now, older and wiser, they sat again, the weight of their shared history and renewed love settling comfortably between them.

"The launch is tomorrow," Jeonghan said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's still surreal, you know? Being back in this world, but on my own terms this time."

The past two years had been a whirlwind of rediscovery and healing. After their reconnection, Jeonghan and Y/N had taken things slowly, rebuilding trust and relearning each other. Y/N had been adamant about maintaining her independence, refusing to be swallowed up by Jeonghan's world as she had been before.

To everyone's surprise—including her own—Y/N had discovered a talent for perfumery. What had started as curious questions about Jeonghan's process had evolved into a genuine passion. Under his guidance, she had begun to create her own scents, her natural intuition complementing Jeonghan's technical expertise.

And now, tomorrow, they would launch their first collaborative perfume.

"I have something for you," Jeonghan said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, elegant bottle, its contents shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Y/N gasped, recognizing the prototype they had been working on. "Is this...?"

Jeonghan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "The final version. I wanted you to be the first to see it—to smell it."

With trembling hands, Y/N took the bottle. The label read "Essence of Us" in Jeonghan's distinctive handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters: "By Jeonghan & Y/N."

She uncapped the bottle, bringing it to her nose. The scent enveloped her immediately—bright citrus notes of bergamot and lemon, giving way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by warm sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. But there was something more, something uniquely them—a note that spoke of long nights of conversation, of laughter shared over coffee, of gentle kisses and whispered promises.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "It's perfect," she whispered.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's us," he said simply. "All of us. The good, the bad, the journey we've taken."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jeonghan and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, the scent of their creation lingering in the air around them.

The launch event for "Essence of Us" was the talk of the fashion world. Held in the same New York hotel where Jeonghan and Y/N had celebrated her last birthday before their separation, it was a poignant reminder of how far they had come.

Cameras flashed as Jeonghan and Y/N stepped onto the red carpet, a united front. Y/N, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid silver, looked every inch the confident co-creator, a far cry from the woman who had once hidden in Jeonghan's shadow.

Inside, the room was transformed into a sensory wonderland. Different stations represented the various notes of the perfume, allowing guests to experience each element individually before sampling the final product.

As the crowd mingled and the excitement built, Jeonghan clinked a glass, calling for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the stage where he and Y/N stood.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Jeonghan began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "This launch is special for many reasons, but none more so than the fact that it represents not just a new scent, but a new chapter."

He turned to Y/N, love evident in his gaze. "For years, my perfumes told the story of what I had lost. They were messages in bottles, cast out into the world in the hope that someday, they might find their way back to the one who inspired them."

Y/N stepped forward, taking Jeonghan's hand. "And I heard those messages," she continued, her voice strong and clear. "Even when I tried not to listen, even when I thought that chapter of my life was closed forever. They called to me, reminding me of a love that never truly faded."

Together, they unveiled the perfume—an elegant bottle that seemed to capture the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"'Essence of Us' is more than just a perfume," Jeonghan said. "It's a testament to the power of love, of forgiveness, of second chances. It's the scent of two people who lost their way, only to find that all paths led back to each other."

Y/N nodded, adding, "It's also a new beginning. A declaration that our story isn't just about the past, but about the future we choose to create together."

As the crowd applauded and the first samples of "Essence of Us" were distributed, Jeonghan and Y/N shared a private smile. They had poured their hearts into this creation, distilling years of love, loss, and rediscovery into a single, perfect scent.

Months later, as "Essence of Us" continued to top bestseller lists and garner critical acclaim, Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves back in their favorite spot in Central Park. The trees were ablaze with autumn colors, a crisp breeze carrying the promise of winter.

"I've been thinking," Jeonghan said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "About the future. About us."

Y/N looked at him curiously. "Oh? And what have you been thinking?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time for a new scent. Something... permanent."

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring. The design was unique—a delicate gold band that twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like drops of perfume.

"Y/N," Jeonghan said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you marry me? Again? For real this time, for always?"

Tears sprang to Y/N's eyes as she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. As Jeonghan slipped the ring onto her finger, she finally found her voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Forever and always."

They sealed the promise with a kiss, the scent of "Essence of Us" mingling with the crisp autumn air. As they broke apart, both laughing and crying, Jeonghan's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration.

"I think I know what our next perfume will be called," he said, grinning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh? Do tell."

Jeonghan pulled her close, whispering in her ear: "You, Forever and Always."

And as they walked hand in hand through the park, already discussing notes and accords for their new creation, both Jeonghan and Y/N knew that this—their love, their passion, their shared creativity—was the most intoxicating scent of all.

374 notes · View notes

yumeka-sxf · 2 months ago

Text

I'm finally home from my vacation and able to discuss the latest SxF chapter...all I can say is, I have a lot to say! I'll start with funny stuff first before I move on to analyzing...

Anya was especially hilarious in this chapter - where do I even start with her gremlin-ness? 😂 First off, there's her calling the butlers "henchlings' henchlings" (in the Japanese version, I believe she's using some mispronunciation of 弟子, which means "follower")

Then she calls out Twilight for being, well, Twilight, even giving his behavior its own acronym 🤣

She feels bad for George because his family isn't important enough for Twilight's aforementioned Twilighting 😅

And this doozy of a nickname for Bill!

In the Japanese version, she calls him something like "old man bully who hits people with balls" 😆

But joking aside, we get these profound words from Jeeves that seem to resonate with Twilight.

His words remind Twilight of the hypocrisy of his position: on the one hand, he agrees with Jeeves and wants the children to be able to grow up as they wish, without being burdened by the expectations of their parents. But that's exactly what he's been corralling Anya towards this whole time...doing whatever's best for Operation Strix, regardless of what may be best for her.

This scene reminded me of his musings when they first took Bond to the dog park; another case where he's aware that the morals he believes in are the opposite of his actions and yet...he continues with the mission.

I also think it's great that the other parents thank Anya for her bravery during the bus hijacking. Even if their kids don't act grateful, the parents should be on their behalf. Perhaps seeing this praise for Anya right before his eyes is what made Twilight feel even more guilt upon hearing Jeeves' words - he's seeing more and more what an exceptional girl she is despite not having the perfect traits for his mission, and yet he's still manipulating her (not realizing she's aware of the mission and wants to help).

But on that note, it's nice to see that George's dad and Becky's mom somewhat agree with Jeeves. As of now, I'd say out of all the Eden kids we've gotten to know, George and Becky seem to have the most decent families. I especially like how Becky's dad is adorably doting, to the point where he gets crushed when Becky asks Yor for help instead of him 😅 Also Martha having to reel him in, lol.

But despite being an overbearing dad, at least he isn't quick to jump on Loid supposedly "seducing" Becky 😂 He seems to not take it seriously, which is good since Becky is the one making the moves with her silly little girl crush.

Also Emile thinking Yor is pretty~ I'm surprised he had something nice to say about anyone connected to Anya, lol. I really want a chapter where Yor takes all the Eden kids on a playdate and they start thinking she's awesome like Becky does, even Damian.

Speaking of Yor, just when I thought she would be demoted to "background character" for whatever arc is coming, the last few panels give the impression that she'll have her next moment in the spotlight soon! Is she just destined to always catch Melinda when she falls? 😅

Not only are we getting more Yor/Melinda interactions next time, but also (hopefully) more of Anya reading Melinda's mind. I know there's theories floating around of how Donovan may be able to read minds and is possibly the one behind the experiments done on Anya, and that Melinda may have some psychic abilities too. Also some relation to that Arnold Crowley character introduced several chapters ago. I'm not good at theorizing, so I'll leave it to fans who are better with that kind of stuff 😅 But I think they're all good theories and I'm keeping my fingers crossed we'll get more insight into Desmond secrets very soon!

...but unfortunately the next new chapter won't be until November 25th, so we'll have to be satisfied with theories for now!

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #damian desmond #melinda desmond #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers #becky blackbell

375 notes · View notes

anim-ttrpgs · 3 months ago

Note

I recently ran an oneshot for my friends in Eureka.

It was a lot of fun and went mostly smoothly! The charakter creation was very easy. It still took more time than I expected, but that was simply because the players needed it to decide on which traits etc. to pick.

The central resolution mechanic with 2d6 is of course tried and true (I assume. Never played one of the many other 2d6 games.) but especially the Eureka system felt really good.

I think I read in a recent post of your's, that you are overhauling the chapter on combat. That seems very important to me. Even though I read the whole book once before running the game, I had immense problems finding out how small details of the combat worked during play. The musings on game design (eg, "yes, the combat is deadly, thats on purpose heres why" and such) where really enlightening to read, but got in the way when searching for concrete stats.

I will run the same oneshot again for different friends. The game seems really promising to me.

My mystery took place on a single in game evening, and none of the players were monsters. Having therefore only scratched at the surface of Eureka, I am looking forward to running it more.

Woo! We LOVE hearing about this kinda stuff!

And yeah everything about how the combat-related rules are structured is getting overhauled. All of that was written like 2 years ago when I was a slightly worse game designer and MUCH worse at writing coherent paragraphs and hasn’t been touched since until now. Instead of being split across like four paragraphs (what was I thinking), there will be just two chapters on it: “Instruments of Violence”, which is mostly just a giant list of references for the stats and special rules of weapons and armor, and “Dangerous Situations”, which covers every rule related to how your investigators can get killed. Some of these clean-ups are already available in the latest patreon release, and the rest are coming soon to both patreon and the itchio beta.

Combat is a very rare thing in Eureka, but when it does come up, we want it to be tight and granular, but without wasting the players’ time, which I think we’ve done pretty well at.

Like the book says, combat is deadly and there’s a reason why: so it doesn’t waste the players’ time.

This is a twofold problem to solve. The first layer of it, we solved by making sure the numbers are low. Most weapons can take a character down in 2 to 3 hits, so a single instance of two guys smacking each other will never take too many rounds.

Secondly, well, combat is dangerous and deadly, and if the PCs approach it without a plan, they’re gonna die, or at least get their asses kicked fast. Otherwise, well, I consider that a waste of the players’ time. If it was predetermined that the PCs would win otherwise the story can’t continue, well, what did we roll all those die, look up all those stats, and track all that HP for? Why didn’t we just describe the PCs winning and move on? Combat matters because it can change the outcome of the adventure, and if it can’t change the outcome, why are you rolling dice? Of course with death being so possible, to keep it fun, we gotta include lots of “tools” like cover, positioning, different weapons, special melee attacks, etc. that the PCs can use cleverly to give themselves an edge, and *earn* their survival.

Oh and also yeah can’t wait to hear what you think about the monsters. Funny thing about that, everyone who has read the rulebook knows that monsters and other supernatural creatures are supposed to be really rare, like one supernatural person for every 3,000,000 normal people kinda rare, but, monsters are super cool and fun to play, and are one of the big draws of the system, so we were kinda worried that that rarity wouldn’t come through in play, everyone would just be monsters. We considered setting a limit on how many monsters can be in a party? But quickly decided against it, because then players would have to compete for the limited monster slots, and people might even feel like if they’re not filling in that slot every single adventure, they’re missing an opportunity, and so every party would max out their monster limit every time and there’d, again, be way too many monsters.

In practice, though, most parties in Eureka seem to be comprised of all normal people, or all normal people and 1 monster at most, even without the limit. And I suspect this is both because monsters are kinda difficult to play despite their immense power, and, just to brag, because we made the normal PCs fun has hell to play too. :)

122 notes · View notes

astracora · 18 days ago

Text

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 1

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 779

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: This is the first fanfic I've posted, it's not proofread, I don't know how many chapters there will be. Pray for me. Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Masterlist AO3

It's one thing to take their government mandated holidays, as a hunter. It feels wrong, they know they need to take time off. People need breaks. If they don't rest, they fray. As a hunter, being sloppy means letting someone get hurt.

They know that.

Still... they've never been good at taking time off. It was easier with their family around, if Caleb hadn't dragged them home occasionally, they'd have burned themselves out frequently.

Now they just face the disapproving looks of their dear doctor... who is far less enthused, but far too professional to do any dragging.

It's another thing when their favourite captain tells them to go home because they look like shit. Alright, maybe not in that many words, but the sentiment was there. They try to imagine Jenna cursing and while it feels right, they also feel like they've seen something they really shouldn't.

She's right though, they muse. Dark circles, clothing tattering, ache in limbs.

If they'd been asked when they last took a holiday... well they couldn't answer.

Tara nudges them, warm smile on her face, "I'll text you. Go sleep." And with a warm hand on their back, she pushes them towards the door.

They're tempted to look for Xavier to say goodbye for the day, but it's late and he could be anywhere. (Though they're willing to bet he's stolen a break room for a nap.)

Instead they leave the Hunters Association, standing in the street below, staring up at the holiday decorations lining the street. It's cold enough that their teeth chatter...

And they come face to face with the loneliness of being stood here, an empty home and the knowledge that all their loved ones are still busy, working, wrapping everything up.

They could go visit Zayne, but he's got such an important job they don't want to intrude. (The voice in their head that sounds a bit like his tries to remind them they could never intrude.) They could message Xavier, but if he's finally resting they'd had to disturb him. (They never could, he's pleased whenever they spend time with him or join him for a nap.) They could go check in on Rafayel, but he's preparing for an exhibit and they don't want to break his creative flow. (How could they when they're his muse? The reason he found purpose in a paintbrush again.)

Instead they stand and stew and struggle. Internally debating how much they can exist in a space, before a caw snaps them out of their shuddering. Arms wrapped around them through the too thin coat, not at all built for the snow and chill.

Mephie perches on their shoulder, his red eyes gleaming. They're hit with the strange feeling that the robot bird knows and sees far more than he should, before the non metal feathers puff up, snuggling into the crook of their neck.

In seconds all the tense strain in their limbs ease up, and they breathe out a long exhale. "Hey." They manage, forcing their teeth to stop chattering and their smile comes gently.

They're unsure if it's for the birds benefit, or for his owner, but they realise it doesn't matter. Both bring unrivalled comfort.

Their new companion, caws again, tone deaf and glitchy, before clacking his beak at them. Extending his foot, a small message tied to it.

Why Sylus doesn't send them messages in any normal way, they'll never understand. He enjoys phone calls, texts them constantly, but whenever he wants to be dramatic, in flies Mephisto with a letter or a note, on a blaze of feathers and metal.

Gently, they untie it, patting the pretty bird's head as they do so with one hand.

He preens and coos at them happily, glitchy static and very real pleasure at their attention.

'You have time off. I'm booking it for the week.'

They'd question how he knows, but he always seems to know. They should find it creepy, but they've since learned if he doesn't watch their back constantly, people who want them hurt do.

Perhaps they've grown too soft on him, his attentions, his affection, his constantly presence, but they find it more soothing than unnerving.

Still. They would like to know how many ways he's keeping track of them.

If only for the curiousity lurking under their skin, one of the traits he teases them for.

"I guess you're my accompaniment then Mephie?" The bird puffs up, proud and preening, and he looks far too much like his prideful master for a moment for them to not chuckle. As their guide kicks up into the sky, flying off, they follow him a little lighter.

#wonder writes #love and deepspace #sylus #lads sylus #lads x reader #lads x mc #sylus x reader #reader x sylus #lads #love and deepspace sylus #a mandated Christmas break #please don't perceive me I feel sick just uploading this I don't write for fandoms and the idea truly makes me want to cry 🙈#but I also can't stop writing shit about this man so... this is where I got #anyway... ye...#this isn't specifically a Christmas thing but umm #it is based in winter because it's cold here #and I want to lie in front of a fire with sylus

69 notes · View notes

for-a-longlongtime · 1 month ago

Text

VI. Through the fire, to the wire

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Marcus Pike

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI 🔞🔥🏳️‍🌈 Words: 6.5K Warnings: m/m so obviously there's plenty of gay sex incl. anal fingering, dirty talk about oral, anal, threesomes and spit roasting. Erectile dysfunction (we don't refer to this enough in fic) in this chapter, because Tim is 52 years old and stressed the fuck out by work. A/N: We're no longer in ficlet territory - I'm just embracing it. We are, however, continuing the cheesy Top Gun soundtrack references, because why the hell not? All my love to @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem @perotovar for helping me get through my writer's block! Mostly unbeta-ed, dividers by @saradika.

< previous | read on AO3 | series masterlist | main masterlist

“You said–”

“I know, but–...”

“It’s eleven fuckin’ pm, Tim.” Marcus’ voice is uncommonly sharp as he snags the stack of paperwork from Tim’s hand, nearly climbing over him in bed so he can shove the offending papers into the nightstand. “You’ve been working your ass off for months now. Rest a little, would you?”

Tim sighs as he nods, pinching the bridge of his nose before he takes off his glasses and tosses them onto the nightstand. The thick frames hit the edge of the table with a dull thud, before falling to the floor, but this late in the day he’s too tired to even roll his eyes at that.

“What about your ass, hmm?” He slips his arm around Marcus’s waist, easily preventing him from moving back to the other side of the bed, and tugs him over to sit right on his lap, warm thighs bracing his own. “Come here. You smell good,” he muses, burying his face against Marcus’ neck to inhale the shower fresh scent lingering on his skin. Lemongrass and eucalyptus, two things that he pretty much exclusively associates with Marcus since they started dating a year and a half ago. Even when he smells it in a different context, his body consistently responds in a Pavlovian way, conjuring up images of Marcus pressed against him, gasping his name.

Always, without fail.

Except for how he now has Marcus right here, in his lap, still warm from the shower, dressed in just gray boxers - but yet his dick isn’t even stirring at the welcome weight across his thighs and the skin on skin contact.

As much as he’d like to ignore it, simply blame it on his body being slow to respond, he knows that’s not the case. He’s barely had a morning erection in the past weeks, and even being able to get off in the shower for some much needed stress release hasn’t been in the cards.

Breathe. It’s going to be just fine. You’re not impotent; you’re just exhausted and have been working too much for too long. He tries to be matter-of-fact about it, but the truth is that he’s not used to his body betraying him like this. Right now, it’s pretty damn hard to figure out if it’s temporary stress or a matter of getting up there in age. Early fifties isn’t that old yet, is it? Is this really about age catching up with me? No. It shouldn’t be.

Before he can spiral too much, the sensation of Marcus’ lips against his cheek pulls him out of his thoughts. So he tries to stay rooted in his body instead of worrying about it, enjoying the feeling of warm hands sliding over his shoulders. Marcus moves with gentle urgency, deft fingers alternating with an occasional kiss against the most tense spots, trying to ease the most strained muscles with a light massage.

“That feels good,” Tim says drowsily, a sigh escaping from his lips as he lets his hand slip to the small of Marcus' back.

“Good. Relax,” Marcus whispers as he claims Tim’s mouth in a deep kiss, his hips starting a slow rocking motion against him. It doesn’t get Tim hard the way he wishes it would - the way it generally should -, but it hits his senses so good either way. They haven’t had enough time for each other lately because of his work, and particularly when he feels this run down, it makes him question if he’s doing right by Marcus. Whether at times the balance isn’t askew, even though work frequently keeps both of them at their respective offices for too long, and whether he can keep up with Marcus.

Their age difference isn’t an issue most days - except for the times that those sixteen years suddenly seem to feel heavier than usual to Tim. If asked, Marcus will always dismiss the mere suggestion of it, but it has happened more than once that Tim finds himself wondering if he’s holding Marcus back, or when the reality of having spend more years in his body makes him wonder if he’s giving Marcus enough of what he needs in more than just a few ways. So this right here, the comforting touches, the way Marcus’ mouth finds his, still as hungry for him as that first week they met - it’s not just something Tim wants, but he actually needs it. The taste of Marcus on his tongue, be it the salt from his sweat or his cum, or that vague taste of coffee and something that’s so distinctly Marcus, just like that familiar fragrance that surrounds him everywhere.

“Stop thinking. I’ve got you.” Marcus’ voice is a low hum as he breaks their kiss so he can take off Tim’s undershirt. This time when he presses his chest against Tim’s, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, makes Tim’s breathing stutter. Missed you. Want you. Marcus’ hunger for him is comforting, reassuring, and Tim gladly lets him take control of the kiss.

When Marcus’ hands slide over Tim’s chest, stroking his nipples on their way down, that nagging feeling he’s had for the past minutes turns suddenly into a flash of panic; his cock still isn’t responding. Not to any of this, no matter how good and familiar it all feels.

He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that’s building in his chest, unable to deal with it at the moment, still holding out hope that maybe it will be okay. But not even Marcus’ hard dick pressing through his underwear against Tim’s belly, or his whimpers and moans are making Tim stiffen the way it should be - regardless of how much he wants Marcus.

“Tim…”, Marcus breathes, grinding needily against him, and this time Tim feels the wet spot on Marcus’ boxers as he’s leaking through the fabric. He doesn’t think - it’s just instinct, the way his hands slide down to grab a hold of Marcus’ ass and help him rock against him, making Marcus’ needy movements more controlled and focused. Immediately he gets rewarded with another gasp by Marcus, and Tim feels that familiar feeling burning low in his belly - that primal urge to take control, to take and give in ways that make Marcus’ eyes glaze over, and won’t hesitate in the slightest bit to show Tim just how much he wants him. Maybe if he can get him off this way, he won’t have to address the panic right now, or the fact that he feels broken because he can’t even fuck Marcus the way he wants to - the way Marcus likes it. Maybe if…

“Come here, let me…” Marcus’ hand slips between them, cupping Tim through his boxers as he’s breathing heavily, and the panic flares up even more for Tim. That anxious feeling of not wanting to disappoint tastes almost bitter in his mouth, and not even Marcus’ hands or mouth can take that away. For a moment he has to fight the urge to physically pull away, not sure if it’s shame or self consciousness. He can cope with his own insecurities to a certain level, with feeling vulnerable - but he does not want to let Marcus down. Or even worse; make him feel like he’s doing something wrong.

“Marcus…” He closes his eyes as Marcus strokes him eagerly, deepening their kiss as he rocks harder against Tim. Fingers touching in all the right places, with just the right pressure - but all that’s rising is that ball of panic inside of Tim, pushing against his rib cage until it almost becomes hard to breathe.

“Wanna lay down? Let me suck—“

Tim shakes his head quickly, not letting Marcus finish that sentence and risk getting himself into more of a predicament. He can’t let it get to the point that Marcus gives him a blowjob while he can’t even get fucking hard. “No no, it’s okay, let’s just not — I’m good,” he forces the words out, wincing when he sees the surprise on Marcus’ face and feels it in his body language.

“If you don't want to right now, or-..”

Nausea turns in Tim’s stomach, and without making a conscious decision to actually say it out loud, he finds that the words just fall from his lips, unable to take back. “I can’t get hard.”

There’s a beat or two of silence as Tim watches Marcus process what he just told him, and then suddenly the rest of his words come rushing, afraid he won’t be able to say them out loud if he doesn’t do so now. “Been about a week or two, except for that time we fucked in the gym showers. It either doesn’t happen at all or I can’t finish. It’s…. Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just don’t want you to try and — it’s just a waste of time. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even fucking can fix it.”

Marcus bites his lip, seeming to hesitate for a moment, and immediately Tim’s nausea gets worse. Fuck. I shouldn’t have… Not like this. Fuck, Rockford.

“I noticed it already,” Marcus says eventually, carefully picking his words as he rests his hands against Tim’s chest, covering his heart that’s beating wildly. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground. Leaving before I go to work, coming home later and later with a heavier briefcase every week - and then those times you sleep at your office, or get home long after I am asleep.”

He’s right. And you’ve been neglecting him. You’re fucking up your relationship for work. “I’m so sorry.” The words barely come out of his throat, sticking in there like knives, but Marcus immediately shakes his head before Tim can say more.

“No, no. You don’t need to apologize to me about that, that’s not my point,” he clarifies quickly. “I’m just saying that your work is crazy right now, and you’re under way too much stress. You’re not sleeping enough either. That would fuck up anyone, you know? But it will pass. I don’t think you have to worry about this.”

The expression in Marcus’ eyes is so soft as he leans in to kiss Tim, hands sliding into his hair now as he curls some of the longer locks around his fingers. “Besides. You’re never a waste of time,” he breathes. “No matter what. But thank you for telling me all this. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so bad. But it’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“I don't know if it will just...go away or pass, whatever,” Tim huffs, and this time the wave of anxiety hitting him is different. Not about how to bring it up to Marcus, but the scarier realization that maybe this is it, this is his new normal. “I'm not fuckin'...young. And if it is my age, then...” He hates saying it. Hates how it makes him feel and sound, but still it rattles around his brain, all day long, without a way to ignore it.

Marcus simply shakes his head, his fingertips softly massaging Tim’s scalp - slow, easy circles in an attempt to make him relax. “Then we’ll just deal with it. Plenty of guys do, and there are so many options. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with that.”

It’s almost maddening how calm Marcus is, how matter of fact about it. Tim isn’t sure what reaction he had been expecting, besides every possible bad response, but this sure wasn’t it - and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

It must be written on his face though, because Marcus tilts his head as he questioningly takes in the sight of him. “Tim,” he then says softly. “You’re overthinking this. Okay? You told me, and I told you that I already knew, and that it’s not going to be a problem. You need to sleep for now. It’s all just fine.”

At last, the tight feeling in Tim’s chest dissipates, slowly but surely. Sleep sounds like heaven right now, but also impossible with the adrenaline that’s still crashing through his body - he’s practically vibrating out of his skin, unable to settle down. Needing to quiet his mind and be useful. He buries his face against the curve of Marcus’ neck, breathing in his scent deeply to have something else than his thoughts to focus on, and he sighs when Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp like he did earlier.

“Tell me about your day,” he says after a little while as he straightens up, the tension finally leaving his body just as the anxiety did earlier. “No, actually…” he then corrects himself as he remembers something, and he leans back against the headboard as he takes in the sight of Marcus sitting on his lap.

“Tell me about the other day,” he says, this time brushing his thumb playfully over Marcus’ lower lip. He skips a breath unintentionally when those full lips part and then close around his digit, softly sucking on him. For a moment he’s too flustered and captivated by the sight, and by habit his fingers are just itching to guide Marcus’ head down to take him in his mouth, but he’s able to restrain himself - just barely, by reminding himself that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid right now. “Hey. Don’t distract me, you. Did you go to the airforce base for that flyboy?”

“Ohh. Francisco– Frankie? Yeah, I did.” Marcus can’t hide a smile but tries to anyway, looking bashful for a moment. He grabs Tim’s wrist, holding his hand in place as he kisses his knuckles one by one, then turns Tim’s hand over to pay the same attention to the palm of his hand. “He’s… nice.”

Tim hums in agreement. “Pretty too with those curls. Broad. Nice dick...” God, he still has that image burned on the inside of his brain. Walking into the locker room to find Marcus on his knees, sucking Frankie off - it wasn’t just a sight for sore eyes, but it made him want to spit roast Marcus there and then. “Good lay?”, he asks casually, but he knows the answer already before Marcus speaks. It’s that twinkle in his eyes that Marcus gets whenever he’s excited about discovering something he enjoys; an ancient piece of art at the office, or a song, or a person he’s particularly attracted to.

“Tell me. If you want to.” They’ve always shared stories about hookups, and while this time - considering circumstances - there is a bit of a nagging insecure voice in his head, he still wants to hear about the day Marcus spent with Frankie. He rubs the small of Marcus’ back in encouragement, hoping to not get a response in pity or ‘are you sure?’ at his inquiry - and Marcus picks up on the silent request, going with it.

“He gave me a tour all around the place and even let me get into some of the planes. It was like a fuckin’ teenage fantasy.” A wide grin spreads over Marcus’ face, and Tim knows exactly what he means. Top Gun had been an obsession for Marcus when he’d discovered it during middle school, not to mention that it made him realize that he was gay. The celebrity crush he had on Tom Cruise had faded after a couple of years, but the one for Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell remained steadfast, and led to him becoming somewhat of an aircraft geek.

“So did you fuck him in a plane?” Tim asks innocently, not surprised when he feels Marcus wriggle in his lap at those words, his eyes darkening. “Oh, you diiid, you little slut.”

“Technically it was a helicopter. I didn’t think we – I hadn’t planned it or anything.” Marcus laughs, the expression on his face clearly giving away how he’s thinking back about the encounter, and it makes Tim’s heart beat just a little faster. This is why it had been working for them to occasionally see other people; they could always talk about it and be happy for the other, without being intimidated.

It’s a first for Tim, being in a serious relationship while still keeping things this open, as Marcus was the one who had initially suggested it after they’d been dating for half a year. At the time, he’d wondered if jealousy wouldn’t get in the way, but the opposite turned out to be true. It was exciting to hear what Marcus was up to, or to share whenever he himself had hooked up with someone. Not to mention the thrill of reclaiming each other, seeing someone else’s marks on Marcus’ body, knowing that those would fade but that Marcus would always come home to him.

“I know. You mentioned it was just going to be a tour, but well… I know your weakness for that air force stuff.” Tim smiles as he moves his hands from Marcus’ hips to his ass, squeezing him as he helps him grind against him. Marcus whimpers, eyes closing for a moment, and when he rocks his hips against Tim, he’s clearly hard again, his whole body vibrating with need.

“Besides, Frankie wanted to fuck you so badly,” Tim says casually, pleased when he gets a moan in response. “I could tell that the moment I walked into the locker room. You were sucking his dick so good, but he had that look in his eyes like he was starving, just wanting more of you. Am I right?”

Marcus nods wordlessly, and Tim smiles as he continues. “Yeah, of course I am. What happened in the helicopter, hmmm? Did he bend you over the control panel?”

“God, I was hoping he would.” Marcus’ voice is more than just a bit strung out as he rubs himself slowly against Tim’s belly and cock, gripping onto his arms for support while trying to find the words, as his arousal and the memories seem to make that more challenging than usual. “Would’ve been too risky. He blew me as I sat in the pilot chair, telling me I had to come before he’d lose it and would fuck me down on that floor…”

“Which you really were hoping for.” He smiles as he sees how dark Marcus’ eyes become, confirming how spot on that assessment is.

“Fuck. Yes. His fingers…” Marcus shivers as Tim squeezes his ass again, letting a few fingers slip lower so he can rub the rim of him through his boxers. “He likes having his hair pulled. Was jerking himself off while blowing me, which was so damn hot. I made him come like that, and…”

He has to take a moment to catch his breath, and Tim hums encouragingly at him as he tugs at Marcus’ boxers. “Take ‘em off. Now,” he orders Marcus, and it’s mere seconds before the underwear is tossed to the floor and Marcus is back in his lap, now fully naked. He doesn’t even have time to ask another question, because Marcus’ mouth is back on his almost immediately, kissing him deep and hard.

The head of his dick leaks against Tim’s stomach, making it impossible to resist the slickness and heat between them that just keeps building. He growls low when Tim wraps his fingers around him, his tongue even more possessive as he rocks against Tim from the seated position in his lap, clearly eager for more friction.

“Tell me more,” Tim encourages him when they both come up for air, slowly stroking Marcus’ cock as he keeps him pressed close against his belly, not getting enough of him.

“We almost fucked in his shower later, but it was too small. Little place in Ocean Park. The view…” Marcus’ breathing grows heavier as his eyes close, lost in the feeling of Tim jerking him off, and it takes a few tries until he finds his words again. “He ate me out on his bed and fuck, Tim, his mouth. God. I thought I was gonna lose it, but he told me to not come yet, and–...”

“Bossy?”, Tim suggests. He leans over to grab the lube from his nightstand and slick up his hand, and this time Marcus’ hips buck up hard into Tim’s grip as he nods breathlessly. His cock twitches hard in relief and excitement at the welcome glide over his dick, as Tim cups his sack before he moves back up to the shaft. “Mmmm. I bet you loved that. How did he fuck you, ass up in the air?” He laughs as Marcus nods again, picturing it - one of Marcus’ favorite positions, especially with a new hook up if he’s really into them. “Yeah, you must’ve been begging him for it at that point.”

“It was so good. His hands all… fucking strong. He’s ex-army, Delta Force, but not one of those meat heads, you know? Just, broad.” Tim has seen Marcus give detailed presentations in a professional capacity, including discussing ancient art more eloquently than he’s ever heard anybody else do. But right now, Marcus fuckin’ Pike was just a mess, slowly falling apart under his touch - but also by reminiscing about what was clearly a pretty memorable fuck.

“Tell me about his cock,” Tim orders him, and Marcus bites his lip as Tim strokes him faster, making the grip on him tighter, his other hand still guiding Marcus’ rocking movements against him. “I know he’s well-hung, but I want to know how he felt - how you felt.”

“Yeah, yeah… Frankie’s pretty big. Uncut. About your size, just not as thick. He used a condom, taking his time to…” Marcus closes his eyes for a moment in an attempt to compose himself. His hands are warm on Tim’s chest and shoulders, and Tim groans softly when Marcus’ lips brush over his throat, mouthing at his Adam’s apple, then move to suck a hickey on his shoulder.

“He felt so good. His head is thick, just… fucking perfect. He held me down as he took his time, just giving me the tip first, until I… He was a fuckin’ tease at first.” He laughs, shaking his head as he tries to compose himself, to focus on getting the words out. But when his gaze drops down to the sight of Tim jerking him off, the thoughts all seem to leave his head. He licks his lips hungrily, mesmerized by the slick slide of his dick in Tim’s hand. His cock is almost an angry red color, begging for more attention. He twitches repeatedly by the way Tim rubs his thumb against his frenulum, then upward to gather the bead of precum welling from the slit. “Shit....”

“Keep talking.” Tim’s eyes flit from Marcus’ face down to his dick and back again, taking in the dazed expression on his face with a sense of amusement and pride.

“I… what was I…” Marcus bites his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, then groans as Tim slips his foreskin up to fully cover him. After a few moments, he slowly slips it down again, his fingers a tight channel around Marcus’ cock, and the soft squelching sound of the lube makes them both shiver.

“You were talking about Frankie fucking you,” Tim offers helpfully, unable to stop his smirk at the strung out expression on Marcus face. “Uncut, big, not as thick as me. You like his dick, I can tell. You’re thinking about it right now, pushing inside of you.”

Marcus swallows hard, his eyes locked onto the sight of the viscous stickiness between his dick and Tim’s fingers. “He… yeah. He’s got a great cock, and he knows what to do with it. He liked it when I called him Francisco, and when I begged him for more. Said… he said I took him so well.” Finally Marcus looks up, his eyes dark and pleading, lips swollen from the kisses and bites he’s been leaving on Tim’s skin.

Tim smiles, cupping Marcus’ chin with his free hand as he leans in to kiss him. “Ask me. I know you want to.”

Marcus’ breathing stutters as he licks his lips briefly. “I need you.”

“So ask me,” Tim repeats, capturing Marcus’ bottom lip with his teeth to gently tug on it, just enough to cause a soft gasp. He quickly soothes it by sucking on the lip,letting his tongue apologize until the younger man whines for him.

“Please, Tim. Fuck me? Want to feel you inside of me.”

Hearing how much Marcus wants him never fails. It makes him even more eager to give him exactly what he’s asking for. His own dick being unwilling to stiffen is not even on his mind anymore, nor is the earlier anxiety now his head has finally cleared.

He pours some more lube on his hand, the cool liquid making them both shiver when he slips his fingers between Marcus’ cheeks. “I got you,” he hums at him, stroking the puckered rim as he kisses Marcus, wanting to tease and please him just a little longer. “You want this? Hmmm?”

“Please.” Marcus nods eagerly, his eyes falling shut as Tim’s finger slips inside of him. A soft whimper escapes from him as his body relaxes even more than it did before, hungry to be touched more. He’s radiating heat, and everything is slow, unhurried, despite how eager he is and how urgent his words are becoming. “Aaahh, fuck. More, Tim, please…”

He hushes Marcus softly as he first fucks him with his index finger only, waiting for just a little bit until he slips the second finger inside of Marcus. The eager, tight heat wrapped around his digits makes him hiss, and he wants to put his mouth on Marcus so badly, but he knows this isn’t gonna take long to begin with in the first place. “Greedy boy, taking a second finger just like that,” he teases him with another kiss, sliding as much of his fingers inside of Marcus as possible. “You take it so well. Just like your Flyboy said.”

Marcus moans loudly, and Tim feels him clench tight around his thick fingers. “Shit, you can’t just…”

“Sure I can. I can do whatever the hell I want, baby.” He grins as he starts to pick up the pace, deciding to push Marcus just a little more on the topic of Frankie. He really likes that guy. Not just to fuck, it seems. “Tell me more about your hot little - no, broad, right? - pilot fucking you ass up in his bed. Big hands on your waist, we all know you like that.” He lets go of Marcus’ dick so he can paw at his hip, letting his fingers press into the soft, hot skin. “Did he fuck you hard? He looked like a calm guy, but I bet…”

“You’re killing me.” Marcus’ voice is hoarse, his eyes wild and glassy as he nods, grabbing his cock to stroke himself now Tim’s hands are both occupied. “Yeah, he did, and he’s got… these thick thighs. Strong arms. So hot. Balls slapping as he went faster, slamming into me. His hands—...” His breathing hitches as Tim sets a steady pace with his fingers, starting to fuck him, and again he clenches hard around him. “His… He got me off before he did, made me come so goddamn hard.”

As he should. “But you didn’t get to blow him again?” Tim muses as he licks a drop of sweat off Marcus’ jaw, knowing how much he likes giving oral - saw for himself just how much he was into sucking Frankie off. “Bummed about that?” He pulls his fingers out a little as he pauses for a moment, just enough until Marcus eagerly pushes back against his digits, asking for more.

A wide grin plays over Marcus’ face, and he looks away for a moment as his breathing is labored. The hand around his cock speeds up a little, and he brushes the palm of his hand over the tip, clearly eager for a release. “I did, actually. Later that night, when we fucked on the couch.”

“When you…” Tim can’t stop the whistle of admiration. “Sucking you off in a chopper and then making you come twice at his place? I like this man.”

“Three times, actually.” Marcus laughs breathlessly, hips moving faster as he reaches behind him to grab Tim’s hand, urging him to pick up the pace with which he is finger fucking him. “I woke up to him sucking my dick, and-...” His words suddenly drop off as his head tips back, and he groans loudly, his nails digging into Tim’s hand. “Yes, yes, right there, fuck me, that’s… ohhh, God. Jesus, Tim.”

“Right there? Hmmm?”, Tim coos at him as he adds more pressure, knowing he’s right at Marcus’ most sensitive spot - could’ve done so right from the beginning, but he likes drawing it out, getting the satisfaction of that prolonged release. Marcus nods breathlessly, his hips working along with the pace Tim has set - one hand on Tim’s bicep, the other one still firmly locked around his cock, and the slick channel his dick keeps making onto Tim’s stomach.

“Yeah, Mr. I Got Fucked Four Times In A Day By That Flyboy. I know, I know, you’re so close. You’re so…” This time, he doesn’t let his fingers push back in but instead pulls them all the way out, hearing the disappointed gasp from Marcus.

“No, no - please, don’t stop,” Marcus gasps, eagerly rocking back against Tim’s hand. “ ‘s so fucking good…”

Tim smiles, leaning his forehead against Marcus’ as he only lets the tips of his fingers graze over Marcus’ hole. “Tell me what you want,” he says softly, not being able to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. “Do you want me? Or perhaps you want your Flyboy?”

“You.” There’s not a moment of hesitation as Marcus responds. But it’s impossible for Tim to not notice the gleam in Marcus’ eye at the mention of Frankie.

“I think you’re lying. But do you know that you’re lying? Let’s try this again.” He brushes his lips over Marcus’ jawline, feathering light kisses, then runs his tongue over the slightest hint of stubble. “You want me to fuck you - or do you want that Flyboy pressing against your back, his mouth on your neck, so you can feel how hard he is? His hand on your dick - like this,” he squeezes Marcus’ cock gently, hearing his breathing hitch again. “Getting you all worked up so you can take him like a good-...”

“Fuck. Don’t be such a tease. You - I wanna feel you inside.” Marcus tries to compose himself, grabbing Tim’s hand behind him in a plea to slide his fingers back into him. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m pretty sure I recall you saying you want us both. What was it…” Tim pretends to think deeply, this time slowly rubbing against Marcus’ heat with his middle finger. “Oh, right. Me fucking you further onto his cock to hear you choke.”

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus’ eyes close for a moment as he whimpers, but Tim continues - making sure to stop touching Marcus’ dick before it pushes him over the edge, as Marcus is desperate for friction at this point.

“Does he already know how slutty you get?” Tim waits for an answer, and when Marcus merely blushes at his words, he grins as he leans in to hush him with a kiss. “Yeah, you heard me,” he hums as he lets his slick fingers push past the tight ring of muscle, slipping back into Marcus. “All breathy and needy, just like this. Wanting to be filled up so badly. Does he know? How nicely you’ll beg for it when you really want it?”

“Ooh, fuckk…” Marcus’ breath catches, his body quickly adjusting to being filled up again, and his dick gets even harder when Tim’s fingers easily find their way back to his prostate. “Tim, please. God, I have to come...”

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” Tim admonishes him, barely concealing a smirk when he feels Marcus tighten around his fingers. “Unless you want to use your safeword?”

He knows he’s pushing it, making him hang in there for longer than he usually does, but something inside of him craves it at the moment. Teasing and drawing out those little bits about Frankie that seem to make Marcus weak - just to hold it up to the light and watch it sparkle, see what riles him up the most about this little crush. Not to mention that the idea of a threesome with that pilot sure sounds appealing to him, too. For a moment, that nagging feeling of anxiety tries to creep back into his head - because really, is he seriously considering a threesome while he can’t even get it up right now? But one look at Marcus’ blissed out face makes him forget about

Marcus shakes his head, and when Tim takes his hand off Marcus’ cock and tells him to touch himself, he does so eagerly, his dark eyes remaining locked onto Tim’s.

“Tell me how you want us. Me and your Fra–... Flyboy,” Tim urges him, his right hand occupied with Marcus’ rapidly rising climax while his left one is holding tight onto his hip, encouraging him to keep grinding. “I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

What, you’re talking about a threesome while you can’t even get it up right now, Rockford? He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that is trying to creep back into his head, and instead attempts to focus on Marcus’ blissed out face. The way he’s writhing in his lap, eyes half closed as Tim fingerfucks him - no, he’s not failing here, it’s clear that he’s giving Marcus exactly what he wants.

“Like that. Just like you said,” Marcus moans, drops of sweat rolling down his neck as he rocks along with Tim’s movements. “You fuckin’ me further onto his cock that’s in my throat, each of you on one end. And… and then I want to watch you fuck him.”

“How?”

Marcus shakes his head, almost tripping over his words. “Any fuckin’ way you want.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Tim groans against his ear, feeling the shivers running through Marcus’ entire body in response. A sob breaks free from the younger man as he jerks himself off furiously, grinding against Tim’s fingers in search of more. He doesn’t even have to ask; Tim picks up on it easily and hushes him reassuringly, capturing his lips again for a kiss.

It takes a moment and some more lube, but then he slides a third thick finger inside the tight heat that surrounds him. Marcus’ breathing immediately is a dead giveaway that the extra stretch is exactly what he wanted, and he whimpers wordlessly against Tim’s mouth. The angle may be less than ideal for Tim’s wrist, but it’s clear that Marcus isn’t going to last much longer anyway.

“Shit, shit, oh, god, please…” Marcus’ head tips back, full body shivers running through him as he just surrenders and lets Tim fuck him to his orgasm, fingers right against his prostate. “You should… I want… God, you should fuck him from behind. While he fucks me under him, on my back,” the hoarse words slip from his lips, and Tim can’t take his eyes off him, how goddamn beautiful he looks while falling apart. “I want to see how he takes you while fucking me, your hand in his hair, tugging his curls while…”

“Like this?” Tim’s fingers twist into Marcus’ short hair and he tugs, firm but not too hard, knowing pain isn’t exactly Marcus’ thing. He watches in surprise and awe as a few tears escape from Marcus, their barely visible path down his cheeks accentuating just how good he looks all blissed out. “Ohh, fuck. Your Flyboy is rubbing off on you with that hair pulling kink?”

“I need to… God, I’m gonna…”

“Of course you’re gonna come for me, like the good boy you are. You always do so well,” Tim breathes against his ear, and Marcus’ hips jerk hard as the words hit his praise kink - as deliberately aimed as Tim’s fingers inside of him pushing him relentlessly to his release. “Want to watch me take him apart the way you’re losing it now - is that it? Fuck him until he screams like he’s in heat, begging for more of my cock as I fuck him deeper into you…”

A loud gasp escapes from Marcus as he comes hard, crying out Tim’s name as he spills himself all over their stomachs. His body jerks with the intensity of the prolonged orgasm, and Tim can’t help but feel more than satisfied at that. He licks Marcus’ neck with a broad stroke before pressing more kisses and praise against his flushed skin, letting him ride out his high.

When he feels Marcus’ twitching getting too close to overstimulation, he slips his fingers out and grabs one of the wet wipes in his nightstand drawer - cleaning up his hand before he grabs a few more to clean up the both of them. “Thirsty?”, he asked, brushing his lips over Marcus’ in a soft kiss as he cleans the cum off his belly, and Marcus hums in response. “Got you, gimme a sec.” Part of him wishes he wasn’t using wipes to clean up Marcus, the urge to taste him on his tongue so strong. But with the adrenaline leaving both of them, exhaustion sets in for him as well, making him stick to the easy clean up for now.

“You have such a filthy mouth,” Marcus mumbles, half asleep already on his pillow a few minutes later, his arm slung low around Tim’s waist.

“Me? Because you’re so prim and proper.” Tim smiles as he tightens his arm around Marcus, pulling him in closer. “That Flyboy really gets you going.”

“I like him.” Marcus sighs, burying himself closer against Tim’s chest as his eyes are closed now. “You would too- I mean. Maybe you should meet him. Just because he’s nice, you know?”

It takes a moment for Tim to digest that comment, despite his previous playful comments to Marcus about taking him with Frankie. Because Marcus has never before suggested he should meet one of his hookups - not really unless there were clear plans to have a threeway.

“You really like him, huh?”, he says eventually. But the only response he gets is the sound of Marcus snoring quietly and contently. So Tim lets it go - knowing he’s too tired to further pursue that line of thoughts right now. It doesn’t matter, especially not with Marcus falling asleep right there against him.

That flyboy got to him good, though.

Oof, it took me a while to hop back into the saddle and complete this chapter. I've got so much backstory (and upcoming chapters) in my head that it took time to sort this out. This is also why I'm so behind on reading and rb-ing everybody's fic, and responding to messages, but I promise I'll catch up soon. Thank you for reading, I hope you're still enjoying these guys! 💜

I’m not gonna make this a PSA but hey, if you or your partner are experiencing ED, try to be open about it! Not fun, but it’ll get you much further than ignoring it will. Talk to your dr (and if you don’t feel comfortable with them, get a new GP).

series masterlist | main masterlist

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates for notifications when the next part drops!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #marcus pike fanfiction #tim rockford #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike #tim rockford x marcus pike #triple frontier #queer fic

70 notes · View notes

thetormentita · 1 month ago

Text

spes ultima dea - chapter 2

Audaces fortuna iuvat — Virgil.

Pairings: Ofc x Lucius Verus

A/n: maybe I left some things unwritten between first chapter and this one, maybe i’ll post some stuff in the future 🤔

Warnings: mentions of murder, sexual abuse and slavery; angst, maybe some fluff.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen @mmkkzz

She swings her legs from the second floor of the courtyard as she braids her hair, her eyes observing the lanista and the veteran gladiators training. The sun casts warm light on their swift maneuvers, spotlighting the sweat glistening on their skin, and she thinks they glow like the heroes of the tales she was told when she was a child.

Lost in reverie, she imagines herself among them, wielding a sword with courage, though she knows the life of a gladiator is far. If the Romans would not have come to her lands, she would be a ranger, or a soldier, bow in hand, eyes observing with attention her surroundings, or even a healer, but instead of learning from Ravi she would have been apprentice to the tiny woman with grey hair and crooked spine of her memories whose name is now forgotten beneath the mossy oaks of her village.

“Where are the new ones?” The thick accent of the Dacian old slave behind her almost startles her, taking her back to reality.

“Macrinus took them. Dominus says they were to fight in a private party for the Emperors’s favourite.”

“I hope one o’ them cuts the throat of those brats” mumbles the woman, taking a stool and sitting behind her.

“Kata!” Alan turns to face her fellow slave, a woman that could almost be her grandmother with fiery red hair tinted with grayish hairs and the darkest eyes she has ever seen.

“Shut up and let me do yer hair.”

It is not her tribe, those are not her lands, but a part of her feels that the gods have given her a small tribe in replacement, full with warriors to fight back the enemies, and companions to share the burden of captivity.

“Quintus looks worried.” Mumbles Alana, almost pouting, her arms hanging from the bannister as well.

“When does he not look worried, lass? If he does not train the men good enough the ludus loses coin, ‘nd the first to be punished is ‘im.”

“The ludus never loses coin.”

It is strange to have the place that empty. With their dominus by the private event with the newest men and Ravi to help and their domina enjoying the free time far from her husband, the place almost looks like a haven, people from half of the empire gathered in a peaceful moment that might never come again.

“It did” Kata scoffs, her fingers swiftly braiding her long mane as she speaks, never pulling her hair. “The last time you were just a pup, too li’l to know anything. A general fell in disgrace and was sent ‘ere, and he was the best I have seen in many time. Ravi met ‘im too, he was fond of ‘im. A good man.”

“What happened to him?”

“Dead. All the good ones end up dead.”

Alana clenches her jaw, thoughtful as she watches the horizon. She wonders if the same fate awaits to those she holds dear.

…

“Look at me. Look at me.”

The healer hisses as he takes his face with a hand, forcing him to look at his face. A quick glance is enough for the Indian to know that, at least, the strongest of the newcomers can return to the ludus.

“He savaged my people” the gladiator grits as his hands clench in tight fists, his knuckles turning white with fury. “He took everything from me.”

Despite the defiant answer in proper Latin to the emperors, it still amazes him to hear the gladiator speak other than Punic.

“Who did it?” He muses, forcing him to sit down before him.

“The general.”

Their gazes meet, and a pang of sympathy hits the healer. He knows too well how he feels, how it is to have everything taken from you only because somebody at the other side of the world fancies it.

How much it had hurt for him. The memory still lingers, like a scar that refuses to fade, but he has grown used to that dull pain deep down in his chest. It fuels him, makes him stronger, more determined to mend the broken and save what can be saved.

“Keep your mind clear, you hear me? Your priority must be to earn your liberty.” Hanno is spirited, it shows, but in that moment Ravi has other thoughts forming in his head “Forget the general, the emperors and all those rats around. You have to win your battles and get your freedom.”

“But how—?”

Ravi takes a deep breath, his own victory sometimes still feels too recent.

“Win. Make the people like you, make the other gladiators follow you. Prove your worth, and soon the chains that bind you will break. I lived it myself.”

“Why are you here then?”

A sad smile tugs from the corners of the healer’s lips, and he casts his gaze to the ground. “I had nowhere to go. My village was razed to the ground and my people are dead or captured and slaved at the other corner of the empire. I forged my own family here, and the dominus saw it is more cheap to have me here tending at you than to make somebody else come.”

Ravi glances at Hanno, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He has been at his side, he has been furious and violent, but he kept his mind straight. No chains, no walls could hold his spirit captive.

Hanno nods slowly, his resolve hardening like tempered steel.

“I saw good men dead because they were impulsive. Don’t make the same mistake.”

The distant echo of footsteps call the men’s attention, and Ravi is the one to stand up first, placing himself between Hanno and whoever approaches them. It could be the emperors, it could be their dominus, it could be one of the ladies witnessing the fight looking for a favour, it could be Nemesis herself finally claiming their souls.

“Should we call him our favourite this season, then?”

It is their dominus, visibly satisfied with the new acquisition. If he mourns the loss of the rest of the small group, his face does not show it. He approaches them like a vulture waiting for carrion, eyes gleaming with interest.

“Did anybody show any interest in Hanno?”

Ravi knows that for the man they are just faces, only his servants having name when it suits him.

“Apparently the general’s wife, and possibly a senator or two… The season is still young, don’t you think?”

Behind him, Hanno stays stiff, his eyes observing them, and it only takes a stretched palm for Ravi to make him think twice about engaging in any hasty confrontations.

“My advice is to rotate the men as last season, dominus. They all are strong, and whenever they expect the least, they will see Hanno fighting at his best, taking every bout with technique and strength. We all know he has it, and the commoners will adore seeing him in action.”

It hurts him to ignore the Numidian in such way in front of him, but he knows how things go by the tunnels under the amphitheatre, and the least he wants is to get him or himself hurt in the process.

The dominus chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that sends a shiver down Ravi's spine.

“Of course. You see it all, don’t you? Well then, let us make sure this season is as entertaining as ever. Send our favourite to the baths, and make the lass tend to him.” Ravi bows his head, concealing the discomfort beneath his calm demeanor as the dominus throws them a crooked smile “A gift. For his worth.”

A gift.

Ravi sighs when their owner is far enough from them, his breath mingling with the cool air. He turns to Hanno, seeing the silent questions etched on the man’s face like shadows.

…

A gift.

The last time somebody talked about her as a gift things had ended quite bad for her, with bruises and pain for days, and nightmares for months. But it is the curious stranger this time, not any brute with more muscle than common sense, and she thinks she should not be afraid of him, because he has let her tend to his wounds with unexpected gentleness.

Yet uneasiness flows her senses, almost making her flinch when she hears any noise, her eyes falling to the ground of the room, only the water from the pool providing a steady, soothing rhythm to calm her racing thoughts.

Would he be gentle or prefer to split her in half? Or maybe he wants her to do all the work? What if he prefers the company of men instead of women?

She is lost in her doubts and fears when she can hear footsteps approaching, soft against the stone floor. She closes her eyes for a moment, her instincts hitting hard, and she can spot two different people—no, it is three of them. Her heart races as the footsteps draw closer. The air grows tense, heavy with uncertainty, as she braces herself for their arrival.

But only one crosses the entrance.

“Alana…”

She raises her eyes only to meet his, the purest blue she has ever seen greeting her with a gentle warmth. It feels almost like a promise that perhaps things will be different this time.

“I heard you won. The dominus wants me to take care of you.”

Her hands, clasped at her front, twitch slightly. Her instinct is to pull them away, to melt into the shadows where she feels safe but, instead, she steadies her breathing, forcing herself to remain present.

“Ravi has tended to your wounds?” He nods, and his gaze softens. “Good. Now, you have to get into the water.” As she talks, she pushes herself to approach him, to help him get undressed. “I have soap and oils to help you get rid of the dirt.”

She bites her lower lip as her fingers work deftly to unlace his tunic. Her actions are clinical, but her eyes betray a flicker of hesitation. She wants to think that he is a good man, but she knows well that good men can turn into cruel shadows in an instant. Her heart warns her as much, a constant reminder of past betrayals, moments of despair that costed her a part of her willingness and her strength.

Still, she can't avoid the hope budding in the recesses of her heart.

“What happens?” He mumbles in a perfect Latin, making her stop for just a moment, her fingers pausing in their task, her brain trying to assimilate that she was right and he is more than a Numidian soldier subdued by the pet of the emperors.

“You… You can understand me?” She raises her eyes, wide open, to meet his again as a slow smile creeps onto his lips.

“Yes,” he replies quietly, a hint of warmth in his voice.

“But how—?”

“It is a long story.” He glances to the water with a weary face. “But something troubles you.”

She hesitates, her hands still over his garments, almost like wanting the clothes to keep his nudity to himself.

“I— I am your gift. From the dominus.” She mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze still observing his face, expectant of what his reaction will be. “I—It means that you…”

“I know what it means” his rough hands upon hers stop her words. His touch is gentle, not at all like how she imagined it. “I will not force you, I swear” he reassures, his eyes seeking hers with sincerity. “I give you my word.”

She releases a breath she doesn’t realize she has been holding, a flood of relief washing over her as his thumbs trace soft circles upon the back of her hands, almost like wanting to soothe her worries. All she can do is to lower her head and mutter her thanks, a single and betraying tear rolling down her face. He notices the tear, and she flinches when he brushes it away with a finger, softly, as if afraid to break her. Her heart pounds, both from relief and the unusual tenderness he's shown.

“Come on, to the water.” She mumbles as she tilts her head to the pool, letting his clothing slip past her fingers and lay on the floor.

His expression softens, caught somewhere between curiosity and vulnerability, as he steps towards the shimmering surface. A silent groan escaping his lips as the warm water envelops his weary body, easing tension he didn’t realize he carried. She observes him as he sinks deeper into the pool, watching the water ripple around him.

It certainly is a relief for him to not have to bear with his burdens alone. He glances up at her, grateful for her company, and motions her to join him.

“Oh, no.”

“Why not?”

Her gaze flickers toward one of the corners of the room, where the dancing light of a candle casts shadows that dance upon the water.

“I am here to take care of you. Maybe some other day.”

She looks at the gladiator and she doesn’t see a man defined by blood and battle, but rather someone yearning for solace, desperately trying to find peace in a world that refuses him rest. Others are fueled by vicious rage and sorrow, and she thinks that he may be keeping his own pains deep down where no one can see them. She finds herself wishing she could offer him more than a moment of tranquility, something lasting.

Hanno sighs when he settles himself in the water, steam easing his muscles and breathing life into his weary spirit. She observes his features sculpted by the flickering light and she decides he is handsome despite the filth clinging to his body.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do tell.”

“You were the only one who came speaking Latin. How—?”

He bites his inner cheek, thoughtful, and she approaches him meanwhile, kneeling behind him with soap, oils and cloth.

“I grew up in the port. My father was a merchant.” He turns to face her, slightly surprised to find her behind him, ready to start “Got an idea. Why don’t we play a game? For every question you want to ask me, I can ask one in return. What do you think?” A soft smile curves her lips as she dips the soap bar in the water, his eyes observing her hands, her swift and bony fingers moving with gentle precision.

“Fine by me.” She mumbles, and with care she puts one of her hands atop his head, softly making him face the front as her fingers stroke his hair with care.

“My turn then. How old are you?”

“Don’t really know. I came here before starting bleeding. I have always been at the ludus.” She dips the soap again in the water before starting to scrub it gently against his hair. “How is Numidia? Ravi only said it is past the sea.”

“Boiling hot” a soft giggle escapes his lips as he lets her do, and she smiles at the sound of it. “But you get used to it. Most of all rocks and desert if you go to the south. I lived near the sea, and you can find some more life there. What about your home?”

Her home. It sounds strange to her, because she had forced herself to adapt to a life she never wished for.

“Forests. Enormous green fields” she tries to focus on what she is doing so the memories hurt less. “You can hunt deer and rabbit, and if you are lucky even boar… I once almost shoot down a wolf, but I was small and my arrows were too little for the animal. There was a tree in my village that was up to the sky, and I liked to climb it and see the stars at night, but Mama always got angry and said I would twist a leg or break my head…” She finds herself clenching her jaw, trying her best to keep herself serene. “Dip your head, I need to take the soap from your hair.”

He does as she says and she allows herself a trembling sigh when he can’t hear her. Despite having taken her own situation and forced herself to adapt and see the bright side of it, sometimes she can’t help but feel a longing for the life she had been forced to leave behind.

To distract herself she buries her fingers in his hair again, and allows herself to pass them along his scalp, brushing it softly, only returning her hands to both sides of her lap as he sits up, wiping the excess water from his eyes. “Thank you,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never imagined a healer could offer comfort beyond just remedying the body.” He passes a hand along his hair, and a soft smile appears upon her face “How did you became a healer?”

“Well, healing comes in many forms,” she replies, allowing warmth to fill her voice. “I started to follow Ravi around the ludus, and he showed me. By the time they realized it was cheaper to have Ravi stay in the ludus, I was already helping him.”

There is a question lingering in the air, and neither of them wish to speak it out loud, because it only brings pain.

“I like your braid. It suits you.”

A smile lingers upon Alana’s lips. Maybe it is the first compliment she gets in many time. One of her hands go to her own hair, her fingertips brushing over the elaborated work of Kata.

She could swear she is blushing with Hanno’s words.

“Do you like it?” He hums in approval, leaning against the wall of the pool to let her do better, and Alana’s quick mind starts to imagine him doing what Ravi did, earning his freedom and being remembered fondly by it.

She realizes that when Hanno looks at her, something deep down stirs, like a distant echo of hope calling her heart to soften its guard.

“You were trembling before” Hanno takes one of her hands, studying it as if the answers lay in her palm, his fingertips tracing shapeless figures on the skin, almost trying to soothe her sorrow. “How many times—?”

She frowns, clenching her jaw. “It’s hard to say,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “A few. Too many,” she adds, her eyes distant. Hanno nods, sensing the weight of what remains unspoken.

“I— I am sorry” he murmurs, guilt lacing his voice. Yet, there is an understanding in his eyes, a silent vow to share her burden. “If you want, I can help,” he offers, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, offering his strength.

“I don’t see how you can help.”

“They won’t touch you as long as I am around.” She lifts her gaze, studying him intently. There is a resolve in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, a fierce protectiveness she finds comforting. “I mean it,” he insists, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination.

#sud2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator 2 fic #lucius verus fanfiction #lucius verus x oc #lucius verus fanfic #lucius verus fic

38 notes · View notes

astoryisaloveaffair · 9 months ago

Text

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood.

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye. The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees. The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane.

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later.

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead.

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?”

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them.

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks.

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.”

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide.

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now.

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her. “How could you?”

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips.

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life.

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself.

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes.

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it.

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to?

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends.

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence.

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him?

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

126 notes · View notes

arabellaininterstellarboots · 1 month ago

Text

The Winslow Effect

pt.1

Note: this is the first part of my new story; my first one on Tumblr🥹 let's see how this is going, eh? And a quick PSA: For the sake of this fictional story, a lot of known England players play at Chelsea- thank you!

Pairing: Mason Mount (duh) x OC

Word count: 1,6k

Warnings: British boys🤭

Chapter 01: together at Chilwell’s

It was one of those rare nights when the team wasn’t discussing tactics or gearing up for an upcoming match. Instead, Ben Chilwell had invited a few of the boys over to his house for a more relaxed evening—just a couple of beers, some snacks, and the rugby match on the TV. The guys, of course, couldn’t resist giving their “expert” commentary on the game, despite not knowing a thing about rugby.

“Mate, he just piledrove him,” Jordan Pickford said, half-mumbling into his beer, eyes glued to the screen as a player was unceremoniously sent sprawling. “I could totally do that.” Ben, lounging comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow at Jordan. “Yeah, sure, mate. You’d probably end up tackling the wrong guy.” Phil Foden grinned. “And then blame it on the goalkeeper instincts. Classic.” Jordan threw him a mock glare. “I could totally keep up with them. It’s just like football, but... more aggressive.”

“More aggressive? You mean you’re actually supposed to hit people?” Declan Rice chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Mason Mount, who had been lounging in the armchair, leaned back and crossed his arms, a smirk on his face. “You’d be out in the first two minutes, mate. No way you’d last.”

“Oh, you’ve got no faith in me!” Jordan shot back. “You wait until I get my hands on that ball, I’m gonna be a legend.”

“Legend of the first aid room,” Ben added with a laugh.

Jack Grealish, who had been perched casually on the arm of the couch, grinned. “I think Jordan’s onto something. The man’s got mad rugby skills... he’s just in the wrong sport.” The group dissolved into laughter as the rugby players on screen collided in a dramatic fashion, sending shockwaves through the room. “I swear these guys play like they want to get hurt,” Phil said, his mouth full of chips.

“I don’t get how they run like that,” Ben added, throwing his hands up. “They don’t even look like they’re breathing heavy after those hits.” Mason took a sip of his drink, laughing at the spectacle unfolding on the screen. “They're built different,” he mused, tapping the side of his bottle thoughtfully.

They continued watching, making random guesses about the game and giving each other a hard time, but it was clear that they were all a little more focused now. As the match came to an end with a victorious cheer from one team, the atmosphere shifted.

There was no time for lingering on rugby anymore. All eyes turned to the screen as a familiar face appeared in the post-game interview. “You know what this means,” Jack Grealish said with a grin, moving toward the edge of his seat. “The one and only Charlotte Winslow is about to hit the field.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Ben said, his voice laced with amusement. He grabbed his phone, checking for any updates as the camera zoomed in on Charlotte, poised and confident at the edge of the pitch.

There she was.

Charlotte “Charlie” Winslow.

The most well-known sports journalist in the UK, and the one who had a reputation for grilling athletes with razor-sharp questions. “She’s got that look,” Mason said with a knowing nod. “You know the one. The ‘I’ll make you wish you hadn’t said anything’ look.”

“Mate, she’s got all the looks.” Jack laughed.

“Mate, you can see it on the players’ faces,” Phil laughed. “They all look like they’re about to get called into the principal’s office.” Ben chuckled, raising his drink. “She’s a beast. You know she won’t pull any punches.”

“She could interview a brick wall and still make it sweat,” Jordan joked. “Don’t even joke about it,” Declan added. “If she ever gets her hands on me, I’ll just say I’m retired on the spot.” Mason couldn’t help but grin at his friends’ banter.

Everyone in the room had seen Charlie in action before—interviews that felt more like interrogations. It was her thing, after all. Sharp, witty, and always, always on the ball.

There was no escaping her questions, no getting out of an awkward moment. She had a way of making you feel it. And that was exactly why she was so good at her job. The camera now showed her walking onto the pitch, stepping towards one of the star players who was already looking a little nervous.

She held the microphone confidently, and her voice rang out, clear and controlled. “Great game out there today,” Charlie said, turning her gaze to the player who had just finished the match. “But I have to ask, what was going through your mind during that final play when you went for that risky pass? It was a big gamble, and it could’ve cost you the match.” The player blinked, taken aback by the directness of the question.

Charlie wasn’t wasting any time.

“Well, you know, I thought I could make it,” the player stammered. “I—” Charlie didn’t let him off the hook. “You thought you could make it. That’s interesting. You didn’t really think about the consequences though, did you? I mean, you were on the edge of the field, a split second away from losing the game for your team. What was the real reason behind that move?”

The guy shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, I thought... I mean, it seemed like the right decision at the time.” “Seemed like it? Is that the best you’ve got for me?” Charlie pressed, her gaze sharp.

“You’ve been playing for years, but it came down to seeming like the right decision? No pressure, right?” The guy laughed nervously, glancing at his teammates. “I guess... maybe I should’ve played it safer.” Charlie’s smile was cool, almost knowing.

“Maybe But you guys won, so it was worth it.”

As the interview concluded, the guys fell into an awkward silence, the weight of Charlie’s presence lingering even through the TV screen. The player she’d just grilled looked relieved to be done, happy that he's off the hook and that they ended the interview on a good note, but the guys in Ben’s living room were still processing the sheer intensity of her questioning.

“Bloody hell,” Ben muttered, shaking his head. “She’s ruthless.”

“I think that guy’s regretting ever stepping onto the field,” Declan added, half-laughing but still in awe of how Charlie had handled the interview.

“I’d be shaking if she came at me like that,” Jordan said, his voice dripping with admiration. “She’s terrifying in the best way possible.”

Mason, still looking at the screen, couldn’t help but feel a mix of respect and nerves stir inside him. “She’s not just good, she’s... she’s a force. You don’t just answer her questions—you survive them.”

The camera cut away from the field, and into the after game sport studio and the announcer’s voice broke the silence.

“Well, folks, we have some big news tonight,” the studio host said, as the screen flashed a few pictures of Charlie in action, each showing her sharp, calculated smile and no-nonsense demeanor. “As you know, Charlotte Winslow is a name that’s become synonymous with top-tier sports journalism. After years of making waves in rugby, she’s about to take the next big step in her career. This season, she’ll be making the jump to covering the Premier League.”

A stunned silence filled the room as the guys processed the news. There were a few incredulous glances exchanged between them, and they all instinctively leaned forward as if they could make sense of it all by staring harder at the screen.

“No way,” Jack muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s really doing it. She’s going to be in football now?”

The announcer continued, hyping up Charlie’s transition. “Charlie will now be joining the Premier League beat, where she’ll bring her expert analysis, sharp questions, and signature style to one of the most prestigious football league in the world.”

“That’s... insane,” Ben whispered, as if in awe of the magnitude of the move.

Mason took a deep breath, his mind racing. The thought of Charlie’s next steps was now unavoidable. She wasn’t just a rugby journalist anymore. She was coming for them—coming for the football players.

“It’s going to be a whole different world for her,” Phil said quietly, his voice almost reverent. “The Premier League is gonna feel different with her in it.”

“Yeah,” Declan added, cracking a grin. “And I reckon none of us are gonna know what hit us.”

As the studio moved on to highlight some of Charlie’s most iconic moments in rugby, Mason couldn’t help but think of her sharp wit, the way she could tear through someone’s defenses with a simple question. His own stomach twisted nervously. What would it be like when she finally turned her gaze on him, when she made him squirm in front of the camera?

“Man, I’m nervous for whoever’s up first in the Premier League,” Jordan said with a laugh, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. “That’s gonna be one hell of an interview.”

Mason shot him a side glance, his earlier grin gone. “If she comes at me like that... I might just freeze at the spot.”

The group laughed nervously, but they all shared the same thought: They had no idea what they were in for with Charlotte Winslow in the Premier League.

And just like that, the night shifted. What had started as a simple, relaxed evening filled with rugby and jokes was now dominated by the thought of Charlie and her upcoming career move. The players, no matter how tough or confident, knew they were about to enter a new era of post-match interviews.

Ben broke the silence, raising his glass. “To Charlie Winslow. The legend herself, and the woman who’s about to make our lives hell.”

The group clinked their bottles together, but the truth hung in the air. The Premier League had just become a much more interesting place, and it would never be the same with Charlotte at the helm.

#fanfic #fiction #mason mount #premier league #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x oc #mason mount x you #mason mount one shot #mason mount fics #mason mount imagine

30 notes · View notes

tenthousandyearsx · 1 year ago

Text

Thanks so much for tagging me @wolfpants, I loved reading yours! I've pretty much only published lots of PWPs so far, and while I loved writing every single fic I've posted, self-recs always feel a bit weird. x_x Anyway, I'll give it a go!

Rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

‎ㅤ

Passably Wrecked (Drarry, E, 4.6k)

“Potter,” Malfoy says, sitting down next to him at breakfast. “I think we should have sex.”

Starting with this one because it's fairly recent and I don't think I've shared it here! Malfoy expresses scepticism about Harry's sexual prowess. Harry is having none of it.

‎‎ㅤ

Keep your hands on me (Drarry, E, 21k)

Malfoy binds himself with a sex curse. Harry cannot get enough (but would much prefer to keep Malfoy for himself).

Still the filthiest thing I've written imo – it's 21k of smut and I didn't self-censor at all, but I ~think~ I consider it porn with character development rather than pwp. I wrote the whole thing in a daze, which is my favourite way to write when the muses allow – and to my absolute astonishment (I was sure it was going to get hate), it tends to get my favourite comments too. ‎‎ㅤ

Just a trial run (Drarry, E, 9k)

Potter in his living room was a novelty and Draco could not take his eyes off him. He fixed both of them a drink, handed Potter his Firewhisky, then sat on the sofa. “From Saviour to Auror to whore,” he said. Potter choked on his drink. “Tell me, Potter, how does that happen?�� In which Harry wants to get into sex work and Draco would prefer to keep him for himself.

I'm very fond of this fic and this Draco. I wrote it while I was working on KYHOM because I wanted to try a somewhat similar premise with the opposite dynamic, with top Draco and a more submissive Harry. It has both a paid sex kink and alcohol kink, which I have no idea where they came from, and while I've been postponing doing some proper edits on the second chapter, I absolutely loved writing it. ‎‎ㅤ

Trouble with your tie, Potter? (Drarry, E, 6.7k)

The last thing Harry expects when Slughorn partners him up with Zabini is Malfoy shooting them furious looks throughout the whole class and then unceremoniously snogging Harry in the corridor.

My Erised fic from last year! I was actually working on something else entirely, a much longer fic that fizzled and died on me halfway through. I have a self-imposed rule that the energy of a story has to be right and has to be such that the story drives itself – and, specifically for fic, that if I don't enjoy writing it, there's no point in doing it. So when writing a fic becomes a slog, I just go back and delete mercilessly. It still didn't help in this case though x_x, so I started writing "Trouble with your tie" instead, which was an absolute joy to work on and I'm so happy I did. There are some parts I still think I'll probably rewrite at some point, but I really loved writing H and D's dynamic here. Even though I don't agonise over my prose when I write fic, I am super careful about the energy I'm putting out and especially the feeling I'm leaving the reader with at the end, so I'm really happy they hit the mark in this case. ‎‎ㅤ

Not very gallant (initial Dronarry but endgame Dron, E, 3.3k)

“He likes it when I hurt him,” Harry tells Ron with a smirk. “And then you come in and soothe him.”

I wanted to include a non-drarry fic so here's a very recent one! I think I probably could have done more with it, but I loved writing Ron in this. Please mind the tags!!! Everything is super undernegotiated!!! It's endgame Dron, but Harry is perfectly fine with it. I should also probably mention that Harry is a bit of an asshole in this fic compared to the way I usually write him, but because I usually write Drarry and wanted this to be endgame Dron, I had to find a way for the dynamic to be in character, hot, and sexually charged, but not in a way that made me ship drarry too much. I'm also usually not good with threesomes or poly relationships because I always feel like someone is left out x_x, so I tried to put my own spin on it. This is what worked for me and I loved writing it! Do not expect considerate behaviour for like... most of it though.

Tagging @crazybutgood , @magpiefngrl , @orange-peony , @lumosatnight and anyone who'd like to join!

#tag game #mind the tags in each fic!!!#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #dmhp #hpdm #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry smut #my fics #dron #dronarry

291 notes · View notes

stanfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART SEVEN

Ken goes to therapy. He has a lotta feelings okay. Very Ken centric chapter. (Yay?) and (possibly) some of the most intense sex I’ve written sooo…let’s go. Probably the longest chapter I’ve written this far, too.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY / there’s always smut there’s never not smut / lots of angst and angry feelings (Ken is trying to process all those hard human things because they’re getting to be too intense for him) / violent imaginative fears (domestic fighting, one instance of hitting 🛑 tread softly if you might be triggered by this (I don’t want anyone triggered or hurt!!)) / nightmares / rough sex / major overstim / size kink / sex toys / anal fingering / possessiveness / lots of crying tbh (Ken is emotional af) / dom!Ken / possibly bordering on some non-con ? Depending on how you view it / fuzzy sweet aftercare

Ken sat opposite the therapist, twiddling his thumbs, staring down at the floor. Occasionally he glanced up at the doctor sitting across from him, a kindly middle aged man (you had suggested he talk to a male therapist, saying maybe in some weird way it would help him deal with jealousy when having to be emotionally open with another man in the room), and he gave Ken a small smile.

“So when this strong jealous hits, what does it feel like?” The therapist asked. He had sensed Ken’s anxiety the moment he walked in the door and opted out of the sitting-with-the-clipboard-for-notes option, instead sitting comfortably in his chair, hoping a conversation-style approach would set Ken at ease.

“It’s like I’ll cease to exist if she leaves me.”

“And does anything help with that?”

“Sex does, kinda. Sometimes a lot, sometimes only for a minute.”

“Have you talked with your partner about it?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did that go?”

“She reassured me. She does every single time.”

“So this has become a consistent conversation?”

Ken paused, picking at nothing on his jeans. “I guess.”

“When was the last time you felt this way?”

“A couple days ago.”

“Did anything in particular happen to trigger it?”

“She’s having to take a class and her ex is in it.”

“Ahhhh.” The therapist mused, letting the silence sit for just a moment. “And you are worried about that?”

“I’m not worried she would do anything intentionally.”

“You’re afraid her former feelings might return for him, though.”

Ken nodded. “Yeah. I get she wouldn’t be able to help that, though. Feelings happen.”

“This is very true. Are you concerned about what might happen if those feelings return? Do you worry she would actually act on them?”

Ken frowned deeply. “I don’t think she would without talking to me first. But I don’t want them happening at all. The feelings, I mean. Because then there’s nothing I can….do.” The last word fell out as a whisper.

“You feel helpless in the relationship?” The therapist asked gently.

“Not…I.., I don’t know.”

“Have you ever been cheated on?”

“No. This is my first relationship.”

The therapist nodded. “Worries about someone leaving you are actually pretty normal, especially the first time you’re with someone.”

“Y/n told me that.”

“Has she ever shown any indication that she wants to leave you? Or that she ever might cheat on you?”

“No. I understand it’s all in my head. It still scares me, though.”

“Can I ask why you decided to come to me today? I assume this is the first time you’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah…she’s just taking a lot of classes and she gets really stressed sometimes, especially because finals are like a month away.”

“I can understand that. You feel like your jealousy is interfering with her ability to study?”

“It stresses her out more.” Ken bit his lip. “I don’t want to do that to her.”

“So are you worried less about her randomly cheating on you, and more that you are pushing her away from you? Or, encouraging her potentially into the arms of another because she is getting stressed with how you handle your jealousy?”

Fuck. Ken hadn’t thought of it that way before. Now he was even more frightened.

When Ken didn’t answer, just stared down at the carpet, the therapist tried again. ��It’s okay to be struggling with how you’re feeling. The fact that you’re working to understand why is healthy, it’s a great move on your part. It also shows her that you want to be supportive of her, and I’m sure that makes her less stressed.”

“I feel like sometimes I’m a bad person.”

“Why is that?”

“I hurt someone I care about before. She didn’t want me, and I….I tried to hurt her. I wanted to feel like I was in charge for once, but I was cruel.”

“Can I ask what you did?”

“It’s a long story.”

“That’s alright. You can tell me about it when you’re ready to.” The therapist paused, working to see how much he might be able to get Ken to explain without pressuring him and making him shut down. “Can I ask, when did this happen with your former friend?”

“Well, she’s still my friend, I guess. She’s really nice. But we don’t see each other.”

“I see.”

“It happened, I don’t know, maybe a half a year ago.”

“Was it around here?”

Ken shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Have you ever taken y/n to where that happened? Or revisited the area alone, just to see how the memories made you feel?”

Ken’s chest tightened. “No.”

“Do you think that is something you might be able to do? Sometimes being back in a physical place where we wronged someone can help us find closure, especially if the one we hurt has forgiven us, but we have been unable to forgive ourselves.”

“I don’t want to.” Ken quickly wiped away a small tear forming, pretending it was something in his eye.

“Do you think y/n would understand if you told her?”

“I’ve told her a little. She wasn’t upset.”

“Does she know the specifics?”

“Uh…no…she met my friend, though. They liked each other.”

“Well that’s really good. Do you think she might be willing to travel with you, be present with you if you decided to try and gain closure?”

“…..I don’t feel like that’s necessary.”

“Can I ask why?”

Ken was silent for a long time. The therapist respected letting him internally process as long as he needed.

“I just think it’s unnecessary.”

“How do you feel you are working to help the problem right now, other than coming to me? Is there anything you’ve tried?”

“Just sex.”

“And why does sex feel like something that can fix the issue for you?”

“Because I have her then.”

“Have her with you?”

“Have her focused only on me.”

“Does she enjoy those times with you? Do you feel like she gets stressed, maybe feeling like she has to have sex with you so you’ll calm down?”

Well, fuck. Ken hadn’t thought of that. That made him feel even worse, angry, even. Though he couldn’t place where the anger came from….oh, wait.

“No. She likes it. She always likes it.”

The therapist was taken aback slightly by the sudden, minor shift in Ken’s tone, noting the aggression suddenly appearing, but kept his external demeanor. Being surprised was a good thing. It meant his client was starting to break through their emotional barrier.

“And can I ask, why would you talking about her enjoying those sessions be something that makes you feel upset?”

“She has to like them.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s all I have to offer her.” The words tumbled out before Ken’s brain had even fully processed them, and he sat dumbstruck, his own sentence replaying in his head. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest.

“Ahhhhh. That sounds like that’s a lot of stress you’re dealing with, too. Feeling like you only have one certain thing of yourself to offer her that she sees as worthy of her time must be exhausting for you.”

Ken worked hard to hold back the new tears that were coming stronger than he knew what to do with.

“Do you feel that she actually only sees you as worth her time because of the sex?”

Ken shook his head genuinely. “No.”

“So that’s another lie you have told yourself.” The therapist kept his tone soft.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”

****************************************************

The walk home was torture. He tried so hard to think through everything they’d talked about as “healthily” as he could - the therapist’s words. But all he could think about was silencing everything for just a little while. He thought of getting home to tie you to the bed again and just fuck you for hours. Every time you were lying trapped underneath him was the only time he ever felt like he truly had any control over anything. But maybe today he needed to to be free to move however you pleased, to experience however you would wrap yourself around him or grasp onto his muscles or grab his hair. He could easily still keep you underneath him as long as he wanted with just his body weight.

The closer he got to the front door, however, the more overwhelmed he became, the voices in his head growing louder and louder, and suddenly he felt like he couldn’t even fuck you if he wanted to right now. He felt like he might collapse.

Ken opened the door as quietly as he could, not wanting to alert you he was home. Unfortunately, since the kitchen was very close to the entryway, you heard the moment he stepped inside.

“Hi, baby,” you said, turning while holding your coffee cup.

Ken froze, feeling embarrassed. He still didn’t know why he did, but he had worked to stop crying the entire walk home, without success. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks wet.

“Oh, Ken,” you said, setting down your cup and coming up to him, your hands on his face, your thumbs rubbing across his cheekbones. “It was a hard talk today?”

Ken nodded, hanging his head, his hands wrapping around your wrists. “I feel like I’m nothing to you, but I know better.”

“That’s okay.” Your voice was like a warm tea coating his aching chest. “I know you struggle with that. I can keep reminding you that you mean so much to me.”

“What if…like, I couldn’t offer you sex?”

You cocked your head, confused, but went with it. “I would still love you the same.”

He forced his eyes up to meet yours. “You mean it?”

“MMhmm. I do.”

He sniffed.

“Do you feel like I wouldn’t love you?” You asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking down again.

“Do you need some rest? Anytime I get really upset and have cried really hard some time in bed always helps me.”

He nodded, and you took his hand in yours, leading him to the bedroom. You helped him out of his clothes leaving him only in his boxers and went to the closet, pulling something out.

“Here,” you said, walking over to the bed and tossing a huge comforter on top of it. “This is my extra soft, cozy one. I used to use it all the time on really hard days awhile ago. I had forgotten I had it until now.”

He smiled a little then, reaching his hand out to you. You went to sit on the bed next to him, keeping your feet on the floor. You kissed his palm as his hand went to rest of your face.

“I love you so very, very much, my love,” you cooed. “But I need to get back to studying. I have awhile yet to go. I had just taken a short break to make some caffeine when you came home.”

Came home. Okay. Focus on the good things, his therapist had suggested. “Listen to anything that makes you feel safe or calm, try to enjoy the moment while it’s happening. This might help when you get stressed out to remember those times and know you are safe.”

“I’m home with you,” he mumbled.

You didn’t understand but nodded. “Yes. You’re home with me.”

He hummed, snuggling underneath the covers. “Okay.”

You smiled at him and kissed his cheek before picking up your laptop from your desk and picking up a textbook, heading out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You’d study at the kitchen table while he rested.

The home was on fire. Ken rushed through the flames, yelling your name, panic rising every second he couldn’t find you as smoke filled his lungs. Finally he heard you as you screamed, and his heart jumped in his chest as he rounded the corner to find your hands restrained to the wall over your head, blindfolded. You weren’t screaming in terror, you were screaming with pleasure. A faceless man was holding your legs around his waist, fucking up into you violently. It seemed you had no idea about the flames about to consume you, or maybe even who the man was. Ken tried to make his legs moved, begged them to, but he was stuck on the spot. He cried out your name but it seemed you didn’t hear him, your head through back in ecstasy as you moaned in time with the man’s thrust. Ken found a rock next to him and threw it at the man. It bounced off of him as if he didn’t even know it had been thrown, but then the blank face slowly turned to stare at Ken, a wicked smile suddenly spreading across his face where a mouth hadn’t been a moment before.

Ken sat upright in bed, gasping, panicking as he grabbed at anything he could touch, stopping only when he realized he had only fisted his hands up in the comforter. He buried his face hands, shaking, trying to stop the sobs that threatened to take him over again. He couldn’t remember ever having a nightmare before. He’d heard of them, but couldn’t even remember having a dream, only knowing they were something that apparently were a normal thing for most people, yourself included.

He tried to pinpoint the emotions he was feeling - something else the therapist had suggested when he got overwhelmed. Okay. Angry. Scared. Angry. Heartbroken? Fuck. Really, really fucking angry. He fell back into the pillows only to realize the sheets were covered in sweat underneath him.

You would help him feel better. He could go to you and you would pause your homework to soothe him and pet him and sit on his lap while he held you and hid his face in your neck. You wouldn’t be mad at him, you’d be so kind and patient like you always were.

He didn’t deserve you.

He didn’t deserve anything good.

The idea of going to you quietly to ask for comfort left his mind as quickly as it floated in, being forced out by a memory he created himself that honestly would probably never happen: you ignoring him, you telling him to get over himself while he finally was trying to understand why he kept feeling so angry like you had asked him to, you yelling at him, throwing something at his face. Telling him to….

“I can’t leave,” he cried into the pillow. “You said this was our home.”

You laughed. “Our nothing. Get the fuck out.”

You slapped him. He felt like his entire being shattered.

Ken was gripping the pillow so tight that his wrist began to cramp. Why. WHY couldn’t he stop these horrific scenes that played through his head.

The therapist had told him to breathe, even showed him how to inhale for four seconds and exhale the same amount of time. The mental scenarios weren’t real. They just might feel real.

Maybe he did need to return to Barbieland for a day…? Maybe he was dealing with fear that throwing Barbie out of her home could rebound back onto him…

UGH. Fuck fuck. This was hard. This was way too fucking hard. How was this supposed to help him get better, especially when your soft, perfect body was right behind that door, just down the hallway. When your voice could be filling his ears and drowning out at least most of these horrible things he heard in his head. Your taste filling his mouth, the scent of you, every inch of you, making him feel drunk.

You looked up from your book, Ken standing in the doorway. Sweat covered his body, his hair erratic, his face still as wet as earlier.

The concerned look on your face soothed him…but just a little.

“What happened?” You asked gently.

“I had a nightmare.”

Oh shit. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Wanna forget it.”

“I understand that. Do you want to come sit with me?”

“Want you with me.”

“Yes, Ken, that’s what I said-“

“Want you with me.”

Before you knew what was happening Ken had picked you up and set you on the kitchen counter where you became trapped between the cabinets and him. “Need you.”

“What did the therapist tell you to do when you feel like this?” You tried softly, reaching for the hand towel next to you and gently wiped at his chest to remove the cold sweat.

“It’s not working.”

“It doesn’t always work right away.”

He wanted to slam you into the cabinets, forcing his lips onto yours, making you stop talking about all the bullshit he had been fighting inside himself ever since that stupid appointment today. He knew that was the wrong thing to do.

“Can I ask what happens to you when you choose sex to deal with these emotions you’re struggling with?” The therapist had asked. “Anything in particular that seems to help at all?”

Ken didn’t want to answer. Would you call the sex violent is he asked? Or would it just be ‘rough’? He didn’t like the word violent…you had never told him that word, so it mustn’t be so. You would have told him. You would tell him if he ever hurt you.

“Ken?” The therapist had said, breaking through the long silence that had followed his question.

“I….I tend to be rough.”

“How does that help you?”

“I don’t have to think as much as usual. It helps block it all out.”

“It blocks all of it out?”

“Well…not everything, not always. But sometimes. Sometimes I get to have moments where everything becomes quiet except for her. I get to just hear her.”

And he desperately needed to hear you now. His strong hand ripped your crop top off, tearing the material from how hard he had pulled. You sighed as you watched it thrown to the floor.

“I liked that top,” you said.

“I’ll get you ten more,” Ken promised, biting down onto your nipple.

You cried out, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Oh, thank god. The exquisite pain of the way your nails dug into his skin, the taste of your flesh, the sound of your voice. His mind quieted for a second, and he heaved a sigh of relief as his tongue circled your nipple, his hands on your back, holding you into him.

“Do you feel like you take your anger out on her during sex?” The therapist’s words echoed in his head. God fucking dammit, not now. He had you in his arms. He would have you underneath him any second now. He didn’t need these fucking questions interrupting any of his time with you, especially these times.

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked her if she feels that way?”

“She wouldn’t feel that way,” Ken forced himself not to sneer.

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because she likes it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“She would tell me if she didn’t!”

He slammed you into the wall now, your legs wrapped around him, needing to fuck that horrible image from his nightmare out of his mind. You had pleaded with him not to tear the pajamas pants you had been wearing and he had pulled them off swiftly, laying them in a single piece on the table before picking you up again.

“You like this?” He asked, voice breathless but harsh. He was terrified of your answer, but now that the question was on his mind, he couldn’t make it go away. God, the last thing he wanted to do was actually hurt you.

“Yes, Ken,” your head fell back against the wall when he bucked his hips up unto yours, the thin fabric of his boxers not doing anything at all to hide how hard he was.

“You’d tell me if I was hurting you?”

“Yes, Ken,” you repeated.

“Aren’t you going to tell me you should be studying?”

“Need a break anyway.” You sighed, angling your hips a little to try to get better leverage of him rubbing against your folds. “You feel good.”

Against his usual judgment, Ken pulled his cock out of his boxers and tested his tip against your opening before he tried fingering you to see how wet you were for him. Your hands clamped his shoulders tighter.

“Do you think you can take me right now?” He breathed into your ear and you giggled because it tickled a little.

“I can try,” you said, one hand traveling to grip the back of his neck as he started to slide into you.

Your cry was loud, and Ken’s mind once again quieted for a single moment, and he bottomed out in you as he experienced one more second of relief.

“I need her loud,” he had confessed as the session was ending earlier that day. “It’s the only thing that ever fully drowns any of the bullshit out.”

He thrust up hard again and your forehead fell into his, your eyes closed, focusing on your breathing as he stretched you out a little sooner than you probably should have been. His hips started snapping into you in a quicker pace.

“Can I lay down,” you shuddered as the pain became more pleasurable. “Wanna be comfy with you.”

“Need you. Need you right here for just another minute.” Ken tried to slow his thrusts but struggled for control as he tried fucking that image from his nightmares out of his mind.

His head hurt from all of the stress he’d been trying to process from the day. His head fell into your shoulder, closing his eyes, your moans becoming louder as he tried angling himself to hit your special spot. He left wet kissing along your neck, hoping it would help dull any pain you might still be dealing with, and when his name fell from your lips in a blissed out sigh he sucked gently on your pulse point.

The nightmare slowly melted from his mind’s eye and he slowed his thrusts until he had stopped completely, staring into your eyes.

“You’d tell me if I ever hurt you, right?”

You nodded. “You’ve never hurt me, Ken.”

He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently.

He had been saving a special something for you, something he had wanted to use on a special night, maybe after he finally took you out on a proper date. But he needed to hear you, see you react to it now. Maybe that was selfish of him. For the moment, he had lost the motivation to care.

“Close your eyes,” he asked, kissing your temple, and you smiled, doing as he asked.

You heard a buzzing sound and felt yourself becoming wetter. You hadn’t told him but you’d used the vibrator on yourself in the shower while he had been in therapy, loving a moment of personal release where you didn’t have to think about anything for a moment.

Your eyes shot open when you felt the strong vibrations covering your clit… all the way down your vulva, sliding into your opening. Your body jerked and you grabbed one of Ken’s forearms as he leaned himself onto the bed with his hand but remained upright enough to watch the way your opening clenched around the toy.

“Holy…ahhh.what…”

It was one of those vibrators were it had a clit stimulator but curved downward so it had a dildo attached to it that could slide inside you and stay without having to be held. The stimulation against your g-spot was delicious but automatically a little overwhelming, your vision going dizzy for a second while you worked to adjust.

Ken leaned over you fully, pressing your hands into the bed beside your head, wrapping his fingers in your own.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

It filled you up enough to compare to two of his fingers while having almost more of an intensity than it was when Ken nipped at your clit.

You nodded, gasping, and he smiled down at you, kissing your lips.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, slowly starting to kiss down your sternum.

“Alright, I’m going to ask you a hard question, Ken.” The therapist laced his fingers together. “What if she does end up leaving?”

“You don’t have the right to say that out loud.”

“It’s probably a good idea for us to address this idea head-on. Ignoring it, stuffing it inside makes it worse.”

“How does it help if I think about it?”

“Intentionally bringing up fears and talking through him often makes them less scary. You’re able to conquer the biggest aspects of those fears, learn exactly what fuels the, so they become easier to deal with when they come up.”

“I don’t want her to leave.”

“I know, I-“

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Our bed,” he mumbled, his lips attaching to your hip bone. “My y/n.”

You didn’t hear him, your ears filled with the buzzing from the toy.

God, you were perfect, writhing underneath him, even giggling a little as his wet kisses as they got to your stomach then going back to bunching the comforter up in your hands when the vibrator caused another spark of pleasure. Ken had made sure to lay out the comforter over the entire bed so you’d be extra comfy, like you had said you wanted.

“Well now I’m worried she’ll throw me out if I can’t stop acting like this.” Ken leaned his elbows onto his knees, his face in his hands. “Why would you put that idea in my head-“

“You already had it there, you told me so yourself.” Ken saw the therapist cross his legs through his fingers. He hated him. Not that he had done anything wrong…he just…he hated all of this.

“I couldn’t handle it. I don’t know how on earth I’d handle it.” Ken loathed how his voice choked a bit.

“Our goal is to make sure, to the best of our ability, that that will never happen.”

“I can make her stay.”

“Mine.” Ken flipped you over onto your stomach, the pressure of the toy being pushed onto your clit more intense from laying on it making you cry into the comforter. “All mine.”

He dipped a finger into you from behind, turning it upward to caress your muscle opposite the toy. You let out a strangled, throaty groan.

“What if she grows to hate me.” Ken’s words weren’t a question, they were as if stating a fact that was already coming into existence. He glanced at the clock. Why was time ticking by so slowly in this god awful therapy room.

“I do think this one is all in your head. Based on what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’d have to really go too far for her to ever hate you.”

“I’ll figure out how to make that not happen.”

“Unfortunately, we only have so much control over -“

“I will make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Ken slipped his belt from underneath the comforter, his hand almost shaking. Somehow marking you with his mouth was never enough for him now. He needed more. He needed you to react more, and lately his lips claiming your skin had made you relax more than anything. He wanted to be a comfort to you the same way you were to him. Somehow his brain wouldn’t let him see things that way, though. He didn’t know if he was ever truly a comfort to you.

You’d promised him he’d never hurt you. Thank god, because he was desperate for this release.

Your mangled scream filled the room as he bought the belt down, alternating cheeks, harsh and without pause. Usually he would wait a few seconds in between each for you to catch you breath, especially the first couple times. Today he saw red as the conversation with the therapist wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind, your legs shaking almost violently, your ass cheeks clenching as he kept finger fucking you alongside the vibrator.

Your body shuddered hard and you bit into the comforter, your throat raw from your screams as your orgasm hit out of nowhere. Ken didn’t even realize you hit your climax until he felt the way your muscle spasmed, knowing exactly the way you felt every single time you peaked with him inside you. Oh fuck, how on earth had he not seen that coming, heard the way your voice always hit a higher pitch right before it happened? He dropped the belt, focusing solely on the way his fingers touched you, his free hand pushing into your lower back as your hips bucked up into him.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, loving how long this orgasm was lasting. “Come on my fingers as long as you need.”

Your entire body was shaking as you came down from your waves, Ken pulling his fingers out slowly, wrapping his lips around them.

“Ken,” you shivered. “The vibrator.”

“Mmhmmm?” He knew what you meant, but loved the way you were remaining in a zone of overstimulation. He leaned over onto you, pressing his hips into yours, his cock rubbing into your folds.

“Ahhhhh….no, please….”

“No, please, what?”

“Ken!”

“No, baby girl. I need you to tell me. Need to hear you say it.”

“Need a breather, please, please.”

Ken bit into your shoulder. “What if I don’t want to?”

Tears stung your eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want, for fuck’s sake. Just turn it off for a minute.”

That got his attention. He stood up and reached down to press the button and your tense body finally got to collapse fully into the mattress. Your ass was bright red, your fluids coating the toy and dripping down your pussy a little bit. Ken licked up the toy from the middle to your opening, pressing it a little harder into you, sucking on your opening. Your back arched and you made one of those kitten noises that always made him become impossibly harder.

God, he needed to fuck you. He had so many ideas now, his mind thankfully able to focus solely on you and what all he would do to you before letting you rest.

“Oh, god, please be gentle,” you whimpered as you felt your leg grabbed, knowing he was about to tie you up again.

“Just gonna make you feel good,” he promised.

You turned your head to see his eyes, a layered mix of anger and fear and….he was trying not to cry.

“Baby,” you said softly, your voice floating into his ears, and he looked at you. “What is it? What are you feeling right now?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay -“

“I don’t need to feel anything.”

“But you’re feeling a lot right now.”

He changed his mind. He’d tie you up later. He moved you onto your back and you kept your legs closed.

“Talk to me, Ken. Let’s work through this together.”

“Don’t want to talk about it. Want to fuck you.”

“You’ll get to -“

“We’ll talk later.”

“Promise?”

“Open your legs for me.”

“Ken -“

“Open. Them.”

You kept your legs closed, attempting to sit up but Ken leaned over you.

“I need your legs open, y/n.”

“You want them open.”

“No, I need it.”

You shook your head. “Not until you talk to me.”

Ken sighed. He dropped the belt you hadn’t notice he had been holding in his hand on the bed beside you and leaned on his forearms to kiss you.

“What are you feeling right now?” You asked against his lips.

That you’ll be gone when I come tomorrow from work. That this will be the last time I ever hold you, feel you, hear the noises you make because of me. “Nothing.”

“Baby, please.”

“Let me back inside you.” His eyes stared into yours. “I swear I’ll tell you everything later.”

“How much later?”

He kissed you deeply again, hand reaching to push itself between your folds. “Soon.”

You relented and relaxed your legs so Ken could pull them apart. The moment your wet, pink folds were visible to him, he brought the belt down in a single, stinging blow.

You weren’t sure how your body reacted other than you struggling for breath, your vision dark behind your tightly shut eyelids, an almost static-like audio blocking your ears from hearing anything else more a moment. You heard Ken’s voice bringing you back, feeling his weight on top of you.

“Such a good girl. You’re going to be fine. Ride it out for me. I’m here.”

Your eyes opened and a loud whimper escaped from deep in your throat.

“You’re going to feel so incredible in just a moment.” Ken’s voice was soft, trying to soothe you. He gently brushed a finger against your clit and you scratched at his back in response, trying to find any way to ground yourself, but then he moved down your body and licked his tongue up you.

“Touch me, please,” Ken asked, and without thinking your hands gratefully pulled on his hair, thankful for something to grip and jerk on. Ken hummed happily, going back to consume your core, and you wondered where he’d learned all of this, if he’d thought it up or if he had maybe read it somewhere.

Like the last time he spanked you before eating you out, everything was incredibly pleasurable, but today times ten, your body experiencing the intense pain somehow making the pleasure even greater, every nerve and fiber stimulated.

Your lower stomach muscles were clenching as he worked his magic, the build-up of your next orgasm almost painful, but still in the best way.

“Need you to come for me again. Need you nice and wet and relaxed.”

“Why?” You almost didn’t want to know, your body still working to process all of this.

“You’ll see.”

Your orgasm hit fast and hard again, barely able to come back down from your high when Ken inserted the vibrator again and turned it on. You felt like you were having to force your brain to focus to move your limbs as you tried reaching down to turn it off but Ken intercepted, grappling with your thrashing arms until he had them pressed into the mattress beside your head, climbing on top of you and holding one of your legs open and down with his knee gently so as not to hurt you.

“Baby, baby, I’ve got you.”

You screamed in frustration, trying to raise your arms to no avail. “What if I wasn’t letting you recover when you needed to?” You wailed.

Ken arched an eyebrow and smiled down at you. “You have.”

“Not THIS much.”

“True. You’ll have to surprise me with it sometime.” Ken carefully turned you over onto your stomach again, holding your arms behind you. “Just ride it out, baby girl. You’ve got this.”

“Pleeaasee Ken. Please, please, please.” You almost sobbed with relief when the vibrator was turned off although it remained firmly within you, deep inside your walls while still covering your clit.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay. Take your time.” Ken lay beside you, propped up on his arm, his fingers gliding up and down your back to soothe you.

He enjoyed the moment as long as his head let him. The quiet broken only by your jagged breaths and little noises as you worked to calm your body’s quivering, the softness and warmth of your skin underneath his fingers.

The voices began again, a sickening layered mix of everything he’d heard the therapist ask today. The one question threatening to overtake him completely, repeating itself, becoming more cruel each time he heard it.

“What if she does leave? What if she does leave? What if she leaves? What if she’s already left? She’s made the plans. She’s gone.”

Ken laid his head next to yours, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Tell me you love me.”

You mumbled something through your panting, your nails still gripping the comforter, trying to ground yourself.

“Please. I need it.”

“Love you.” The words were almost incoherent.

“Again.” Silence. “Please.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, y/n.”

Your eyes remained closed, feeling so incredibly tired that you were sure if Ken left you alone that you’d probably fall asleep within moments.

You felt your left leg being pulled toward the bed post again as the silky tie wrapped around it tightly then being attached to the post.

You can’t not be thinking about him when he’s not around, when you’re in class, when he’s at work…he wrapped the second tie around your right ankle, jerking a little harder than he meant to when he pulled the knot tight. He thought about you all the time, nonstop…he needed to make sure you always had a constant reminder of him.

He needed to make sure he made you sore.

The vibrator turned on again and your upper back grew tight as you felt like you might tear through the comforter while trying to hold onto something. You felt not one, but two of Ken’s fingers push inside you, your tight muscle stretching around them.

“How does this feel?” He asked.

“Ss..so..much…” You felt a third finger join his first two and your back arched. “I…so…full…”

“Mmmmmmm.” Ken watched at the way your muscle worked to relax around his fingers and the vibrator, being stretched out slowly. “I need to make sure you’re ready for me, remember?”

Oh. Dear. God. He wasn’t going to actually try and fuck you!!??!

“Ken, please think about this. You’re not going to fit.”

“That’s why I’m stretching you out with my fingers.” His free hand roamed over your lower back and ass. “I’m gonna fit inside you just fine.”

“But you won’t, though.”

“Just trust me.” He removed his fingers from you to spread your wetness around your ass hole, easily visible due to how wide your legs were being held open. He wouldn’t do anything without making sure you were okay with it, and he probably needed to wait for another day because he didn’t want to push you too much over your edge, but his focus kept snapping back to how this was the only area of you no one else had ever claimed before. No one else had touched you here, fucked you here. Maybe, if one day you relented, he could make you his in a way no one else had.

He tested just the tip of his thumb into that muscle and your legs went rigid.

“Is this okay?” He asked, genuinely wanting to make sure you were okay.

You were shocked how much it felt so good, a new pleasure you hadn’t exactly experienced before filling your entire lower region.

“Yes,” You breathed.

He rubbed his thumb just inside, moving it in small circles, and your vaginal opening clamped down onto the vibratory harder.

Fuucckk. Fuck fuck. Ken saw and heard how beautiful you’d be, experiencing anal sex for the first time with him, breaking you in by fucking you while fingering your virgin hole so you could orgasm around him before he’d sink his cock into-

No, focus here, now. He knew when you were nearing exhaustion and despite imagining how hot it would be to actually push you past what was comfortable for you because god, what if you loved it, what if he could pleasure you longer than usual after that, and he’d jerk himself off roughly in the shower while creating those scenarios in his head…he needed to make sure he kept himself in control, make sure you didn’t get hurt in any way.

He pulled his thumb out and pushed his throbbing cock against your opening partially taken up by the vibrator.

“Are you ready for me, y/n?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, jerking against the leg restraints, wanting to plead for another break from the vibrator before going forward but also needing to feel exactly what this was about to be like.

“I’ll go slow.” He pushed his tip in then and you keened, Ken gasping loudly between how insanely tight you were, pressing into his member almost painfully, and the vibrator on the underside of his cock sending chills through his entire body. He gripped onto your hips, forcing himself still so he wouldn’t bottom out in you and hurt you. Your gasp sounded almost strangled, like you’d had the wind knocked out of you.

“Breathe, baby.”

“It hurts, ahhh, ugh, Ken, Ken…”

Please, please don’t make me stop, he thought. “Do I need to stop?”

Your voice was like velvet. “No. It hurts but it’s so fucking amazing.”

Ken pushed further inside, stopping again when your scream filled his ears - god, yes, please, so perfect, your voice only rising so loudly only for him - waiting for you to calm down a little again before going deeper.

He shut his eyes tightly trying not to cum right then. He’d never felt anything so tight, the vibrations exquisite, your voice finally fully drowning out all the awful fucking conversations and anxieties of the day. Finally, everything was quiet.

Finally, everything was just you.

He bottom out after the fourth time he thrust forward, needed to feel every inch of you as he leaned over you, holding himself up on his forearms. You lay groaning under him and he used his thumb to encourage the slightest turn of your head without straining your neck, kissing you so sweetly it felt contradictory to the amount of intense stimulation you were experiencing otherwise.

His thrusts were tender, almost intoxicated in nature, pulling almost all the way out before bottoming out inside you again, but everything somehow felt different this time.

You’d made love to him in the past, but he hadn’t been able to feel that “perfect” connection he kept hearing about in stupid romance movies, like it was some sort of magic that only existed in fiction. He didn’t know why today, but he finally felt connected to you. Like his lips were created specifically for yours and vice versa, your body only existed in this state of pleasure because of him, and obviously he had only ever felt anything like this with you.

You had tried to prepare yourself for Ken’s jealousy-fueled anxiety to consume him as soon as he cock was in you, his thrusts rough and his eyes blazing as you’d have to get used to the pain - albeit really, really good pain - until it subsided and everything only existed in a state of pleasure, but you hadn’t expected this: languid and sweet and god, you were thankful for it. You’d never been stretched this much, never had someone somehow this deep inside you, even if it only felt like it was the deepest you’d ever felt.

His hips picked up their pace but only a little, your bodies somehow seeming to move as one. Ken’s head fell into the pillow right next to where you were facing him, wanting to watch you but his eyes closing, feeling a little overstimulated himself.

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” he panted into the pillow. “You’re always so fucking good to me.”

“I need to come, Ken.” Your voice was weak.

He opened his eyes then. “Tell me what you need.”

He fucked your through your orgasm, sucking on your neck hard to mark you on this special occasion as your muscles clenched and spasmed in such a way that if you weren’t tied up and held down under Ken’d bodyweight that you would have ended up in the fetal position from your body automatically trying to curl up and away from how intense everything was.

Your whimpers mixed with a couple tears that rolled down your cheeks sent Ken over the edge, him finally losing what little control he’d held onto as he bottomed out into you over and over again until the waves calmed, and his body shook on top of your trembling frame.

He wanted to stay there and just kiss your neck and back, losing himself in you while his head swam with the aftermath of his pleasure, but he forced himself to stand up and pull himself out, removing the vibratory from you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, your body still shaking, because usually you’d have been able to calm down more by now.

“Y,y yes,” you stuttered. “Need…I don’t…kno-“

Ken ripped your ties off and turned you onto your back, your limbs limply falling onto the bed.

“I’ve got you,” Ken promised. He turned on the shower and coaxed you to sit up, your full bodyweight leaning against his chest while he held you after he’d brought you a glass of water.

He carried you into the shower and had tossed in one of those fruity scented shower bombs that you always loved after a long day at school. He crossed his legs in a way to where he could cuddle you while you rested on his lap without having to sit on the cold tile floor, and held your head tenderly while you leaned against him, bordering back and forth between being awake and drifting off to sleep.

Had he intentionally exhausted you to this extreme of a point to make sure he wouldn’t have to talk about all these stupidly hard emotions like he’d promised he would? He would keep his promise, he couldn’t ever imagine lying to you, but he didn’t want to do it today. He couldn’t.

But he would, no matter how much he didn’t want to, as soon as you asked him.

“What do you want for dinner?” He asked, lips against your forehead.

“Mmmm…chocolate.”

He smiled. “Chocolate what? Cake? Ice cream? Just a bar of it?”

“Everything.” Your giggle was sleepy and weak, but it was perfect to him.

“Then I’ll get you everything,” he promised. “Also, whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’d like to ask if maybe you’d like to go on a trip with me.”

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

TAGS

@Microwgreen

@skeletonea

@sunpuffsstuff

@maxcsworld

@michaelslover

@m21-k

@uncle-eggy

@heyareyoulistening

@cliffbar-booth

@exo-wayv

@stuslover

@ervas-venenosas

@chantelle-c333

@angela-corsino

@webbo0

@froggydayz

@justareadernotawriter1

@taylorslov3rrr

@m1rcochip

@thevioletmoonstone

@lubunnii

@venusvenoms

#ryan gosling #ken #barbie movie #ken barbie #ken doll #ken smut #ken x reader #ken x reader smut #fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfic #fanfic #fan fic smut #ken fan fic #fan fiction #fan fic stuff

224 notes · View notes

dee-writes-anime · 18 days ago

Text

The Aftermath and Everything Else

FEATURING Shoto Todoroki x Female Reader, Tomura Shigaraki x Female Reader

SUMMARY the aftermath of your kidnapping

CONTENT WARNINGS kidnapping, naughty language, feelings of inadequacy

AUTHORS NOTE I am finally back with an update to How To Save A Hero! Some of you might be wondering why I am posting chapter five again and the answer is that I reread it after deciding to post another chapter and was entirely embarassed by the quality of it. Seriously, I don't know why you all didn't chew me out for that. So, here I am with a new and improved chapter five!

SERIES MASTERLIST

My head throbbed, a dull ache radiating from the back of my skull as I blinked into the dim light of the room. The air was heavy with the stench of mildew and something metallic. Chains rattled as I shifted, my wrists bound to the chair I sat in. I forced myself to focus, to remember. The USJ attack. Shigaraki. The villains. Everything flooded back in a sickening wave.

“Finally awake, are we?”

His voice was soft, almost teasing, but it sent a chill down my spine. Shigaraki stepped into view, his red eyes glinting like embers in the shadows. I glared up at him, refusing to show fear. He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

“You’re not as scared as I thought you’d be,” he mused, a hand hovering near his neck before dropping back to his side. “Interesting.”

“Why am I here?” My voice came out steadier than I expected, though my heart was pounding.

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “For now, let’s talk.”

I didn’t respond, narrowing my eyes as he crouched in front of me. He was close enough that I could see the dry, cracked skin of his lips and the faint scar that curved over his cheek. Something about him felt… familiar, but I shoved the thought away. He was the enemy. Nothing more.

“You’re quite the little hero, aren’t you?” Shigaraki said, his tone almost mocking. “Training at UA. Chasing after some ideal of justice. Tell me, does it ever feel worth it?”

“Always,” I shot back. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He chuckled, a low, rasping sound that made my skin crawl. “Oh, but I do. I used to believe in heroes too, once upon a time.”

His words hit me like a blow. There was something in his tone—a bitterness that felt too genuine to be a lie. I stared at him, my resolve faltering for a moment. He caught it, his smirk widening.

“Ah, struck a nerve, didn’t I?” he said, leaning closer. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who thought the world could be saved if they just tried hard enough.”

His words twisted in my mind, stirring up memories I hadn’t touched in years. Tenko. The boy who had been my whole world when we were kids. His laughter, his dreams, his unshakable determination. It felt like another lifetime.

I clenched my fists, the chains biting into my wrists. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Shigaraki’s expression shifted, his smirk fading into something almost solemn. He reached up, brushing a hand against his neck. “Maybe I know more than you think,” he murmured. “Tell me, do you still dream of being a hero? Or is it just… guilt keeping you going?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. How could he know? I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But he didn’t press further. Instead, he stood, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he turned away.

“Get some rest,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

“That was irresponsible, Tomura,” the smoky figure, Kurogiri, scolds as soon as you and Shigaraki stumble into what looks like an abandoned bar. His voice is even, yet laced with disapproval, his glowing eyes flicking between you and Shigaraki.

“It was part of the plan,” Shigaraki hisses, dropping your arm carelessly. Your legs buckle, and you fall to the floor, still disoriented from the dizzying sensation of being dragged through the warp gate. The cold, gritty surface of the bar floor greets you harshly as you try to gather your bearings.

“You’re telling me we went through all that trouble... for a girl?” A man lounging by the bar smirks, cigarette dangling from his lips. His cocky tone grates at your nerves, and he lets out a raspy laugh. “You’re one crazy motherfucker,” he sneers. “Lost some of your lackeys in that mess, didn’t you? Good thing I’m here to pick up the pieces.”

“Who are you?” Tomura grumbles, his voice cracking as he collapses onto a barstool. He doesn’t even look at the man, waving him off with a dismissive hand. “You know what? I really don’t care. If you want to talk business, do it later. Kurogiri, take care of him.”

The man flicks his cigarette to the floor, stepping on it with a calculated ease. As he gestures behind him, two figures step through the door. One is a young girl, about your age, with bright, crazed eyes that glint in the dim light. The unsettling smile on her face sends a chill down your spine. Her eyes lock onto you, her gaze predatory, and you instantly feel on edge.

The second figure is a man, perhaps in his mid-twenties, though it’s hard to tell with the way his skin appears—charred, stapled together in crude patches. Parts of his flesh are exposed, burnt and dead, giving him a haunting appearance. He moves with an air of nonchalance, as if the grotesque state of his body is inconsequential to him.

“I’ll keep an eye out for more recruits,” the man with the cigarette says, his voice dripping with nonchalance. “Stain’s got the streets buzzing, so it'll take time to weed out proper candidates. My rates are high, but you know I’m worth it.”

Tomura waves him off with a half-hearted nod, gesturing for Kurogiri to follow and discuss the finer details of whatever deal they had in mind.

You had edged your way to a darkened corner, trying to stay unnoticed. Observing in silence, you watched as Tomura questioned the newcomers. They bantered for a while, the tension between them crackling until he finally allowed them to stay. The girl, Himiko Toga, introduced herself with a girlish giggle that didn’t match the predatory glint in her eyes. Her gaze slid over you appraisingly, and you shuddered, her smile sending a jolt of unease through you. It was a smile you had seen before—one that held an insatiable bloodlust just beneath the surface.

Dabi, the other man, offered you little more than a cold glare before retreating into a shadowy corner, clearly uninterested in forming any bonds with the group beyond whatever short-term goals he had in mind.

Tomura sighed, wrapping his bloodied leg with a hasty strip of tape, wincing as he tightened it. “Now,” he muttered, his voice low and deliberate. He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Where was I?”

He pretended to hum in thought, but you knew exactly what he meant. You were the loose end. The hostage. And now that the chaos of the USJ attack was behind them, you had become the center of Shigaraki's twisted attention.

The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the small park where you and Tenko always met after school. The air was warm, and the grass tickled your bare ankles as the two of you raced toward the swings, your childish laughter filling the air.

“Come on, faster!” Tenko yelled, his wild grin spreading from ear to ear as he pumped his legs, trying to get higher than you. His pale, messy hair flopped into his eyes as he kicked off, determined to outdo you.

“You’ll never catch up to me, Tenko!” you teased, your feet reaching out toward the sky, feeling invincible, like nothing could ever go wrong.

The two of you had been playing heroes for as long as you could remember. It was a shared dream—both of you wanted to be heroes when you grew up. While other kids avoided Tenko for reasons you didn’t quite understand, you had never been bothered by his fidgeting or the way he scratched at his arms sometimes. He was your best friend, the one who always had your back. And in your imaginary world, you always saved each other from whatever villainous threat you faced.

You jumped from the swing, landing triumphantly with your arms raised. “Look out, Tenko! Villains are attacking!”

He laughed, jumping from the swing too—less graceful, tumbling into the grass, but laughing all the same. “I’m not afraid of any villains!” he called back, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll defeat them with my amazing quirk!”

“Yeah? What’s your quirk?” you asked, turning to face him, pretending to strike a heroic pose.

Tenko paused for a moment, considering, before his face lit up with an idea. “I’ll make them disappear! Just like this!” He crouched down, pretending to grab a rock, and then held out his hand like it was dissolving into nothing. “See? Gone!”

You clapped, playing along, grinning widely. “That’s amazing! You’re the best hero, Tenko!”

His face flushed with pride, his eyes shining with happiness. “We’re both the best heroes! We’ll save everyone!”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening running around, pretending to fight off invisible villains, taking turns saving each other from imaginary danger. There wasn’t a care in the world then—just you and Tenko, and the dreams of being heroes together.

As the sky darkened, you both flopped onto the grass, staring up at the stars just beginning to appear.

“I’ll always protect you,” Tenko said quietly, his voice suddenly serious. He turned his head to look at you, his blue eyes soft and sincere. “No matter what.”

You smiled, feeling that warmth in your chest that only Tenko could bring. “And I’ll protect you too. We’ll always be heroes. Together.”

The door creaked open, snapping me back to the present. My eyes widened as Bakugo was shoved into the room, his hands bound and his expression murderous. He staggered before catching himself, his gaze darting to me.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he snarled, glaring at the villains who shut the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Bakugo,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He stomped closer, his fiery eyes locking onto mine. “You better have a damn good plan to get us out of here.”

“Oh, sure,” I shot back, tugging at my chains for emphasis. “I was just waiting for you to show up before I made my grand escape.”

“Tch. Useless,” he grumbled, plopping onto the floor with a frustrated growl.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me! If you weren’t so weak, you wouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place!”

I wanted to scream, but I bit back my retort. Arguing wouldn’t help either of us right now. Instead, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Look, we need to figure out where we are and how to get out. Can we focus on that?”

Bakugo muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. Progress.

After a beat of tense silence, I finally worked up the nerve to ask, “How did you get caught, anyway?”

Bakugo shot me a sharp glare, his jaw clenching. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” I replied evenly, meeting his gaze. “I’ve been locked up since the USJ attack. I don’t even know what’s been happening out there.”

He huffed, looking away as if the wall held all the answers. “The League ambushed us at the training camp. Thought they’d make a statement by grabbing me—said something about how heroes can’t even protect their own.” His voice was thick with contempt. “It was supposed to be a damn training exercise, but those bastards turned it into a warzone.”

My stomach churned at his words. The League had only grown bolder since the USJ attack. “What about Stain?” I asked hesitantly, the memory of the Hero Killer’s chilling ideology fresh in my mind.

Bakugo scoffed. “Stain’s been arrested. Those assholes almost killed him after he refused to join their little club. Guess he wasn’t ‘aligned with their goals.’”

A cold knot settled in my chest. The League wasn’t just expanding—they were eliminating anyone who didn’t fall in line. And now Bakugo and I were caught in the middle of whatever plans they had next.

29 notes · View notes

deadgirlwalking91 · 7 months ago

Text

new update - 'thank you for the venom', chapter 10: 'i like to push it and push it until my luck is over'

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten Summary

Adam loses his patience with Lute when she won't let him take care of her without a fight.

Who is here for some close proximityyyyyyy?! 🙋🏼‍♀️

All I'm going to say is that the next few chapters are going to be fun. SO much fun. Buckle up, buttercups!

Thanks @branded-rose for beta-ing as always, you wonderful human <3

Neither Adam or Lute said anything on the way to his apartment.

Lute had decided, for fucking once, that she didn’t feel up to talking or backchatting him and instead spent the trek back sulking in his arms, refusing to look at him.

If he was being honest, the silence was more than welcomed. It gave Adam time to think, to form a game plan for the week ahead. His objective? To not fuck his lieutenant while she recovered from her injury. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t risk her reinjuring herself and taking more time off training.

Considering he had a meeting with Sera coming up, he needed Lute to heal up fast, lest he be subjected to a lecture on how he wasn’t taking this seriously enough, why was his lieutenant always getting injured under his watch, blah, blah-fucking-blah.

Though, now that he came to think of it, he was the guy who literally invented sex. Surely he could come up with some creative positions so as to not do further damage to her ankle.

He found himself lost in his thoughts as they approached his front door, trying to think of the most stationary way to bury himself inside her when a familiar, irritating voice quickly brought him back to reality.

“Sir? Sir. Are you even listening to me?”

Adam glanced down at Lute, who was waving a hand in front of his face, looking wildly unimpressed.

“Course I was,” he said defensively, lying through his teeth. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said - and frankly, couldn’t care, considering he’d been thoroughly enjoying the visuals that accompanied his dirty thoughts.

“Then what was I talking about?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his own in response.

“Uhh… you were complaining about something or other? Hold up - could you reach into my pocket and grab my key for me?”

What a save.

Lute scowled at him, unimpressed. “A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

Adam resisted the urge to drop her on the floor for being a colossal pain in his ass. Injury be damned, she was already getting on his nerves and they hadn’t even walked through the front door yet.

It was going to be a long ass week together, and he wasn’t sure which one of them would kill the other first.

“Fucking hell - fine. Grab the key from my pocket and unlock the front door, so we can hurry the fuck up and get inside, please?”

Smiling smugly, she reached her hand into his pocket, digging around for his key, her fingers roughly hitting the front of his hip and thigh through the fabric of his robe. “Was that so hard, sir?”

“If you keep digging around like that babe, you’ll find something else in there that’s hard.”

“Ugh. You disgust me.” She threw him the flattest look, producing the key from his pocket and unceremoniously shoving it into the keyhole.

When they stepped through the front door, Adam felt the slightest pang of shame at not cleaning up after himself from the night before. Empty wine bottles and takeout containers littered his counter, while there was no way Lute’s keen eye would miss the hot pink bra draped lazily over the back of his armchair.

Layla had forgotten to pick up after herself again.

“Really?” she asked dryly, raising a brow at him as he carried her over to his couch. “I’m surprised you don’t have a lost and found box permanently stationed outside your front door.”

“You know Lute, that’s the most intelligent thing that I think has ever come out of your mouth,” he mused, setting her down carefully so as not to bump her injured leg. “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed the bra off the back of his chair and wandered into his bedroom, quickly grabbing his phone to text Layla.

Adam: You forgot your bra. Again.

As expected, considering Layla never got off her phone, it vibrated in his hand almost instantly.

Layla: Did your pretty little patient notice?

Adam: Yes.

Layla: She’d look good in it, too. Don’t you think?

Adam: Not helping.

Layla: I know. Good luck.

Snorting, he pocketed his phone again. Layla had picked up on the tension between him and Lute at the bar a couple of months go, before he’d followed her outside. She’d nagged him about it for fucking weeks, until a moment where she quite literally had him by the balls and he relented, admitting that there had been something between them, but nothing more had happened.

He didn’t need the truth spreading around the barracks like wildfire, considering how fucking chatty the girls were. Still, he was thankful that Layla seemed to have kept her mouth shut, even though she nagged him almost daily about Lute.

As he reminded himself to change his sheets later, he drew on the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Layla the night before in his bed.

“Why do you even fucking care?” Adam asked, rolling over to look at her. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the jealous type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Layla said simply as she sat up, letting the duvet fall, exposing her ample chest as she inspected a strand of her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our hookups because they scratch an itch, so to speak, but emotionally you’re kind of a giant walking red flag.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said bitterly. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“Oh, please, Adam,” she snorted. “That’s not what I’m here for. You want someone to stroke your ego? Get a girlfriend. Or, man up and do something about your little crush on Lute.”

“I’ll give you something you can stroke,” he said in a low voice, reaching over to cup one of her breasts, massaging it softly, choosing to ignore her dig at him as he kneaded it softly.

She glanced at his hand, her expression bored, then shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.” Stretching, she slid out of his bed and began getting dressed.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I told you - I had an itch, you scratched it. Now I’m done.”She leaned both arms on the bed, staring Adam down with her large golden eyes, her expression unusually firm.

“Stop being such a pussy Adam, and just shoot your shot,” she said sternly. “I have a feeling that you’ll be a happier man for it.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about.”

“That’s your problem then, not mine.”

With that, she sashayed out of his room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

Shoving the memory to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it any further, Adam threw the bra into his closet before grabbing two pillows off his bed and trudging back out into his living room.

Lute’s thumbs were moving swiftly across her phone screen as she typed furiously, her eyes unmoving. If she noticed Adam come back into the room, she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Who are you texting?”

She startled slightly, glaring at him as he took a seat next to her on the couch. “Vaggie. I’m telling her what I’ll need for the next week.”

“Anything special I should know about?”

Her cheeks flushed and she narrowed her eyes further at him. “No.”

“That’s a lie if I ever fucking heard one. Here - hold this,” he shoved a pillow at her, knocking her phone out of her hands, causing it to bounce away from her and land close to her feet. Grabbing it to pass back to her, he snuck a quick look at her screen.

Vaggie: You sure you’re okay? You could have stayed with me.

Lute: You’d get sick of me.

Vaggie: That’s a lie.

Lute: Plus, he had a point. His place is bigger than our apartments.

Vaggie: I guess. If you need to tap out at any time though, call me. What do you need?

Lute: I’ll be alright. Just the usual stuff. Clothes and toiletries. Also my protein powder and shaker. And a book or two. Third drawer in the kitchen. You know the type.

Vaggie: Unusual hiding spot for a book, but okay.

“Why do you keep your books in the kitchen drawer?” Adam asked, extending his arm so Lute could take her phone. “That’s a fucking weird spot. Most normal people keep theirs on a bookshelf.”

“None of your fucking business,” she snapped, snatching her phone back and locking it. “Next time, don’t read my messages, creep.”

“Oh, calm your tits, it wasn’t like you had anything interesting to say,” he huffed, laying the remaining pillow across the top of his thighs. “Alright, I’m about to take a look at your leg and see how bad the damage is. I’d suggest biting into that pillow while I do it.”

“Why on earth would I need to bite into a pillow?”

Adam sighed and scratched behind his neck, not caring for her attitude. “Because, and I hate to break this to you, babe, but it’s not going to tickle when I take your shoe off. In fact, it’s going to hurt like hell. So, instead of you yelling at the top of your lungs and my neighbours get pissed off that they can hear someone screaming in here again, just bite into the fucking pillow, would you?”

“Do you make screaming loud enough to piss your neighbours off a regular habit?” she asked, cocking a brow at him. He snorted and gently lifted her legs, scooting closer to her so that he could place them on top of the pillow on his lap.

“It’s not me they’re complaining about, babe.”

She shot him a withering look and he snickered, shaking his head. “You are so easy to rile up, Dangertits.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Not gonna happen. Anyway, get ready because I’m about to take your shoe off and it’s gonna hurt.” He started undoing the laces on her trainer, taking care not to knock her foot.

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage,” she muttered, “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s a fucking ankle sprain, but you’re making out like I’ve lost a goddamn limb or something”

He closed his eyes, trying to find the inner strength to deal with her shitty attitude. He wasn’t the most patient man at the best of times, but she was really testing him now.

“Lute,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up and stop being such a brat.”

She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms looking away from him. “I am not being a brat.”

“You fucking are. You’re pouting at me again.”

“I am not,” she argued, aiming a swift kick at him with her good leg. He caught it mid-air before it connected with his shoulder, glowering at her.

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” he growled, “I’m going to shut it for you.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” she said sardonically, her face twisting into a mock fearful expression. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t push your fucking luck with me.” He leaned over, their chests just touching as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, her blazing golden eyes meeting the yellow of his mask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help you here, not make things worse. Stop running your fucking mouth and start listening to me. That’s an order. Do you fucking understand me, Lieutenant?”

Her lip curled into a snarl. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me, sir.”

“I couldn’t really give a shit what you asked for,” he said coolly, letting go of her face roughly and resuming his original position on the couch. “Shoe’s coming off now, by the way. Get ready - or not, I’m not bothered either way.”

He gripped the heel of her trainer and tugged downwars, trying not to move her actual foot as much as possible. Lute hissed, then let out a cry of pain as he gently wiggled the shoe in order to ease it off her swollen foot.

“That hurts!” she yelled, throwing her head back against the armrest of the couch.

“Bite the goddamn pillow, Lute, or my neighbours will think I’m murdering someone.”

“It’s Heaven, nobody gets murdered here,” she growled.

“Well, it’s either that or they’ll think you’re an animal and into some kinky shit, so if you want them to keep thinking that, go ahead and be my guest. I don’t care.”

He was relieved to see her finally press the pillow into her face, her scream muffled as he finally managed to get her shoe and sock off.

Adam had seen his fair share of soft tissue injuries during his time as Commander of the Exorcist army - severe bruising, strains and sprains were commonplace, especially during training sessions. In fact, they probably made up at least half of the incident reports he had to fill out. But, in classic Lute fashion, she had managed to spectacularly outdo everybody else, sporting the most brilliant ankle sprain he had ever seen.

Her skin was no longer pale, instead now heavily bruised with patches of vibrant oranges and yellows that spread from the tips of her toes right up to past the hem of her leggings, concentrated mostly around her ankle - which had turned a particularly nasty shade of vermillion. The afflicted area had also swelled to twice its normal size, looking unnatural next to her muscular right leg.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, gently running his fingers over her swollen skin. “Not sure if I should congratulate you on doing such a great job, or be pissed that you’re going to be out of action for a while.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced up at her and was surprised to find that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” he backtracked, feeling uncomfortable at her sudden shift in demeanour. Shit, he was hopeless when it came to women crying in front of him, he never had any idea what to do, and no matter what he said, he tended to just make it worse. “A week off work, at the most.”

She looked away, and he pretended not to notice as she quickly wiped her eyes. Not that she deserved it for being such a pain in the ass earlier. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for her. Her misery almost made her seem normal.

“I don’t want to take a week off work,” she said thickly. “We’ve got too much to do. And - and you have a meeting with Sera and -”

Adam cut her off, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about my meeting with Sare-bear, she doesn’t have to know everything that goes on at training. But, Lute, just listen,” he let one of his hands come to rest on her knee in a comforting gesture.

“You need to swallow your fucking pride and do as I say, alright? I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m trying to help you get back to normal as soon as possible. Believe it or not, you’re not invincible, but if you just rest, you’ll heal quicker. Okay? So, just…fucking chill.”

He gave her knee a reassuring pat, and as she looked up at him through her damp lashes, he felt oddly compelled to comfort her further. He wasn’t entirely sure where the feeling came from, or what it meant exactly, but all he knew was that he needed to show her that he cared. So he lifted the hand that was resting on her leg and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it gently, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

He found himself studying how small her hands were, how if he held their hands up together, the tips of her fingers would barely reach past his palms. How could such tiny hands be responsible for spilling so much Sinner blood, year after year?

Lute cast her eyes downwards into her lap and nodded, resigned. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

Adam breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall backwards. “Finally, she listens to me,” he muttered to his ceiling. “It’s only taken God knows how fucking long.”

He managed to catch the pillow just before it hit him in the face.

***

Lute was on the verge of falling asleep when Vaggie turned up at Adam’s apartment, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a scowl plastered on her face as he greeted her with an obnoxiously loud, “‘Sup, Vagasaurous!”

She couldn’t hear most of their conversation from her position on the couch due to the fact that they were speaking in hushed voices, but she was positive she heard Vaggie stage-whisper, “What do you mean she hasn’t had any fucking painkillers?” at one point.

If they spoke much after that, she had no recollection of it as she let her eyes rest, drifting off to sleep.

When she woke, she was surprised to feel something soft covering her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes, she found a blanket over her, considerately tucked neatly under her body. Vaggie must have come in and made sure she was warm, knowing Adam wouldn’t have the care factor to do so.

Sitting up, Lute hissed, grimacing as pain seared through her ankle, which was resting gently atop one of the pillows Adam had brought out from his bedroom. Another considerate gesture from Vaggie.

She really was such a good friend.

“Bout time you woke up.”

Her eyes darted around, finding Adam sitting at his counter flicking through something on his phone.

“How long was I asleep for?” she asked, drawing the blanket up under her chin. She didn’t love the idea of him being around her, awake, while she slept. What if she did something embarrassing, like snored, or drooled… or worse, talked in her sleep?

Given some of the… intense dreams she’d had over the past few months that may or may not have involved her boss, she reall, really hoped she didn’t sleeptalk.

Adam looked up from his phone as he set it on his counter, which was now rid of the rubbish that had been strewn across it when they first arrived at the apartment. At least he’d taken the liberty of cleaning up while she slept. “A couple hours? You were pretty out of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Also, you have the funniest little snore. It’d almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from you.”

“I do not snore!” Lute cried indignantly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Babe. You snored. Besides, how would you know if you do or don’t? Anybody ever told you that you have?”

“No,” she admitted, deliberately choosing not to elaborate further - he didn’t need to know it was because she’d never slept next to anybody before. She’d never hear the end of it and besides, it was absolutely none of his business.

“Well, either this was something special you saved just for me, or all the men you’ve ever shared a bed with sleep like the dead.”

“Again, sir, it’s Heaven. Most people here sleep like the dead because they are dead.”

“Fuck, it was nice and peaceful while you were comatose,” Adam muttered under his breath, sliding off his stool, “even if you were snoring.”

Lute watched with mild interest as he opened kitchen cupboards, continuing to mutter to himself. It was odd seeing him in such a domesticated environment - given his status in Heaven as the First Man and how obnoxious he was, she’d expected him to live in a more luxurious, gaudy home. In reality, apart from an overly-large TV, and the fact that the footprint of his apartment was slightly larger than hers, his home wasn’t very impressive at all.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he made his way over to her and sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding a glass of water.

“Your little scissor-sister bestie chewed me out for not giving you these sooner, so hurry up and take them before she turns up at my door again.” He extended his hand, uncurling his fist to reveal two small blue pills. “They should stop the pain while you’re sitting still.”

“I’m not in pain,” Lute said quickly, eyeing the pills, “I’m fine.” She didn’t want him thinking she was weak enough to need medication. That would just be pathetic, especially for something as minor as a sprained ankle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, did we or did we not just have a conversation about this?” Adam snapped, “take the fucking pills Lute, before I force them down your throat.”

Glaring at him, she snatched the pills from his outstretched hand, but before she could pull away his hand closed tightly over hers. He moved off the coffee table, kneeling in front of her, once again closing space between their bodies.

She glanced down at their hands, and noticed that he must have taken his gloves off while she was asleep, because they were bare. She’d seen him without them before, but he was close enough now that she couldn’t help but notice the sprinkling of fine ash-brown hair that crept up the back of his hand.

It was also warm, and strong. If it were anybody else holding her hand, she’d admit to liking how that felt. She kept that thought to herself.

“You,” he started, his voice now low and dangerous, “are really pissing me off now. Cut the bullshit, stop being a stubborn little bitch and let me take fucking care of you, alright?”

“I’m not weak,” she hissed, “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs saving.”

“Nobody said you were. Shut up and take the painkillers, Lute.” He let go of her hand and shook his head in frustration.

Scowling, she shoved the pills in her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste as she struggled to get them down her throat. She held out her hand for the glass of water and Adam handed it to her unceremoniously.

Once she’d managed to chase the pills with the water, she thrust the glass back in his direction.

“Was that so hard?”

She sighed. “Yes actually, it was.”

“It would have been a fuckton easier if you’d just listened to me.”

“Where did you even get painkillers, anyway? It’s not like anybody here needs them.”

He snorted. “You think I’m going to smuggle hard liquor from Hell every year for our post-Extermination Day rager, and not be smart enough to also steal something to help with the hangover the next day?”

“Oh, I feel so honoured you gave me your special hangover pills.”

“So you fucking should be, I only get a few a year.”

She turned her head to gaze at him, still seated on the floor in front of her. He looked as tired as she felt. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Making sure I’m alright. You don’t care about me.”

“Bullshit. I care about all my girls, Lute, and that includes you.” He scooted closer, so his side leaned against the couch, his body facing hers. “You just make my job more difficult because you’ve got more of a tendency to bite back than the others.”

Lute didn’t say anything, instead choosing to adjust the waistband of her leggings, which were starting to dig into her and get uncomfortable. She desperately needed a shower.

“You know what’s going to be difficult?” she groaned, realising another roadblock they’d have to tackle.

“What?”

She grimaced, not wanting to admit it out loud - but what choice did she have?

“Showering.”

Adam blinked at her, confused. “Oh, yeah we can do that. No biggie, I’ll just carry you in, you can do your thing and when you’re ready just call me and I’ll come get you. Easy as fuck.”

“Sir. That’s not going to work. How am I even supposed to stand in the shower, or get in and out?

He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. Unless…”

“I’m not showering with you,” Lute said quickly.

Adam snorted. “Babe, that is not where my mind was going, but now that you mention it, if you can put your big girl panties on and be an adult about this, it would be the easiest solution.”

She glared at him. “No, sir. What was your other plan?”

“I have a bath. It’s probably easier to get you in there.”

She swallowed, unconvinced. “I haven’t had a bath since -”

Adam held a hand up, silencing her. “Since I busted into your apartment. Yeah, yeah, I know, spare me the lecture. As far as I see this playing out Dangertits, you’ve got three options. One, take a bath. I help you in, get you settled, then come and get you when the time’s up. Easy. Two, we shower together. Not gonna lie, the thought of it excites me, but you’d have to keep your eyes closed the whole time, because this,” he tugged at the bottom of his hood, “would be coming off.”

“I can keep my eyes closed, I’ve done it before,” she retorted, the words escaping her lips before she had the chance to hold them in. Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth, utterly mortified at her inadvertent admission of wanting to shower with him. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots as she frantically wondered how the fuck she was going to talk her way out of this.

She wanted to die.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning. “Believe me, I know you can. Let’s just say the last time I asked you to, I was very impressed with how well you can follow instructions when you don’t fucking backchat me.”

Lute sank lower into the couch, pulling the blanket over her head so Adam wouldn’t see how her face and chest were basically glowing fluorescent. So she didn’t have to look at his stupid smug fake face as it smirked at her.

“What’s my third option?” she muttered, her voice strained.

“You don’t bathe at all for the next week. Which is fucking gross.”

She felt him rip the blanket away from her, and she yelped at the sensation of the cool air on her bare skin, goosebumps creeping up her arms. She glared up at Adam, who was now standing over her, blanket tossed to the side.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, folding her arms over her stomach.

He shrugged. “Not really, no, but I need an answer, and I didn’t feel like you were going to give me one, so I had to do something.. What’s it gonna be, babe?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she groaned, “I’ll take a bath.”

“Slightly disappointed you didn’t suggest the shower, to be honest.” He bent down and slid one arm under her knees, and the other around her waist, lifting her up off the couch effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get you clean. Want me to give you a sponge bath while we’re at it?”

Lute turned her head and let it rest against Adam’s chest as he carried her to his bathroom, taking in his scent - woody, aromatic. Slightly peppery, even. Masculine.

Intoxicating.

For all the times he’d been in her personal space, she’d never really paid attention to how he smelt. She was usually too busy being annoyed by his presence.

Or, he had her preoccupied in other ways.

As for his comment about the sponge bath?

Lute felt that sometimes, some questions were best left unanswered.

#guardrock #guitarspear #hazbin hotel #adam x lute #hazbin hotel lute #guitarspear fic #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin lute

36 notes · View notes

selfindulgentpixies · 1 year ago

Text

The hands that hold you chp 10.2: let me in/tell me how you hurt

Master list Oh my goodness I feel like i'm finally hitting my stride again and like i really do have my muse back for this story. It went into hiding a bit after the end of september but given time and encouragement from people reading my story I think we're back in action. These events follow Satoru's birthday by a few months. (i'll probably do one shot type snippets for other events that happen in the time in between like Suguru's birthday) but we're back to the main story! I really enjoyed writing this chapter if i'm honest. CW: Satoru gojo x reader x suguru geto, GN!reader (reader only uses they/them pronouns), reader is afab but it's not really a big thing this chapter, Reader is a foreigner who was adopted by Yaga, reader has a CT (it's plot relevant), Suguru is depressed and struggling. wc. 3.6k

“Sugu?”

Silence.

“Suguru?” You try again a note of pleading to your voice. “I know you’re in there… I recognize your cursed energy like it’s my own.” You rest your forehead against Suguru’s locked dorm room door. Hating how as the weeks had passed he’d begun to close himself off more. Satoru had become increasingly busy. Admittedly you’d all been getting more busy, but between his training and the increase in missions? It was hard to compare. And Suguru had been alone more and more while you’d been sent on missions with Nanami and Haibara since not only were they in your year but it turned out you worked well with them, especially well with Nanami.

“Suguru please don’t shut me out.. I’m getting worried about you. More than that I miss you.”

There's the sound of shifting cloth on the other side of the closed door followed by near silent footsteps before the click of a lock and the door sliding open. You let yourself fall against Suguru’s chest and wrap your arms tightly around his waist. He lets out a surprised exhale and wraps an arm around your shoulders while the other hangs limp at his side. “You’re such a clingy lil thing you know that?”

You snort before craning your neck to look at him. “Yeah. With you I am.”

Suguru’s dulled eyes flash with surprise as they meet your shining ones. You’re not looking at him but instead it feels as if you’re looking into him. He shouldn’t be surprised though… it was on some level why he was trying to avoid you. “You shouldn’t be. There are better people for you to spend your time with.” A better person, he doesn’t say.

You frown deeply at him and push him backwards further into the room. He allows it. Once you make the backs of his knees hit his bed he sits on it with a bounce. “Just stay here.”

“What am I a dog?”

“You’re stinky, that's what you are.”

Ignoring the little incredulous sound he makes you go to his door to close it before rummaging for clean clothes for him and tossing them onto the bed next to him. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to go take a shower? Even just rinse off?”

He wrinkles his nose and sighs and it’s the most energy you think he’s put into an expression in days.

“Please?” You cajole, walking over, placing your hands on his knees as you look at him. “I’ll dry and brush your hair after.”

The dull look he gives you tells you he’s far from convinced. Chewing at your lower lip you hope you won’t regret what you suggest next. “What if I wash your hair for you?”

Now that gets his attention and you feel your face heat up. “Don’t get any ideas! I just want to make sure you’re taken care of.” You glance away from him. “Normally you take really good care of yourself but lately you just haven’t been and i’m getting worried…” you trail off and then feel his arms hug around your middle and his head rest against your chest.

“’m sorry.” The words are muffled into the fabric of your shirt but you hear them clearly enough. You comb your fingers through his lank hair, catching on tangles and then working through them.

“You don’t gotta apologize. Just.. let’s get you cleaned up yeah? Why don’t you head down to the showers and i’ll meet you there.” You go to step back but he doesn’t release you.

“You know Yaga-sensei will expel me if he finds out.”

You snort. “As if we’ll be caught. Besides he’d be crazy to expel one of the best prodigies this school has ever had. “

“Parents are crazy.” He finally allows you to step back from him and you roll your eyes so he can see.

“Chances of anyone at all catching us are low. Now shoo. I’m gonna go get some stuff and i’ll meet you there.” and without waiting you leave the room. He wonders what you’re getting, wonders if he’ll get to see all of you since even with how much time you spent with him and Satoru you’d always been especially shy and they never push you. He sighs and gathers up the clothes you’d set out for him along with a towel.

—

Suguru would be lying if he didn’t say he was at least a little disappointed when you show up to the showers already wearing a white bathrobe you clearly plan to keep on. You’re glancing everywhere but him even though he’s kept a towel slung over his hips as he sits on the tiled floor. There’s no way you could help him wash his hair if he were standing.

“You sure about this? You look like you’re gonna run away at any second,” and you can tell he’s teasing despite his tired tone by the little curl of his lips.

Huffing you finally look at him, focusing on his face while walking forward, your feet padding across the cool tiles. Suguru had turned on the water a little before you’d arrived so the floor warms slightly as you approach. He’s sitting just at the edge of the spray so you don’t have to get hit with more water than needed. Setting a familiar shower caddy on the floor you lower yourself to your knees at his side, uncaring of how the robe gets soaked where it touches the floor and where your shoulder is closest to the warm spray. You press against his shoulder. “Come on, lean back and get your hair wet.”

Suguru complies without complaint and leans back, soaking his hair. It’s a quiet process for a while after that. You working up a lather in his hair and washing away the grime that had settled there, which turns into slowly washing his neck and shoulders after you put conditioner in his hair. He lets you maneuver him however you need. It startles you when he finally does speak.

“You know Satoru will be awfully jealous when he finds out.” He glances back at you, his lips half quirked with amusement.

You scoff. “Don’t give him any ideas. I don’t want him going nearly a week without a proper shower.” It’s only kind of a joke.

“Was it really that long?” Suguru asks genuinely, causing you to frown.

“Yeah. This past week you’ve hardly even gone through the motions, Suguru..”

He doesn’t respond, seemingly lost in his head again. You finish washing his back before rising from your knees with a slight wince. You’re sure if you looked at them there would be impressions from the tiles pressed into the skin. “Rinse yourself off and I’ll meet you back in your room, yeah? I’ll blow dry your hair for you. You tuck a bit of conditioner soaked hair behind his ear, watching his face to make sure he’s heard you. His eyes focus on you. He nods and you wish you knew what exactly he was thinking.

—

You’re laying in Suguru’s bed, dressed in a dry pair of pajamas when he gets back. He’s wearing the sweat pants and tshirt you’d picked out for him. His hair falls down his back soaking the fabric. He’s clean though and for that you’re glad. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, your legs spread for him to sit between. Everything you need to take care of his hair is already out. You smile at him warmly and make grabby hands at him.

Sighing but unable to stop a slight smile he walks over to sit in front of you. There’s not much room for talking over the sounds of the blow dryer but you think that’s okay. Suguru hasn’t been the most chatty anyway. But as you click off the blow dryer and run your finger through his soft and clean hair he surprises you.

“Why are you going to all this trouble? “ He doesn’t look at you but his voice is oddly tight.

Setting aside the blow dryer you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your face into his hair, breathing in the scent of him. “Isn’t it obvious?” Your heart hammers in your chest and you don’t give him a chance to say anything. “I love you, that’s why.”

You both feel and hear his breath hitch, his hands come up to cover your own and he curls himself forward around your arms that you’ve wrapped around him. You’ve said it without words so many times over the months since you'd begun dating him and Satoru but never had you directly given voice to it until now. He doesn’t say it back now, but you know he does by the way his shoulders shake as he clings to your arms. You know he feels the same when you feel something warm and wet fall onto your arm.

____

How. How was this possible? You stand in the Tomb of the Star, dazed and more than a little confused. How’d you get here? Why are you here? There are smears of blood on the ground and the stone work is cold beneath your feet. Stumbling back, panic thrums through your veins. Looking around frantically you call out. “S-suguru? Are you here?” Your voice comes out weak and small. You turn in a circle looking about the chamber, praying that you’d at least sense him or catch sight of one of his curses but there’s no sign of him here with you. Why are you here alone? You never wanted to be in this place again. You turn heel and head toward the exit. You feel sick as you go through what feels like endless corridors, all a blur, you fight to not look at the smear of blood outside the elevator Why hasn’t anyone cleaned anything up?

Stepping into the elevator, its slow rise feels like agony. The rattling of the metal cage grates against your nerves making you fingers twitch but once it stops… that’s so much worse. Everything is so quiet. Far too quiet as you step from the elevator to somehow find yourself somewhere that your brain struggles to process. Just outside the doors, despite the impossibility of it, is the crater Satoru had created that day months ago and it’s so much worse in it’s own way. The buzzing of thousands of flyheads is absent and yet the silence makes you feel sick, the only sound is your stumbling steps and ragged breathing as you make your way through the cracked earth and stone. Ignoring how you must scrape your hands and knees as you scramble up to the raised center of the crater. A stage to display one of your worst fears.

‘Satoru-’ you want to call out the name of the still figure but no sound passes your lips. You can’t seem to urge yourself to your feet and instead crawl to him. No this isn’t right. He shouldn’t still be here. When you reach him you pull your body close to his so you can hold his face. His normally vibrant eyes stare up at you blankly, dully, and missing all that spark you’ve come to treasure.

A shadow falls over you and a deep voice sends a nauseating spike of fear through you. “I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.”

When you shakily sit up to look you’re suddenly lifted by your hair, your arms refuse to listen to you despite you screaming at yourself to fight back and when your eyes roll to look at them they’re horrifyingly twisted. His fist crushes into your abdomen.

You let out a choked scream and when you hit the ground it cuts off as the air is forced from your lungs. Things are… sharper now as you flail in the dark realizing you're tangled up- tangled up in your blanket. Eventually chest heaving you free yourself from your fabric confines. You look at your shaking hands in the mostly dark room, the only light coming from the early spring moon outside your window. Your arms are whole now, of course they are.

You shakily get to your feet and grab for your phone. Looking at the time it’s a bit after 3am. Both far too late and too early for you to be awake. You stumble from your room, clad only in your pj’s and your blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you barely bother to close the door behind you. Cool air hits the tear tracks on your cheeks as you stumble toward Satoru’s room. Both Suguru and Satoru are supposed to be out on solo missions, Suguru having left early the previous morning and Satoru having left a few days ago. You’re not fully thinking as you stumble your way through the halls but you can’t bring yourself to stay in your lonely room. Satoru’s dead eyes keep flashing in your mind with each blink. Your lip wobbles as you reach his door and shove it open, glad that it’s unlocked as you stumble in and make your way to his unmade bed and only partially closing the door in your single minded focus. You crawl into it letting your own blanket fall to the floor as you curl up under his and bury your face into his pillow. Each panicked breath pulls him into your lungs.

It’s a far cry from the comfort of actually having him here but being able to breathe in his scent is enough to soothe your frayed nerves. As your breathing evens out and your muscles slowly relax, the world around you slowly fades. It’s with your face pressed into his pillow and wrapped up in his blanket that reality starts to force its way back in with the dip of the mattress and a hand resting on your head. You jerk awake, heart in your throat until your eyes settle blearily on Satoru. His glasses pushed up and holding his hair back while he looks at you with an achingly soft expression. Surprise creeps in when tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“Hey hey what’s with the tears?” As he asks you sit bolt upright to hug him. Pressing your teary face to his neck and wrapping your arms around his waist. His clothes and skin are still cool from the chilly spring night, the scent of crisp mountain air that surrounds the campus clinging to him. Beyond that though is all him. A scent of comfort you’d sought out by crawling into his bed, but it’s so much better when paired with the sounds of his breathing and the safe haven of his arms as he wraps you up tight. He rests his chin on your head. The two of you sit like that, him simply holding you and slowly warming up as he waits for you to calm down enough to tell him what’s going on. Normally if you’re to be found in one of their rooms it was Suguru’s since that’s usually where the three of you slept together and Suguru was admittedly at the school more than he was these days. When you finally pull your face from his neck with a sniffle he swipes a thumb over your cheek. “So is my crybaby gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

A small watery laugh from you makes him smile and lean in to press his lips to your forehead. It’s short lived though. You take in his beautiful, very much alive face, cheeks flushed and eyes bright but then when you blink his bloodied face flashes in your mind. You shake your head, biting at your lip. “I just…” How honest did you want to be?

Satoru’s smile fades as the two of you sit in the quiet of his room. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You being here is enough.” He doesn’t look convinced by your words and you relent. Thinking of how you’ve felt as Suguru’s been slowly closing you out. “I.. I dreamt about..” a deep breath. “I had a nightmare about.. About when I thought you’d died.” You look away from him only for him to suddenly cup your face in both his hands, tilting your face toward him as he rests his forehead against yours. All you can see now are his eyes, a mix of sparkling blues that you’d happily get lost in. His breath fans across your face before his lips, warm and so alive, press against your own. An affirmation. He breathes his own life into your lungs so there’s no denying that he’s here with you.

He deepens the kiss in a way he hasn’t before with you, that you’ve only caught him doing with Suguru before. He tips you back toward the bed, pressing you down into soft sheets before parting from you slowly. He goes to speak but his glasses finally slip off the top of his head and smack you in the face before he can stop them.

Both of you remain in place, stunned, until your shoulders begin to shake with quiet laughter. Picking up the offending eyewear you hold it out to him.. “I think these are yours.” You bite you lip trying to hold back a smile.

Satoru groans and lets his face fall to your neck. He doesn’t glance at you until he hears you place his glasses on the side table and then he feels your arms wrap around his shoulders. “See… I said you being here was enough.” You nuzzle your face against his hair.

He hums into your neck before falling to his side and cradling you against his chest. “I’m..” he sighs. “I’m sorry I’m not here more often.. I know i’m gone a lot and it’s been just you and Suguru dealing with stuff alone.”

“ ‘s not your fault… You’re needed in a lot of places… and besides that means you’re also dealing with things alone doesn’t it?”

He squeezes you tight for a moment. “ Don’t worry i’m one of the stron- “

You cut him off “That doesn’t matter. You’re still just a person.”

And he’s taken back to that night before everything went wrong. When you’d said those words to him before and you’d made him feel seen and he realized maybe you cared about him just as much as you cared for Suguru. He remains quiet as he holds you. The silence isn’t broken until you mumble against his chest. “Actually… I wanted to talk to you about Suguru..”

Satoru pulls back to look at you, showing that you have his full attention.

“If you can… I think he needs you. He doesn’t say it! But..” You trail off a little. “He hasn’t been doing well.”

Satoru’s eyes flick over your face, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows. “If he needs something I’m sure he’ll tell us-”

“He won’t. “

The sureness in your voice takes Satoru aback a little. “While you’ve been away on your latest mission he was barely eating and didn’t even shower or brush his hair for nearly a week. He was even avoiding me until I pleaded with him at his door to let me in… “ Satoru squeezes you. “He was barely eating and didn’t even shower until I convinced him to by saying I’d wash his hair for him.”

Satoru’s throat bobs. “Okay.. I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.”

He blinks at you. “Why are you apologizing?” His eyebrows vanish behind his bangs.

“Well… I acknowledged how busy you are and how much you have on your plate in one breath and then in the next asked for your help with Suguru- ow!” You hand flies up to your forehead that had just been flicked. “What was that for?” you pout.

“For being ridiculous that’s what. Remember what I said a couple minutes ago? ‘I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.’ That also means I want to know when things are wrong. With both you and Suguru. You’re both so stubborn, what’s it gonna take to get through to the two of you how important you are to me..” The last part is said quietly. “I’m gonna start telling those old bastards to back off a bit okay? I’ll find more time for you both…”

“ ‘toru…” Your chest feels tight.

His lips quirk into a smile bringing out his dimples. “Let me help okay?”

“Okay.” you return his smile.

“So… did you?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Did I what?”

“Help him shower I mean? “ He tugs a bit at the collar of your pajamas. “Did he get to see you naked first and without me?” He says with a little pout.

Your face flushes with heat and you smack his hand away. “Satoru!” a pause. “Yes and no. I helped him shower but I wore a robe the whole time.”

He seems mollified but then that pretty mouth of his opens again. “So you got to see him naked then?”

“Oh my god Satoru. Suguru was right when he said you’d be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” he says indignantly.

“You’re so jealous.”

“...Okay maybe a little.”

You smile and cup his face. “You know… I think you both forget.. Or maybe it’s because. Well maybe it’s because I’ve been so nervous to actually say it but i don’t think it’s fair to keep it in. But I love you, Satoru. I love you both.” You think of Suguru’s tears when you said it to him finally, and it’s such a contrast to Satoru. Because his face lights up like the stars in the sky, eyes shining and turning pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His smile is dazzling, at least what you see of it is before his mouth crashes into yours.

Then with his lips still pressed to yours. “I love you too.” It startles you a bit to hear it back but then you’re grinning and pressing a toothy smile of your own against his lips.

___

And that wraps up this chapter! Like I said at the start I enjoyed writing this one! The next chapter actually has a good chunk written that I just need to revise to reflect changes that i've made as I've been writing the story since i wrote it a while ago. We're sort of hitting the home stretch with this story because basically everything after this I've had planned since I decided to make this a series. A lot of it is outlined and written out and just needs to be properly fleshed out.

Special thanks to @strawberrystepmom for beta reading this for me. You guys have no idea how much she's helped with this fic with her assurances and support.

Taglist! (keep in mind you must be 18+ and have your age listed before i'll add you to my tag list. ) @pastelle-rabbit @hauntedhearthowl @biscuitsngravie @nanamikentoseyebags@sleezzsister @moonsua1, @yuuuumii @yokaimoon @4sat0ruu-deactivated20231218 (nooo this isn't how i wanted to find out you deactivated!!) @chibiizzy @porridgesblog @suhmie, @defacatestenderly @agentdedf1sh @night-shadowblood-writes2 @missphanosaur18 @stevenknightmarc @icy-spicy @mysugu @fushigurro @missmugiwara

...The whole time i was typing up the tags my cat has had the zoomies and has been screaming like banshee running up and down the halls from my room to the kitchen. So i'm gonna go get his wet food now...

#rossi writes #satoru gojo x reader x suguru geto #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo x geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gn!reader #Gn!reader #gender neutral reader

119 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 14 Lost in the darkness

Chapter 14 of Sugar

A/N- Next chapter we start with 2x06!!!

Warning- Swearing, ANGST!!, FLUFF!! Talks of death and grief, talks of pregnancy, spoilers, long chapter.

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Takes place during- After JJK 0 movie

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Here you are, back home. The last time you were inside he was here too. There are moments where you expect him to call you, or text you to check up on you, but soon thereafter it hits you that you’ll never see his name on your screen ever again.

Nevertheless, now? As you stand in front of your house you expect to walk in and find him with your daughter, find him reading somewhere, or off doing some chores around the house, but it hits you again just as you hold the knob to the front door that he won’t be waiting inside, and that he won’t be coming home later either, so you freeze and feel your hand stiffen around the knob before you can even open the door.

Satoru did what you asked of him for some reason, so he's waiting behind you to walk into the large and fancy house. You can feel his stare on the back of your neck, but he doesn’t rush you, he stands in silence and waits patiently until the weakness you feel passes and the need to cry again disappears.

However, when you walk in, the comforting smell of your house hits you and it reminds you of him and it hurts like never before, far worse than those moments after he died. The agony threatens to overwhelm you and makes you want to fall on the floor and ball yourself up by the entrance. But Satori needs to see you strong, the twins need you to be strong, so you draw in a deep breath and keep everything in before slowly letting out a shaky sigh, and guiding your brother inside after you take your shoes off.

“Come on, she’s somewhere over here,” you let him know as your five-year-old daughter doesn’t come to greet you by the door like she tends to do.

“I’ll let you know now,” you interject as you turn a corner. “There will be a tiger curse here, so please don’t try and exocorize it or anything, okay?” You peer back, and he looks at you confused but nods in agreement.

Now you know where your daughter will be so you don’t take your time to look for her, you walk directly to the courtyard. Albeit on the way there you walk past some family photos and notice Satoru lingering back to look at one in particular. And when you walk over to him you see it’s the day Suguru and you got married.

“You guys look young,” he points out without letting you know if he’s feeling happy or upset about it. “How old were you when this happened?”

You smile softly as you look at the wedding picture of Suguru and you with the twins. “I was 18,” you muse. “We were 18.”

Satoru hums and lets his chest fall but says nothing else in that regard, instead he tilts his head to look at more. However, footsteps approach so he snaps his head to the side.

You expect your daughter, but it’s not her, it’s Belinda, her caretaker, and your mother figure. “Y/N,” she mumbles with a grief-stricken look.

You meet her familiar gaze and want to cry, but you just meet her halfway and embrace each other.

“I’m sorry, my girl,” she says as she rubs your back.

You swallow thickly and exhale deeply. “Thank you,” you whisper and pull back to offer her a smile. “Look who I brought,” you drift the subject and point at your brother standing behind you.

“Satoru!” Belinda exclaims before she rushes over and embraces him.

“Belinda!” He greets her happily. “Long time no see!”

“It was about time, my boy,” she says and pulls back to reach over and grab his shoulders. “Look at you,” she muses. “You don’t age do you?” She laughs.

Satoru smirks. “I do, but you know. I age amazingly well.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction.

“Well,” Belinda says and pats his cheek. “It’s good to see you here. I’m glad to see you and your sister together again.”

Satoru hums and glances at you, so you avert your gaze.

“And I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I remember your relationship with Geto, and I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

You turn away and take a deep breath at the mention.

“Uh, thanks, Belinda,” Satoru says quietly.

You unfurl the deep breath and peer back at your friend. “Is she outside?” You probe to avoid the Suguru subject right now.

“Yes, she is.”

You hum and point your head ahead. “Come on,” you let Satoru know before you walk ahead and hear him trail after you. And since all you need to say requires him to meet Satori, you walk in silence.

Once you finally make it to the courtyard you expect to see her playing outside on the ground, but the ground is empty and the courtyard is quiet. Which only means one thing; you look up at the tree in the middle of the yard and the first thing you see through the naked branches is the glowing piercing gaze of the tiger curse draped on a branch studying the person who walks in after you.

The tiger curse won’t attack Satoru, Suguru probably—no you know he had all his curses be friendly to his best friend, but the tiger curse nonetheless is taking care of his precious cargo so it still watches him carefully and prepared in case Satoru does attack.

“Chipmunk?” You call out and begin to stroll to the other side of the giant and wide tree. “Come out, come out wherever you are!”

You hear a giggle, so you follow the sound up in the branches and catch a glimpse of her right away before she maneuvers herself a way around you.

You pretend she isn't making a bunch of noise and that you didn’t see her clearly through the leafless branches, and let her hang down from a branch to scare you. “Boo!”

You pretend to be startled and spin around to face your upside-down daughter with a goofy smile on her face.

“You scared me,” you assure her.

Satori laughs before she glances around. “Hey, where’s Daddy?” She asks right away.

You sigh and keep on a brave face. “We’ll talk about Daddy later, right now I want you to meet someone.”

Satori’s eyes widen and she quickly swings around to jump off the branch and land on the ground. She surprisingly waits for you, letting you take her hand and guide her to the front of the courtyard.

Alas, when Satori’s eyes land on your brother near the sliding door, she instantly recognizes him from the pictures you have and that excitement and curiosity she always had when she talked about him, doesn’t exist. Instead, she falls behind and steps behind you to hide part of her face as she gets closer to the stranger she only heard so much about.

“It’s okay,” you assure her as you come to a stop near your brother, and crouch down to be at her level.

Satori meets your gaze with a timid look and hooks her arm around yours as she keeps hiding her face away from Satoru.

“Satoru, this is who I want you to meet,” you interject and face him, noticing him tilt his head out of curiosity as you imagine him studying the little girl clinging onto you as if her life depended on it.

“This is my daughter.” You continue and smile softly as you look at her again to caress the back of her head. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, huh?” You nudge the little girl.

Satori’s dark eyes drift to you and she leans into your ear. “You say my name,” she whispers.

You giggle. “Chipmunk, it’s okay, he won’t hurt you. You wanted to meet him,” you remind her.

Satori sighs and you pull your head back to face her better. “What does Daddy say about manners, huh?” You ask her.

“Can we wait for him,” she brushes you off. “He can do it for me.”

You grin and shake your head. “No, you’re big, you say your name.”

“Mommy,” she whines.

“It’s okay,” Satoru cuts in, causing you to shift your gaze back to him—“I’ll go first,” he says and crouches down to be at your daughter's level. “Hi, I’m Satoru Gojo.”

You smile softly at his gentleness and then glance at your daughter, catching her turning her head to face him.

“Hi,” she whispers and slowly wraps her hands around your neck. “My mommy says you can fly,” she says that but not her name—“Is that true?” She probes.

Satoru snorts and shakes his head. “No, I float,” he corrects her.

“Hm, my Mommy can fly,” she lets him know proudly and slowly twists her body around to begin facing him better. “Can you teach me how to float?” She asks.

Satoru shrugs. “I can’t say until I know your name,” he sasses her.

Satori drops one arm from around you and bows softly. “I’m Satori Geto,” she finally says, making Satoru watch her for a lingering moment before he drops his head and laughs softly at the ground, letting you begin to wonder what his gaze looks like under his bandages. You can see him smiling, his forehead is not wrinkled so you imagine he’s genuinely happy, and his laugh sounds sincere. So you hope that his eyes are soft and full of wonder as he sees his niece before him, and hope that he’s not upset that you've kept her from him for five years.

“I like your name,” Satoru says and lifts his head to look at her again behind his bandages. “It’s very nice.”

Satori finally shows him a grin and you hear his breath catch. “My Daddy says he picked it,” she reveals, making the corner of his lips wobble.

Finally, after spending all night with him and after having breakfast together, he finally shows his grief for the best friend he lost. And it makes your agony feel even worse.

“It’s like yours,” Satori muses and steps forward. “Satoru.” She points at him. “And Satori.” She points at herself.

Your brother looks up at you and flashes a knowing smile before he focuses back on Satori. “Yeah, it is, huh?” He says. “It’s because we’re cool.”

Satori giggles before she glances around again. “Mom, where's Daddy? He will want to see Uncle Satoru. He says you were best friends,” she then directs at Satoru. “Is it true?”

Satoru doesn’t let his smile falter this time as he nods. “Yeah, we are. He’s my best friend.”

Satori smiles softly and stares at him for a moment before she begins to frown and snaps her head towards you to whisper in your ear again. “Does he have eyes?” She queries abruptly.

You snort and shrug. “Ask him.”

Satori hesitates but she looks at your brother and probes after a small breath. “Do you have…eyes?” She asks a bit fearfully.

Satoru flashes a mischievous smirk and nods. “Yeah, wanna see?” He probes.

Satori nods, so he reaches for the edge of his bandages and pulls down one side. However, rather than meeting his blue eye, he shows off the white of his eye while he sticks his tongue out, causing Satori to yelp, throw her arms around you, and bump her forehead against your cheekbone as she gets startled.

“Tsk,” you groan.

Satoru chuckles, and Satori looks at him with her eyebrows furrowed. Yet when she sees him taking off his bandages to expose his bright blue eyes, her frown falls immediately and she grins brightly.

“You tricked me,” she points out lightheartedly.

“Scare ya?” He asks.

“You’re funny,” she muses softly.

Satoru takes it to heart and grins smugly. “Yeah, I know,” he says and that makes Satori’s face contort to show disgust the same way Suguru would show it when Satoru said something overly cocky.

“Oh?” Satoru rebuttals as he catches the look right away. “Geez, what did I do wrong?”

Satori lets you go and counters. “Daddy says it’s not nice to gloat about yourself like that.”

Satoru quirks a brow and counters the same way he’d counter Suguru. “Huh? Do you even know what that means?”

Satori blinks in confusion and stays quiet for a moment before she counters. “Well…no, but Daddy says it’s that.”

Satoru scoffs. “Well, your Daddy—”

You cut him off by clearing your throat, and when he looks at you you pass him a warning look that makes him chuckle and change the subject. “Anyway, Satori, I see you have a cursed technique. Can I see it?”

Your daughter looks at you for assurance, and you don’t hesitate to give it to her since you are in the safety of your own home.

Thus, Satori then steps aside and folds her arm in front of her, and proceeds to slowly use her cursed energy to form a transparent glowing blue shield over her arm that has delicate swirling designs on it.

“Wow,” Satoru muses with a proud smile. “You can create weapons using your cursed energy, right?”

Unlike other weapon creators though, she can’t create physical weapons, she can only project her own cursed energy into making weapons from her hands. Which can be powerful as long as she gets strong. And there’s actually no knowing what kind of weapons she can create until she tries herself. Suguru theorizes she could possibly make catastrophic weapons, but you can’t know until she tries.

Regardless, Satori nods but sighs with disappointment. “Yeah, but Daddy and Mommy say I can’t make any swords or cool stuff like that yet. Only a shield. But I can make a sword!” She says. “But only when we train.” She pouts.

Satoru hums softly and stands to his given height. “Well, it’s okay you’re still young. Everything comes with time.”

You smile at that.

“I guess,” she grumbles and makes her shield disappear before she beams at him. “Do you want to come and see my room?” She asks. “I have a lot of cool stuff! And you can see my tea set Uncle Nanami got me.”

Satoru blinks repeatedly in disbelief and darts his eyes at you and then at Satori. “You know Nanami?” He asks.

You stand up and avert your gaze.

“Yeah?” She says as if it isn’t obvious. “He’s very nice. We always do fun stuff, and he buys me gifts and sweets,” she shows off. “He’s my favorite uncle.”

Satoru gasps, “excuse me?” And touches his chest as he pretends to look hurt.

Satori giggles. “You can be my favorite if you…play fairy tea party with me,” she bribes him, making you scold her.

“Satori, you always ask.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru interjects with a grin. “Bribing, I like it! Let’s go!”

Satori squeals and runs over to take his hand and pull him to her room.

You sigh and watch them disappear inside. Once you don’t hear their footsteps, once there’s silence you turn around and catch Satori’s tiger curse jump off the tree before it walks inside to catch up to its girl, leaving you isolated in the courtyard, and leaving you to draw in a shaky breath, but not feel like it came out. It’s like you’re storing it inside and adding weight to your chest. You want to let it out and free yourself of the aching weight, but as you see that you’re truly alone you think about him and it piles on.

He can’t come over and join you to basically gossip about how your daughter quickly became comfortable with Satoru. You can’t say how your brother seemed enamored by his niece right away and didn’t seem to hold any grudge. You can’t tell him how you regret not letting them meet sooner.

He’s not here to see any of it.

——

*5 YEARS AGO*

“Y/N?”

Suguru has been gone all day since he got up this morning until now as the sun is slowly setting. The twins are out with their friends having a slumber party which means, besides the hour you were out, you’ve been alone all day.

You usually wouldn't have minded spending time alone, the girls keep you busy, but they’re getting older, and they don’t want to spend as much time with you as they once used to. And it’s not like you can spend all day with Larue. And there’s only so much to do since you’re still building up your community. So it gets quite lonely without Suguru. He’s all you have until the baby is born after all.

“I’ve been looking for you all over the house,” Suguru says as he approaches you at the end of the pier that’s over your lake. “What are you doing out here?”

You don’t bother to look at him and continue to paint your nails. “Just enjoying the fresh air,” you mumble and from the corner of your eyes you see his feet stop by you.

“Oh, well it’s chilly out here,” he adds slowly as he notices how cold you’re reacting. “Are you okay?” He probes and crouches down. “Is it the baby?”

You shake your head and keep quiet.

Suguru hums and sits beside you to reach over and grab your wrist so you can stop doing what you’re doing and look up at him, but you continue averting your gaze.

“Y/N,” he calls out.

“My nail polish is wet,” you mutter and pull your hand away.

Suguru sighs and stays quiet for a moment before he presses you. “If you don’t talk to me I won’t know how to help you.”

You lift your gaze and the first thing you pay attention to is his hands, noticing the wedding band on his left ring finger. It shouldn't be such a surprise, you’re married, and he’s supposed to wear it so it should be normal to see, but he doesn’t wear it in his religious facility so he can keep up the act, which means he often forgets to wear it at home sometimes. Today though it seems he remembered.

“Talk to me,” he continues softer.

You exhale deeply and slowly look up to meet his gaze, yet you don’t tell him why you’re upset. “I saw Mei-Mei today,” you let him know.

Suguru’s eyebrows furrow. “What did she say?” He asks as he thinks she’s the one who got you upset.

You shake your head. “Nothing worthwhile. She was just Mei-mei, she hasn’t changed.” You smile softly and put the brush back in the tube. “She didn’t even look surprised that I was pregnant, she just said, “So he finally did it huh?”.”

Suguru chuckles. “What is that supposed to be mean?” He queries.

You shrug. “She thought you would have done it sooner I guess,” you mention.

Suguru hums and looks at you more confused. “Did seeing her upset you?”

You shake your head. “No, we grabbed lunch and caught up. It was nice,” you muse. “But she did say that if I didn’t want her to tell anyone I’d have to pay for lunch every time we went out. Which is kind of lowballing it for her.”

Suguru snickers and nods. “It is, I'm surprised.”

You share a breathless laugh, and he doesn’t miss how you still wear a frown on your face.

“It was nice talking to her while it lasted,” you add solemnly as you lower your gaze, letting him study you closer to try and figure out what can be wrong.

“Did she say anything about Satoru?” He asks, thinking that’s what has you upset.

“No.”

Suguru sighs. “Then what’s wrong?”

You part your lips to express yourself, but you quickly hesitate as you begin to feel bad that you are upset about something so minimal. You feel a bit stupid for being mad that you’re feeling lonely. And you’ve tried to get past it when you think about it, but that anger and that loneliness keeps coming back.

“Y/N,” Suguru presses and slides his hand over to grab your fingers. “Darling, talk to me.”

Your eyes fill with tears before you can think about it, and your frown deepens, making him scoot himself closer to grab your chin and tilt your head up.

“Baby,” he coos. “Come on.”

You shake your head and feel your bottom lip tremble before you can fight the tears. “I just,” you mewl. “I guess…today I’ve just…been feeling a bit lonely?”

Suguru’s breath catches and you avoid looking at the emotions that paint on his face.

“The girls are gone, and you’re hardly home lately,” you continue shakily. “But it’s stupid, I know. I’m working on it. I’m sorry.”

Suguru lets your hand go and leans over to cup your jaw, whilst with the other he caresses your cheek. “No,” he interjects softly. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you feel that way, that I’ve made you feel that way.”

Your eyes flutter up to meet his gaze and you see the frustration through his furrowed brows.

“I’ve been going to the facility longer than I have to and I have no excuse for it besides my own selfishness,” he shares. “I’m sorry, y/n. I am.”

Your heart skips a beat before you let out a shaky relieved breath at the sound of his recognition instead of his denial. He’s not one to deny when he’s wrong, but it still fills your heart with bliss to hear him assure you when you’re upset.

“Come here,” he whispers before he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you in for an embrace. Albeit it’s not as secure as you would’ve liked considering the growing baby between the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” he says again and rubs your back. “I am. I…I’ll take off work.”

“Suguru,” you warn him. “I don’t want you to do that—”

“I will,” he cuts you off. “I see now that in my chase for curses I’ve abandoned you and our baby. I don’t want to be that person, you don’t deserve that person.”

Tears roll off your cheeks and you can’t help a quiet cry from escaping your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says one more time and pulls back to cup your cheeks and press his regret. “Forgive me?”

Your heart flutters and a smile tugs on your lips. “I do,” you assure him.

Suguru smiles softly before he presses a kiss on your lips and then bends down to press a kiss on your belly, making you grin.

“How is she today?” He asks and straightens out, but presses his hand on your belly. “Restless?”

You scoff with amusement. “Not until she heard your voice,” you let him know. “She’s always happy when she hears you.”

Suguru grins and caresses your belly, making your smile soften and your heart feels at ease at the love you see him already have for his unborn child.

“You know,” he says in a softer and more lustful voice that makes his eyes soften and his lip tug to a smirk. “I read that having sex helps you right now.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Is that all you think about? I was just crying…why not seduce me first?” You tease him.

Suguru chuckles softly before he gets up and bends down to pick you up bridal style.

You yelp and grab onto him. “Suguru!” You cry out. “I'm heavy! Put me down!”

Suguru smirks and steals a kiss from your lips. “And I can admit I’m strong, so it doesn’t matter,” he redirects smugly.

You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck as you nuzzle your head in his neck. “Thank you,” you say against his flesh. “Thank you for listening.”

“Of course,” he whispers. “You’re my girl. For now until forever. I promised that, didn't I?”

You smile and nod. “Yeah. You did.”

——

*NOW*

How are you going to do this?

As you sit on the edge of the bed he haunts your memories and makes your already deep ache only heighten, so you have to ask yourself how you’re going to live your life without him.

How can you run a community, how can you raise three girls without him? How can you go on without him?

You don’t want to sleep alone, you can’t—

You stop your train of thought before you can spiral and just drop your head in your hands to breathe, to release all the sorrow with deep breaths. After all, they need you to be strong, they look up to you, and they all need you; Satori, Mimiko, and Nanako. You promised you’d be good to them, so you can’t show them weakness.

Just breathe…

Breathe…

When that ache in your throat is gone you swipe your red string bracelet off your vanity and pull off the three small firefly charms, leaving only the bigger one.

You smile at the meaning behind them and then store them back in your jewelry box. Now you’ll keep those and hopefully find something to hang them on soon so Mimiko can keep your bracelet, while Nanako keeps…Suguru’s. Because the truth is that they’ll always have their memories of him, they’ll always know his love, but you know it isn’t the same compared to Satori, so you want them to have a little something else. Something just as special.

Thus, you open his black jewelry box and ignore everything else to hastily pull out the wooden beaded red string bracelet you gave him 11 years ago on the beach when you first told him you loved him. And since Satoru is still keeping Satori entertained you make your way to the twin's room.

Surprisingly enough their door is open, but you still knock since it is quiet inside.

“Come in,” you hear Mimiko address you.

You push the door open and slowly make your way inside, noticing then get up from their beds as they watch you walk in.

“What is he doing here?” Nanako instantly snaps.

You sigh and notice that their eyes are red from crying, and their faces are painted with grief.

“I know it may not be the right time,” you confess as you sit on the edge of Mimiko’s bed. “But we talked about this. We talked about the possible outcomes and how to come to terms with them.” You drop your head. “I know this is the worst outcome, and I can see why you would be angry, and it’s okay, but,” you pause and lift your eyes to look at Nanako and Mimiko, both watching you with perplexity.

“Satoru is still and will always be Satori’s uncle,” you continue softer this time. “He knew that. You guys know that. And no matter what…Suguru,” you begin to ramble shakily. “Wanted them to have a relationship when I was ready for them to meet. Maybe he didn’t want it to start like this, but he wanted it, and Satoru was…he was,” you pause and take time to breathe as the curtain-running words bring up memories of your youth, and memories of not so long ago. “My brother was—”

“Geto’s best friend,” Mimiko finishes for you, causing your eyes to well with tears at the mere thought.

“Yeah.” You nod and draw in a deep breath to stop yourself from crying, to stay as strong as you can. “They were best friends.”

“So what?” Nanako retorts angrily. “Do you want us to be his best friends too?”

You drift your gaze to her and shake your head. “No, I would never ask that from you. I won’t ask you to forgive him either, just come to terms with the fact that he will be a part of her life from now on…if that’s what he wants,” you try to assure them as best as you can. “You don’t have to tolerate him and you won’t have to see him, just let things be when you’re ready.”

Mimiko nods and holds tighter onto her stuffed creature, neither of them says anything on the matter, nor do you push them. You said your peace, and they’ll set their minds on what they want to do in regards to your brother's situation when they’re ready.

This leaves you to address one of the matters you came here for. “I want to give you two something,” you let them know and pique their curiosity. “Something special.”

Nanako climbs off her bed and sits next to her sister, making you shift around to face the both of them with a soft smile. “Do you guys know the red string of fate?” You ask.

The twins share a puzzled look before Mimiko nods.

“Good.” You smile wider and pull out the bracelets. “Well…11 years ago, before Suguru and I started dating, when we were pining over each other,” you say and laugh softly. “He gave me a beautiful red string bracelet with a firefly charm on it…” you trail off and feel a lump begin to form in your throat whilst you stroke the bracelet you carry on your palm.

“…so I gave him one too,” you continue and move your thumb to stroke his bracelet. “When I first told him I loved him. From then on I like to think our fates intertwined,” you pause and exhale before you look back at the twins watching you with sorrow. “And I like to think that when we adopted you two our bonded fate only grew stronger, I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for you two…”

Nanako and Mimiko’s eyes begin to well with tears and you fight yours.

“So I want you to have them, so now our fate will persevere through you two,” you whisper and proceed to grab Nanako’s wrist to slide on Suguru’s bracelet before you slide your bracelet onto Mimiko’s hand. “My friend once told me that in order to carry the one you lost with you, you have to continue fighting.” You smile softly at the memory of Haibara and then continue.

“I know right now that seems impossible, your world is going to crash down, and nothing will make sense. You’ll feel lost and like you lost yourself with them, but.” You sigh shakily. “It’s not true. It’s a moment, a cloudy moment, it’ll pass and you’ll realize that that love, that their memory will always live within you as long as you keep fighting to live, and keep your hearts. So promise me you’ll keep fighting okay? And know that I’m here, always.”

You offer them a kind smile and tears roll down their cheeks, making you lean over and embrace them tightly.

“I know, my love’s. I know you miss him,” you whisper as you caress their backs and feel them return the embrace with force. “Me too.”

You press a kiss on the sides of their heads and draw in a deep breath, feeling like you’re adding to that already heavy weight piling on your chest. But you don’t care, they need you, so you hug them close to you for as long as they need. You soothe them as they cry on your shoulder, and when it feels like they’re somewhat okay they pull away with puffy eyes.

“We’ll hold a memorial for him tomorrow by the lake,” you let them know. “The whole family, hm?”

They nod and you caress their cheeks before you press a kiss on their foreheads.

“Now,” you interject as you step back from the bed. “I need to check on your sister and tell her too. I’ll be nearby if you need me, hm?” You let them know as you walk back towards the door.

“Okay,” Mimiko assures you.

You offer them one last smile before you spin on your heels and walk out to the hall, leaving you with the task of telling Satori…

Damn…

No, you can't just yet, you need to talk to Satoru first.

Hence you walk to her room, and to your surprise, you walk into Satoru with fairy wings, and a handkerchief tucked in his collar so he wouldn’t spill stuff on his clothes. And since he has some long legs he presses them against him as he accompanies Satori around her tea table Nanami had bought her that went with her tea set.

The tiger curse had made itself small and wore a tiara, while Satori wore her fairy wings and served Satoru some juice she pretended was tea. She had failed to notice you or hear you walk in, but Satoru catches you stopping by the door to watch them for a moment.

And you can’t say you’re surprised Satori was already so taken away by your brother, he’s all she could talk about, plus she’s good with people, she’s a lot friendlier than you were at her age. So it’s not her actions that surprise you, but his, she may be his niece, but he just found out about her and he’s not hostile and petty because you hid her. From what you’re witnessing now it’s like they’ve known each other her whole five years of life.

Honestly, it makes your heart swoon; Seeing them interact together so happily makes you smile and pull out your phone to take a secret photo.

Nevertheless, your flash is on and the moment it goes off Satori stops talking and slowly turns around in her chair to face you with a glare.

“Sorry,” you whisper and put your phone away.

Satoris' eyes suddenly widen and before you know it she jumps off the chair and runs over to start pushing you out the door. Which, trying is the keyword, you’re a lot heavier, so you slowly walk out.

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh.

“No!” She yells with sudden anger. “We’re playing! You can’t take him away!”

When you’re outside she slams the door shut behind you, and rather than being upset you begin to laugh.

Suguru would never condone it—no he’d try not to condone it, but you’d both laugh first before you would try to correct her—

Your laugh dies down and your smile fades at the memory…

You’ll never share a moment like that again…

You sigh shakily and turn back to just creak the door open. “Satori,” you say through the gap. “I just need to talk to your uncle, okay?”

You try to push the door open, but you then hear whispering by the door so you stop and wait.

“Satoru, what are you telling her?” You ask from behind the door.

You wait for a moment longer before Satori and Satoru appear at the door.

“What was that about?” You demand to know and look down at your daughter, noticing her pout as she holds the fairy wings and handkerchief Satoru had on.

“If he goes away because of you I’ll cry forever,” Satori grumbles as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks at you with tears in her eyes.

Your lips tug to an amused smile and you part your lips to rebuttal, but Satoru cuts in. “I’ll be back,” he assures her as he steps out of the room. “You owe me a tour of your nice land, remember?”

“When is Daddy coming home?! Can I call him?” Satori demands, causing your breath to catch.

Satoru notices right away and looks back at Satori to shift away from the subject with ease. “You know what? After I come back I’ll even show you how I float, sound cool?”

Satori’s eyes brighten and a grin spreads on her lips. “Yay!”

You smile and begin to walk away, knowing your brother isn’t far behind. Once you make it outside he reveals his close presence by speaking up. “She looks just like him. It’s kind of scary how similar they look.”

You smile in awe and nod in agreement. “Yeah, they do look so much alike.”

Now though, you can’t tell if it’s a curse or a blessing that she looks so much like him since he’s gone forever.

“Was he…” Satoru trails off and skips over to fall by your side as you head to the lake. “…a good dad?”

You steal a glance at your brother and don’t hesitate to nod. “Yeah, he was a great dad. He was good to her.”

Satoru keeps his eyes on you for a moment before you see him look away to mutter almost to himself. “Good.”

You nod softly and glance up at the sky filtering with white clouds as it gets ready for it to snow later.

“Who else knows besides Nanami?” He asks with his voice laced with jealousy that he doesn't hide well. “Which by the way he never said anything!”

You scoff and nod. “Yeah, ‘cause I told him not to. And,” you sigh. “Mei-mei knows too. Not because I wanted her to know, we ran into each other while I was heavily pregnant so she happens to know.”

Satoru hums and when you glance at him again you see that pouty frown he always tends to have when he’s actually hurt by something.

It’s an annoying gesture, but it still affects you just as much as it used to, so you feel as if you have to explain your reasoning. “Nanami is my best friend…I was scared about other things that don’t matter anymore, and I was mad at you, so I confided in him. I’m sorry I hid her away from you, and that’s all I’m sorry for. Don’t blame him.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he mumbles and looks down as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll just give him a hard time about it.”

A smile flickers on your face at the thought of Nanami getting annoyed by your brother's pestering, however, that disappears when you remember the other reason for hiding your beloved daughter.

“Satoru, please keep Satori a secret. I don’t want our parents to know about her,” you try to confide in him now too. “I don’t want to risk having them meet her, or you know, try to take her away. So please, for her, don’t tell them.” You plead vulnerably.

Satoru sighs. “They’ll find out,” he tries to make you face the reality of the situation. Which you knew well.

“I know, but there’s a chance it might be a few years from now when she’s older and stronger, so please don’t tell them, I don't want them to hurt her…” you trail off.

“They won’t,” Satoru quickly interjects. “I’m clan leader now, what I say goes. They won’t hurt her,” he says softly. “I’ll never allow it.”

Tears well in your eyes at the sound of his comfort, but you don’t let yourself cry, you just nod in comprehension before you force yourself to move on so you won't get caught in your emotions.

“Now, what I need to tell you before she comes running out to find us.” You sigh and come to a stop near the lake's shore. Satoru notices and mirrors you, and watches the stillness of the water with you.

“With Suguru gone,” you continue and swallow back your piling-up emotions. “I just need to ask you if the day ever comes and something happens to me while Satori’s still young…” you pause and drop your gaze to sniffle.

Meanwhile, Satoru’s eyes slowly drift to you as his eyebrows furrow to show the perplexity you make him feel at such a gloomy talk; as if that day is coming soon.

“…can you take care of her—”

“Y/N.”

“Just listen,” you cut him off and snap your head up to face him with a serious pressing look. “I’m strong, a lot stronger than before, but stuff still happens, yesterday proved that, so please,” you plead softly, making him slowly meet your gaze. “If anything happens to me just look out for her. Teach her, raise her to be good, raise her…like you did with me,” you mutter and blink repeatedly as you look away. “Belinda will know what to do, she’ll be the one to handle everything, I just need you to accept or decline.”

“You’re saying all this as if you’re going to die tomorrow,” he argues heatedly as if you being so negative about your fate pisses him off.

“Satoru, just tell me” you plead. “And I know,” you press sharply as you face him again so he knows you’re serious. “You don't owe me anything, not after these past ten years, but just give me an answer.”

Satoru sighs and turns away to watch the lake. “I’ll do it,” he assures without hesitation, letting you draw out a relieved breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper and smile with relief. “And I don’t ask you because you’re the strongest. I ask you this because you’re her uncle,” you explain sweetly. “And regardless of what tension that may stand between us, you’re the only one I trust with her.”

“Even…after I left?” He asks and catches you off guard.

It takes you a moment to compose yourself, but you don’t change your answer. “Yes, even after that.”

Satoru nods along slowly before he faces you again with a smirk. “I’ll do my best. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

You can’t help but smile. “Of course, and now that we’re on that topic,” you pause and lick your lips as you grow nervous. “…she really seems to like you, I know she’ll keep asking about you, so if you want you can—” You shrug and begin to sway yourself from side to side. “…come visit her, call her, or I don’t know, take her out.”

“Is she not on some sorcerer food-only diet?” He teases. “That’d be a pain in the ass.”

You snort and shake your head. “No, you dork. She can choose that path when she’s older and knows what she wants, Suguru makes that—made that clear.”

Satoru snickers and nods.

“So when you’re not busy, if you want, you can be a part of her life,” you add and nervously glance at him.

Satoru flashes you a grin. “That’d be great. I’d really like that, besides it would give me an excuse to unbusy myself.”

You shoot him a pointed look and pick on him. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense,” he quickly counters, making you roll your eyes and hide your smile—“Anyway, I’ll do it. She needs someone cool in her life after all.”

You laugh quietly and then exhale deeply as the sorrows never stop coming up. “Will you stay until dinner?” You ask abruptly as you drop your arms at your sides and hold his gaze. “I need to tell her and I don’t know how she’ll take it, so can you stay until dinner? It’ll hurt, but I’m sure having you around will make it hurt a little less.”

Satoru blinks in disbelief and remains unresponsive for a moment before he smiles and eases a tiny bit of your own ache. “Yeah. I’ll just turn my phone off for the day.” He grins.

You draw in a deep shaky breath and nod softly. “Thank you,” you breathe out. “Truly, thanks.”

Satoru brushes you off nonchalantly and watches the lake once more, letting you watch him for a moment with relief that he’s here before more pressure weighs down on your chest as you think about Suguru again.

He’s impossible to get out of your head as the day drags on, there come points where you manage to think about other things, but in the back of your head you expect to get a call or a message soon, or you expect him to be home soon. You wait for him with eagerness, but when you remember that he’ll never walk through the front door again, when you remember that you’ll never feel him kiss you when he gets home, or that you won’t hug him when you get home, your world comes crashing down and it feels like…you can’t breathe like you’re only dragged further down the eerie body of water.

Alas, you can’t say having your heart crushed when you realize that he isn’t coming home is the worst part. What’s even more gut-wrenching is telling Satori that her father is dead, and continuously answering her same questions as to why he isn’t coming home, why she can’t call him to make sure, and why he’s dead.

You surprisingly manage not to cry throughout the entire interaction, but that’s maybe due to the fact that Satoru was with you the entire time. So you managed to stay strong even if it felt like you were getting crushed by the weight of your agonizing grief, and even as you saw your little girl cry when she understood.

Of course, she was easy to console, she can understand loss, but she’s still so young. And it’s a good thing that she is, her longing for Suguru won’t be so deep, her sorrow won’t feel as agonizing, and her heart will heal soon enough. She actually began to laugh not so long after hearing the news, after Satoru told her some joke.

So it’s a good thing he stayed, you don’t think you could’ve stayed so strong throughout the day without him. Especially not when it came to bedtime after you've grown exhausted and can only recall the nights you’d share with your husband as you told your daughters stories before bed together, or as you heard him tell her stories, or as you told her stories and knew in the back of your head that he’d be waiting close by for you to join him.

You’ll miss that most of all.

“You know I used to read your mom bedtime stories,” you overhear your brother tell Satori. “She’d sneak into my room and I'd tell cool stories.”

Satori giggles softly. “Could you tell me one of those stories?” She asks him.

“Of course,” he doesn’t fret to give in, causing you to smile as you lean against the wall beside your daughter's door to listen in to a heavily fabricated and edited story Satoru told when you were her age.

Honestly, it’s kind of bizarre listening to him try to retell your daughter the same stories you’d hear. No matter how many times you imagined them meeting, moments like these are crazy to really think about.

Your daughter. Your daughter and your brother are interacting. They're making memories!

A moment like this felt impossible to achieve when you were in school. You actually never cared for kids or relished in the idea, but now that you’re living it you’re happy that she exists and that he’s here too.

Nevertheless, when he’s done and walking out, that rush of joy that just gushed through you slowly diminishes and you begin to hope that he doesn’t leave. Even as you’re walking him out, you hope he stays. The twins might hate the idea, but you can’t face the solitude that awaits.

“You know,” you tease. “Maybe you should think about having kids. You’re good at it.”

Satoru shrugs and smirks smugly. “Yeah well, I can’t say I’m surprised my students love me, and well, I’m excellent at everything I put my mind to,” he rebuttals.

You roll your eyes. “Forget I said anything,” you grimace and sigh before you probe on the different matter. “How are your students anyway? Are they okay?”

Satoru nods. “Yeah, they’re all healed. They’re all good,” he assures your worry.

You nod softly. “Good,” you whisper genuinely. “You’ve got some special kids, you know. I was impressed by all of them.”

Satoru’s smile turns soft as he nods. “Tell me about it, I’m impressed with them too. And you, your kids are great, all things considered.”

You laugh softly. “Well Suguru helped with that,” you mumble. “But thanks I try. It’s hard.”

“I can imagine, 3 girls. You were hard enough,” he teases.

You scoff and shake your head.

“But I suppose if anyone can raise them it’s you,” he surprises you by saying. “You’ve always been, you know,” he points as he sputters. “Motherly. Like a mother hen, even when we were younger. Maybe it’s your femininity, your woman hormones...”

You furrow your eyebrows and shoot him a pointed look as he goes on blabbering.

“You know? They say it comes natural—”

“Shut up,” you cut him off before he can embarrass himself more.

“I’m just saying.”

“It’s not because I have a vagina or a uterus idiot,” you remark, making him gasp. “Mother proved that to me.”

“I don’t know why you have to say it like that,” he grumbles as he scrunches his nose in disgust.

You snicker and reach the front door. When you open it you intend to walk him out all the way to the community gates, but he walks ahead and stops past the door to block your way. “I got it from here,” he says. “No need to walk out in the cold for me.”

You part your lips but you actually don’t argue, there’s no need because you’d go on forever. Instead, you draw out a small breath and nod in comprehension. He turns but stops and peers over his shoulder. “Will you be okay?” He asks.

Your breath catches at the question. He hasn’t asked you anything close to that since he walked in on you at his house. You’ve avoided that topic. And well, no one has asked you that yet, so it’s like being hit by a train and losing your breath.

You so badly want to say no, that everything hurts so much, and that you want him to stay here so you wouldn’t be alone at night when you'd miss Suguru the most. But you don’t utter a thing, you plaster on a feigned smile and nod.

Your relationship isn’t like that anymore after all.

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter.

Satoru’s worried gaze lingers on you before he nods stiffly. “Okay. Well, I’ll see ya…sis.”

You wave stiffly, and only let out a shaky breath once he’s down the entrance steps so he wouldn’t hear. “See ya,” you whisper.

When you can’t see his figure in the distant landscape anymore you step back inside and slowly close the door, but refuse to feel anything. You clean what needs to be picked up around the house and without thinking you walk upstairs to your room, and get ready for bed all while staying completely detached from all emotions and thoughts.

You even lie in bed and without reacting or thinking, you cover yourself with blankets that were used to cover both Suguru and you just the other day.

Nevertheless, the moment you close your eyes to try and get some sleep, a whiff of his scent, of that sweet coconut butter he rubs on his hair at night sneaks into your nose and you can’t keep staying nonchalant. All that strength you built up throughout the day is crushed and you break. You’re all alone so you begin to sob in your pillow.

You’ll never feel his warmth next to you, you’ll never be able to tangle your legs together, laugh at stupid things while you tried to sleep, you’ll never be able to watch him sleep, or just be comforted by the sound of his calm breaths as he sleeps. He’ll never cuddle you, or wake you up with his hair tickling your neck and nose as he laid his head on you in the morning. You’ll never see Suguru Geto; your fated partner, husband, lover, and friend.

He’s gone. You take that in and sob harder, but cover your mouth so no one would overhear.

Yet, moments later a soft knock raps on your door. Thinking it’s Satori you exhale deeply as you wipe away your tears and then sit up to address your visitor. “Come in.”

Rather than one set of footsteps walking in you hear two, and rather than seeing a small girl, you see the twins.

“Mimiko, Nanako?” You query with worry. “Is everything okay?”

“Can…we sleep here tonight?�� Mimiko’s voice quivers and sounds like she’s been crying already, so how can you deny them? Even if they hadn’t been crying you’d still accept.

“Of course,” you assure them and scoot further down as they both make their way to climb onto the bed. Once they’re comfortable on the side Suguru would sleep on, you pull the blanket over them and scoot closer to wrap your arm around the both of them as best as you can.

When the twins feel your touch, and your radiating warmth they snuggle themselves closer.

Nothing is said, but you all share the same comfort at the feeling of each other's presence.

You can’t help but smile as you shut your eyes, and as you feel overwhelmingly thankful for them. Your girls.

——

*1 MONTH LATER*

Stupid dirt. Stupid seeds. STUPID, IT'S ALL STUPID!

You shove the pot off the table and hear it crack and spill all the dirt all over the greenhouse ground whilst you rub your dirt-covered hands down your face out of frustration.

You actually don’t hear the door open because of your anger overwhelming you. It’s not until a voice breaks the silence that you become alert.

“Y/N?”

You drop your hands and twist around, and notice that it’s Nanami.

“Nanami?” You ask slowly as you don’t know if this is some kind of dream.

“Belinda said you were over here,” he interjects as his eyes study the dirt and broken pot spilled over the ground. “I was coming over, remember?”

Oh damn, you completely forgot.

“I’m sorry, right,” you mumble and sigh. “Uh, I’m sorry.”

Nanami’s eyes drift up to you and he sees the dirt over your thinner face; It wasn’t like that the last time he saw you, so it seems like you haven’t been eating.

He then meets your gaze and it's easy to see the agony and grief in your eyes that you can’t hide behind your current anger.

“Are you okay?” He probes as he approaches you.

You nod even if you don’t feel what you’re telling him. “I’m fine. I’m just…” you trail off and walk around the table to approach the mess you made. “…trying to plant,” you finish as you try to find the seeds you had shoved in the dirt.

“It’s hibiscus,” you add and hear his footsteps approach. “The flower he'd always give me,” you sneer as you grow upset that you can’t find the seeds. “But I can’t plant them, I can’t find a fucking way. Because he was the gardener,” you spat as a lump crawls up your throat and tears begin to sting your eyes. “Which sounds so stupid because I manipulate the dirt to my will.” You chuckle. “But he had the green thumb, he was the patient one with this.”

“Y/N,” Nanami calls out softly as he sees you on the verge of a breakdown. “Just leave it alone. We can come back later.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I need to find the seeds. I need to find them,” you stammer shakily as you begin to search frantically. “I have to find them to plant them. I need to plant the flowers. Just help me.”

Nanami crouches down but rather than attempting to help you find the seeds, he grabs your gloved hands and pulls you towards him so you’ll look at him.

“What?” You snap.

“I can help you,” he says as he looks at you with pity that upsets you. For some reason, it makes you angry to see.

“I don’t need that kind of help, I need help with this!” You argue. “I need to plant the seeds so they can grow, don’t you understand?!” Your voice quivers and your eyes well with sad and angry tears. “He’d give me those flowers every time! I need to grow them! I need…him,” you reveal the truth behind your desperation.

“Nanami,” you cry. “I can’t…I can’t do this without him. I can’t do this alone.”

You drop your head and draw in a deep shaky breath, while hot tears stream down your cheeks. You try to breathe out but again, there’s that feeling, that pressure piling on your chest not allowing you to breathe. It’s like you’re holding your breaths every time he comes up, every time you hold back too. You can’t breathe and it hurts, it’s getting heavier. But nothing you do relieves that ache.

“I know and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do more, but you’re not alone,” Nanami mutters as he slides his hands up your arms to grab your shoulders. “He's always—”

“No,” you cut him off and look up at him to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to hear that he’ll always live within me, I need him. I miss him,” you mewl. “I’m drowning Nanami, and I need him to come save me.”

Nanami parts his lips but he can’t think of anything to assure you with. There’s nothing he can say to fix your broken heart, but he can offer a couple of soft words “I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry, y/n.”

You drop your head and break down into a quiet sob, and before you know it he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest.

It’s not the arms you want to be wrapped in, but he’s your best friend, and his presence and comfort still help ease your heavy breaths and heightened emotions. You’re thankful for your best friend, Kento Nanami.

You could stay in his embrace forever to feel some comfort, but your phone begins to ring.

“Sorry,” you mutter and pull away to take your phone out. And when you see the screen it reads, ‘Satoru’. So you answer. “Hello?”

You can’t say you’re surprised, he calls often to talk to Satori, or she calls him.

“Satori is in class,” you let him know. “I’ll have her call you back.”

Satoru scoffs through the phone. “Whoa, you don’t want to talk to me? Wait…are you crying? Are you okay?”

You sigh and push yourself up as your knees begin to hurt. “I’m fine,” you lie and watch Nanami mirror your actions. “What's up?”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he hums with discontent and then moves on. “Okay, well, I’m calling for a favor.”

You knot your eyebrows together and narrow your eyes in confusion. “Okay?” You go along and take the bait. “What kind of favor?”

Satoru chuckles softly. “You’ll love it,” he says. “Plus you have nothing to do now so it works out great—”

“I’ll hang up,” you threaten since you don’t find this joke amusing.

“I’m getting there!” He rebuttals. “Listen.”

You hum and turn around to mindlessly face away from Nanami as you give your brother your attention.

“So get this,” Satoru continues. “A couple of days ago, a second-year was suspended until further notice, and the other second-year defected after the first kid’s suspension.”

“Okay,” you coax him.

“And I have this feeling neither of them are coming back given the chance, so I wanted you, sister, to look out for them. They’re still young, they’re strong but have a lot to learn, so I was hoping you could finish their training like how Tsukumo helped you. I mean you help sorcerers, right? I need them to get stronger, and well…I don’t trust anyone else with them but you.”

A smile tugs on your lips and there’s an immediate answer that begins to grow in your mind because there’s no need to overthink it. You left once, and Yuki taught you all you know, you owe her so much. Plus helping sorcerers is what you do...he’d do it, and or he’d encourage you to do it.

Yet there are two questions that need to be asked before you can give him your answer.

“Nice,” you quip. “But a question, I attacked the school. Curses attacked your students, if they hate me then it’s not worth trying, they won’t want me. So do they hate me?”

Satoru hums before he lets out a lighthearted scoff. “Nah, they’re both cool. Understanding kids. They like the thrill so to speak, so no they don’t hate you. I can say that with certainty. So the answer? No? Yes?”

You draw out a small breath and lean over the table. “I’ll do it,” you assure him with a small hopeful grin. “Just one more question, this one is important. What are the names of these kids?”

You can practically hear Satoru grin over your answer and the fact that you never doubted accepting his favor. He knew you wouldn’t, it’s why he came to you.

“Their names,” he says with a hint of smugness. “Are Hoshi Kirara and Kinji Hakari.”

A/N- The student becomes the master, I can’t wait to develop the relationships with Hakari and Kirara! ALSO Choso soon!!

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154

92 notes · View notes