#and keep reading and with dread in your heart you turn the page and are like OH SHIT

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Page 237

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, best friends to something more, magical realism,

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You come across a library book that somehow knows more about your future with Lando than either of you do.

⸻

You find it on a rainy Tuesday, the kind where the world feels a little softer around the edges.

The library is nearly empty, save for the quiet hum of the radiator and the occasional patter of water against the windows. You wander aimlessly, letting your fingers drift along the spines of forgotten novels, not looking for anything — and somehow, that’s when it finds you.

A navy blue book.

No title. No author. No markings except for a tiny, handwritten label tucked inside the sleeve: “To the one who needs it most.”

You hesitate. Then you smile, because you’ve always liked old books—the way they smell faintly like dust and stories, the way their pages sigh when you turn them—and maybe today, you do need something. Even if you don’t know what yet.

Without thinking twice, you check it out.

You toss it in your bag, where it rests between a half-eaten granola bar and the sweater you forgot you packed, and you almost forget about it altogether until later that night.

⸻

At first, it feels like nothing.

The pages are filled with moments, snippets of dialogue, descriptions of places that feel strangely familiar. You chalk it up to coincidence. Déjà vu, maybe. The mind playing tricks.

Until you open it one night while waiting for Lando to come over.

And there it is.

A paragraph describing, in perfect detail, the exact conversation you had with him last week, driving back from the karting track. Right down to the offhand comment about your questionable snack choices and the way you retaliated by whacking him with your water bottle, his exaggerated groan echoing through the car.

When you show it to him, he thinks you’re winding him up.

He reads it out loud, laughing—until he doesn’t.

Until his laughter fades into something quieter, something wary.

“Okay,” he says, setting the book down carefully like it might burn him. “That’s… weird.”

You flip through the rest, heart thudding.

Near the back, Page 237 is dog-eared. The only page marked.

You and Lando lean over it together, breathless.

But it’s blank.

⸻

Over the next few weeks, the book keeps changing.

Moments you haven’t lived yet spill onto the pages like spilled ink.

A coffee you accidentally knock over in a café in Nice.

A tiny fight over directions, ending in laughter rather than anger.

A rainstorm in Monaco, both of you sprinting to hide in a souvenir shop, dripping and breathless and a little too close.

Every time, it feels like the book is leading you somewhere. Like it’s nudging you, whispering secrets you’re not quite ready to hear.

Lando acts like he doesn’t care. He teases you about it, rolls his eyes, pretends it’s just a coincidence.

But you notice the way he checks it when he thinks you’re not looking.

The way his fingers linger on the pages, like maybe—just maybe—he’s hoping it’ll tell him something he doesn’t know how to ask.

And you pretend not to notice, because you’re scared too.

Scared of what it means.

Scared of what the final page might say.

⸻

One night, after a long flight and a later-than-planned dinner, Lando falls asleep on your couch with the book balanced precariously on his chest.

You find him like that: head tipped back, mouth slightly open, one arm flung dramatically over the side. The sight makes your heart ache in a way you don’t have words for.

You sit beside him, careful not to wake him, and stare at the book.

Wondering. Hoping. Dreading.

He stirs when you brush his hand by accident, blinking blearily up at you.

“It updated,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You freeze.

Your pulse jumps.

“Page 237?” you whisper.

He nods, sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There’s something in his expression—nervous, hopeful—that makes your throat tighten.

Together, you open the book.

⸻

They never saw it coming. Not like this. Not in a kitchen filled with leftover takeout and half-said things. But when he kissed her, it wasn’t surprising at all. It was always going to end up here.

⸻

You stare at the words until they blur.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment.

Then—slowly, so slowly you think you might shatter—Lando turns to you.

His voice is barely a whisper.

“Can I?”

Your breath catches. Your hands shake.

But you nod.

And when he kisses you, it’s not fireworks.

It’s something quieter. Deeper. Like a sigh you’ve been holding in for years finally slipping free.

It feels like the soft turn of a page.

Like a bookmark sliding into place.

Like the end of a story you didn’t know you were writing together—and the beginning of something even bigger.

Something that’s only just getting started.

⸻

Later that night, after the kiss—the first of many—you sit curled together on the couch, the navy blue book resting between you.

It feels different now.

Heavier, almost. Like it’s holding its breath.

You trace the edge of the dog-eared page, the one that brought you here, and for a moment, you wonder if that’s it. If the book has finished its story. If it’s time to close it and put it back on some forgotten shelf for the next person who needs it.

But Lando’s hand brushes yours, and he nods toward the book.

“Look,” he murmurs, voice warm against your skin.

You glance down.

Page 237 isn’t blank anymore.

Below the last line—the one about the kitchen and the kiss—a new paragraph has appeared, the ink still shimmering faintly like it’s becoming right in front of you:

⸻

The story never really ends. It just changes shape. They laughed through storms and fought over silly things and built a life stitched together by small, stubborn, extraordinary love. And if you asked them when it all started, they’d both say: right here. Right now.

⸻

Your throat tightens.

Lando reads it too, silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath that sounds a lot like wonder.

“I guess…” he says, voice low and a little shaky, “I guess we’re the ones writing it now.”

You smile at him through the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “We are.”

The book lies open between you, but you don’t need it anymore to know what comes next.

You already know—

Rainy mornings tangled in blankets.

Shared coffees and missed flights.

Quiet arguments and quieter apologies.

Laughing until your ribs ache.

Loving each other fiercely, messily, wonderfully.

You know the chapters ahead will be messy, and beautiful, and completely your own.

And somewhere, you think, the book smiles too.

⸻

A week later, you find the book sitting by the window, where the sunlight catches it just right.

The cover has changed.

Where once it was blank and navy blue, there’s now a tiny, handwritten title in curling gold letters:

”Our Story.”

You pick it up.

But when you flip through the pages, they’re all empty.

Waiting.

Waiting for you and Lando to fill them, one imperfect, perfect day at a time.

⸻

A few nights after the kiss — when everything between you feels softer, warmer, but still a little new — you catch Lando doing something suspicious.

You hear him muttering in the living room.

When you peek around the corner, you see him standing over the navy blue book, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, a pen tucked behind his ear.

“Lando?” you call.

He jumps like he’s been caught committing a crime.

“Nothing!” he blurts way too fast. “Just, uh, reading.”

You narrow your eyes and cross the room.

He’s holding a crumpled piece of paper like he’s about to feed it to the book.

“You’re writing to the magic book now?” you tease, reaching for the paper.

He tries to yank it away but you’re quicker.

Unfolding it, you find — in Lando’s messy, hurried handwriting — this:

⸻

“Dear weird magic book,

Can you make her fall for me even more?

(Not that she isn’t already a little bit obsessed.)

Thanks, love you.”

⸻

You stare at it.

Then you look at him.

Lando turns bright pink — the same shade as a sunset — and shrugs sheepishly.

“I mean,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “couldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

You burst out laughing, your heart twisting in the most unfairly fond way possible.

“You idiot,” you giggle, shoving his shoulder. “I already do.”

He brightens instantly, like a sunflower turning toward the light.

“Yeah?” he says, almost shy.

“Yeah,” you say, and kiss him, slow and certain.

⸻

Later, when you’re curled up on the couch together — the book forgotten between you — you flip it open absentmindedly.

There, scribbled in the corner of a blank page, you spot a new line of gold handwriting:

⸻

He never needed the book’s help. He had her heart already.

⸻

You don’t show it to Lando.

You just tuck the book closed with a little smile, feeling the truth of it settle quietly between your ribs.

Some things — the best things — don’t need magic at all.

You think that’s the end of it — Lando’s little letter to the book, the secret golden message, the way he practically floated around you all night after you kissed him again.

But you should have known better.

Because a few days later, you catch him at it again.

⸻

You walk into the kitchen one morning to find Lando hunched over the book, tongue poking out in concentration, scribbling furiously on another scrap of paper.

“You’re seriously still trying?” you ask, laughing as you lean against the counter.

He startles, clutching the note dramatically to his chest like it’s a state secret.

“I’m just… negotiating,” he says defensively.

“Negotiating with the magic book?”

“Exactly.”

You hold out your hand expectantly.

With a long, suffering sigh, he hands over the note.

This one reads:

⸻

“Dear magic book,

Okay, Plan B.

Can you make her want to marry me someday?

(Like… way, way in the future. Chill. No rush. Just… you know. If you’re taking requests.)

Thanks again.

P.S. I’ll owe you one.”

⸻

You stare at it.

Then you stare at him.

He looks terrified and hopeful all at once, like a golden retriever who knows he just knocked over a priceless vase.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, but your voice is too soft, too full of something that makes his eyes shine.

He shrugs, all fake-casual.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just walk over, wrap your arms around his middle, and press your face into his chest — feeling the frantic thud of his heart against your cheek.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his hoodie.

“Your idiot,” he whispers, arms tightening around you.

⸻

That night, after he falls asleep with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair, you open the book one last time.

There’s no golden message this time.

Instead, the book has left a simple drawing at the top of a new page:

A little doodle of two stick figures holding hands.

One has messy curls.

The other is wearing a crown.

You laugh so quietly it shakes in your chest, and you press a kiss to Lando’s forehead without waking him.

Because honestly?

You think you’ll say yes one day.

Even without the book.

Especially without it.

Because love — the real kind — doesn’t need spells or magic or perfect timing.

Just two idiots who keep choosing each other.

Again and again and again.

⸻

You catch him again a few days later, crouched over the navy blue book like it’s some kind of ancient oracle.

But this time, he’s not asking about you.

Not exactly.

He’s asking everything else.

⸻

“Oi,” he whispers to the book, tapping the cover like he’s knocking on a secret door. “Serious question.”

Pause.

“Will I ever beat Max at golf?”

He leans in, like he’s expecting the book to actually answer.

Silence.

He nods, very seriously.

“Right, right, you’re probably busy. No pressure. Next one—will my next helmet design look cool? Like… really cool? Not ‘I tried to be artsy and now it looks like spaghetti’ cool?”

He scribbles a quick note and shoves it under the book like he’s filing paperwork with the universe.

“And while we’re at it,” he mutters, “can you make my cooking not taste like sadness? Asking for a friend.”

He glances around guiltily.

You duck behind the doorway before he sees you, biting your fist to hold back a laugh.

Because somehow, watching Lando have a full-on business meeting with a magic library book is the best thing you’ve seen all week.

⸻

Later, when he’s out of the room, you flip open the book.

Sure enough, new scribbles have appeared in the familiar gold handwriting, quick and a little smug:

⸻

“Max will always be better at golf.

Your next helmet will be very cool.

Your cooking… is a lost cause.

(But she loves you anyway.)”

⸻

You laugh so hard you have to sit down.

When Lando finds you curled up on the couch wheezing with laughter, you just point helplessly at the open book.

He reads it, face slowly turning bright red.

“Hey!” he yelps, grabbing a cushion and half-heartedly throwing it at the book like it somehow betrayed him. “I was trying, okay?”

You wipe your eyes, gasping, “I love you, even if you burn toast.”

He pouts dramatically but you can see the smile tugging at his mouth.

“Magic book’s a snitch,” he grumbles.

You lean over, kissing his cheek.

“Maybe. But it’s not wrong.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap with a huff.

“Fine,” he says, pretending to be grumpy. “New rule. No more consulting the magic book unless it’s about both of us.”

You grin.

“I dunno,” you tease. “I kind of like knowing you’ll never beat Max at golf.”

He groans and hides his face in your shoulder.

And somewhere on the coffee table, the book’s pages flutter again — like it’s laughing with you.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[lifeof-pink]

i think the way the book became 3rd person pov when kim dokja got off the train is one of the most fucking genius literary moves ive seen in years

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian’s sister!reader - part 3 of 3

summary: you finally start to recover from the attack at Windhaven, but struggle with the ghost of your suppressed mating bond.

warnings: mentions of injury and assault self-deprecation, use of painkillers, two idiots in love, lots of angst <3

word count: 9.6k (sowwy <333)

Three weeks, four days and thirteen hours. 

That’s how long Azriel stayed away from the House of Wind, from Velaris, to give you space and time to heal. 

He would’ve stayed away longer if it hadn’t been for Rhys’ incessant questioning ringing through his mind while he wasted the days training with the soldiers in Windhaven. The soldiers that were left after he and Cassian had banished–or taken care of–the ones who had planned to rebel with Cormac and Balvard. 

He would’ve stayed forever in Windhaven, as a punishment to himself for everything he’s put you through by pretending you didn’t even exist for the last four fucking centuries. 

But he couldn’t. 

Rhys demanded his presence at dinner tonight, telling him that he would have to face this–face you–eventually. Azriel knew that, that he would have to face you. He could handle seeing you again to make sure you were safe once more, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle seeing the fake glare you’d put on at dinner when you looked his way. 

Truly, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be in the same room as you right now, because he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from telling you to wipe that fake hatred right off your face, from grabbing you by the neck and kissing you in front of everyone, just like he’d wanted to for the last four fucking centuries. 

Still, he swallows his feelings and keeps the shadowy wall up around his heart as he heads to the Townhouse, mentally preparing himself to pretend as if he doesn’t know that you, of all people, are his mate. 

——————————————————————

Three light knocks on your bedroom door signaled that your brother was on the other side, causing you to hum in response, to which he took as an invitation into the room. 

You looked up from your spot on the bed, your thumb wedging between the pages of the book you were immersed in seconds before while you searched for your bookmark that was lost somewhere between your comforter and the fluffy white throw you had laid over your legs. 

“You’re disrupting my reading time,” you say to your brother with a glare, finally finding the bookmark you’d been searching for to shove it into your book, “I was just getting to the good part.” 

“Well, too bad, your disgusting romance novel can wait.” Cassian says with a grimace, pushing the door open to lean against the frame while glaring back at you, “it’s time for dinner. At the Townhouse.”

A groan falls from your lips at his words, making you shake your head as you toss the book onto the bedside table next to the other books Nesta had lent to you in the last few weeks to keep you from driving yourself insane while bedridden. 

“Do I have to?” you say with a frown, forcing your legs over the side of the bed to stand, since you already know the answer to your own question.

Cassian is at your side in an instant as you stand from the bed, making you shoot him another glare when he grabs your forearm to help you up.

“I can stand on my own, y’know.” you snap, shrugging out of his grip as you walk across the room to put on your shoes, “It’s been three, almost four, weeks now for God's sake.”

“Okay, okay fine.” your brother says, throwing his hands up in defeat as you walk across the room with ease. “Just hurry up, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

You bite your tongue to hold back from throwing another snide remark his way, quickly sliding into the shoes you’d toed off earlier in the day. Dread filled your chest as you turned back to Cassian, slowly realizing that you’d be–well, Cassian would be–flying to the Townhouse for dinner. 

The thought of being unable to fly yourself to the home across town makes you feel so empty and detached, like you’re no longer deserving of your spot in the Night court or the Inner Circle. You weren’t sure you could even use your daemati powers anymore to be honest, you’d been so drained mentally and physically that you hadn’t even tried. 

You felt so useless and alone and sad and so fucking worthless–

“Hey,” Cassian’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his elbow nudging your forearm lightly as he peers down at you, a smile–one that you can tell is forced–on his face, “you ready?”

You knew he wanted to say more, to tell you to get out of your own head, but held back for the risk of starting an argument. So you only smile up at him and nod, shoving your feelings down as you walk towards the balcony of your room, letting your brother take the lead as he takes to the sky. 

The wind against your skin is such a freeing feeling that you nearly forget that your wings aren’t the ones carrying your own body, but Cassians’. The crisp evening air nips at your cheeks as you fly over Velaris, as if the city is welcoming you home after so long stuffed in the House of Wind. A genuine smile crosses your face for a moment during the short flight, heart fluttering as you let the wind welcome you. 

The trip is over just as quickly as it started, and you’re being set down on the steps of the Townhouse before you even realize it. 

There’s a lone tear trailing down your cheek as Cassian sets you down, causing him to frown at you when he notices. 

“Soon, Y/N.” is all he says, smoothing your wind-blown hair down before turning to push the front door open.

Once again you’re forced to push your emotions down, to put on a weak smile as the two of you walk into the Townhouse. You’re greeted in the entryway by Feyre, who hugged you as if she hadn’t seen you in weeks, though she had seen you mere hours ago to drop off your favorite pastries to the House of Wind during breakfast, before pulling you towards the kitchen almost immediately, insisting you come to taste the new wine she’d bought to celebrate with before dinner. 

Before you could protest, you find yourself in the kitchen with Mor, Amren, and all three of the Archeron sisters. Mor is the first to wrap you in a hug, a grin spreads across her perfectly red lips as she pulls you in for a gentle hug. Elain follows closely behind Mor, quietly asking how you were feeling as she holds out a plate of fruit for you to choose from as she speaks. 

Nesta and Amren sit on the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, both giving you sidelong, but somewhat kind glances as they were deep in conversation. You didn’t take the cold welcome personally, as you and Nesta had become close over the last few weeks in the House of Wind, and Amren was…well, Amren. 

Feyre comes up beside you as you chat with Elain, a small and sympathetic smile on her lips as she extends a glass filled with what you can only assume to be faerie wine towards you. Your heart drops as she does, mind immediately thrown back to that moment when you were shoulder-to-shoulder with Cormac, the last time you’d drank wine. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to stomach drinking it again in all honesty. Before you can shake your head in protest, Feyre opens her mouth to speak instead.

“My special faerie wine, just for you.” Feyre says quietly enough for only you to hear, giving you an understanding look as she still extends the glass, “I didn’t think you’d feel up to drinking just yet, but I know how annoyingly incessant the males can be about celebratory drinks, so here,” you take the glass from her hesitantly, giving her a weak smile, “just some sparkling juice, I promise. There’s a whole bottle in there that I already told everyone was just for you.”

You smile at the High Lady, a sparkle of relief lighting your eyes as she reassures you. You had divulged the whole truth to her a week after the incident, letting her see into your mind to understand the extent of the damage that had been done that night in Windhaven, and even divulged a little too much about Azriel in the heat of the moment, too. She had known you felt more comfortable with her than with any man, and in that moment you were grateful Rhys had found an equally skilled mate who could help you when he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Feyre, really, this means a lot to me.” you say genuinely, pulling her back in for another hug, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill at the sentiment. 

You cursed yourself for being so emotional lately, but knew there was no stopping the inner turmoil you were dealing with unless you went straight to the source, to Azriel to finally spill your guts, which you knew wasn’t in the cards any time soon. 

You spent the next thirty minutes sharing laughs and talking about nothing in particular with Mor and Feyre, only stopping to give Elain input on the new tart she was trying to make for dessert. The empty feeling in your chest from the last three weeks in near solitude was quickly replaced by one of warmth and happiness, finally feeling at home once again in the room full of your favorite females. 

It was foolish of you to think the sentiment would last, though. You should’ve known that this wouldn’t be a normal and happy night, that you’d be faced with the one person you didn’t want to see. 

You nearly dropped the glass of sparkling juice when you pushed through the kitchen doors and into the dining room, faced with not two, but three Illyrian males at the table. They’re lost in conversation when you and Mor enter, but Azriel’s attention quickly snaps in your direction, eyes widening for such a short moment that you’re unsure if you imagine it or if they actually do. You collect yourself before turning your attention to your brother and Rhys, who both stopped talking to look over at you and the rest of the females walking through the kitchen door. 

“Finally done gossiping so we can start dinner?” Rhys suggests as you all begin to take your typical seats at the table, yours being between Cassian and Mor.

Habitual conversations begin as soon as everyone sits down, food soon appearing in front of everyone thanks to Rhys. Things feel relatively normal as you pile the food passed to you onto your own plate, unsure of how much you’ll actually eat of it as your mind wanders back into thoughts of the hazel-eyed, mysterious asshole sitting across the grand table from you. 

Every once in a while, you feel his eyes on yours as you pick at your food, as if he’s checking on you. And with every look in your direction, you feel yourself sinking into the chair beneath you, wishing for nothing more than the ability to winnow in that moment.

You felt like you’d fully regressed back to that person you were when you’d just found out Azriel was your mate, the shell of a female that it had made you was once more. You cursed the Gods for making this male have such a strong effect on you, for making you want nothing more than to be with him, to grab him by the neck and kiss him in front of everyone, just like you’d wanted to for your entire life.

But you knew better than that, knew that you had to keep up the act like you hated him as much as he hated you, knew that you would have to wait until that Gods damned bond snapped for him, however long that would take.

So you did what you did best, shooting a glare in his direction the next time you saw him looking your way, in hopes it would keep him from looking your way and make you fall even further into that shell than you already had. 

You’d already fallen so deep into that hole during your time at dinner that you barely heard when Nesta said your name, voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. 

“Sorry, Nes.” you reply, giving her a sheepish smile, “what’d you say?”

“I asked if you were ready for tomorrow?” she repeated, eyes sharp yet understanding as she looked your way.

“Oh–Yeah!” you say, a laugh falling from your lips, nodding quickly, “Of course, I’m excited to get back out there.”

“Back out where?” Cassian interjected, concern lacing his words as he turned towards you, never stopping his shoveling of the potatoes from his plate into his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re such a pig, finish eating before you talk.” you retort, shoving his shoulder with a disgusted look, “but if you must know, I’m coming to training with the Valkyries tomorrow morning.”

“Training?” your brother says with wide eyes as he drops his fork with a loud clunk onto the plate. “Like hell you are.”

“I am perfectly capable of training again, Cassian.” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He opens his mouth to make another snark, yet protective comment at your words when the world seems to stop for a moment, a humorless laugh coming from the other side of the table, coming from the male who’d been staring at you all night long. 

A laugh. He actually fucking laughed at the thought of you training.

Wide eyes from everyone at the table focus on the shadowsinger, the air seems to go still as everyone waits anxiously for the next words.

“Do you have something to say about my training, spymaster?” you nearly snarl at the male who seemed to share an equally annoyed expression with you.

“Like hell you’re perfectly capable.” he says lowly, eyes flickering to your still-healing wings at your back. “You can barely hold your own weight right now, let alone the wings at your back pulling you down and leaving you fucking limping from your back and hip pain. You wouldn’t be able to hold your own training for more than five minutes out there. You’re—You haven’t fucking healed at all. You haven’t been cleared to fly, let alone train in any capacity. It would be so damn foolish to even let you step foot out there.” Nobody dares to interrupt the male as he continues his rant, “I’m sure you’re back on those damn pain killers too, considering you can’t even feel—”

“Azriel—“ Rhys’ voice comes out in a quiet warning as he shoots his brother a glare, knowing exactly where he was going with his next sentence.

Everyone else at the table continues to stare at Azriel, seeing through the facade to see a love-sick and extremely worried male. You, on the other hand can only feel anger radiating off the male, can only feel spiteful words being spewed your way.

“No, Rhys.” you say with a bitter smile, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall from your shimmering eyes, “let him continue, he obviously knows what’s best for me.”

The table is silent at your watery retort, even the previously fuming Azriel grounded by the tears in your eyes.

It hits him like a wall of bricks then, all the regret he had for the foolish rampage he had begun to slip into. His chest nearly caves in as he takes in the scene in front of him, how broken you looked as stared back at him, he could feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off you.

He opens his mouth to backtrack, to apologize, to take back the venom that just spewed from his lips and toward you, toward his fucking mate. But words fail him now, unsure of how he can make it any better at this moment.

“Tell me, Azriel.” you muse bitterly, “do you think it would just be better for me to follow the true Illyrian customs then? Should I have let Cormac and Balvard clip my wings? Should I have let Ci–”

Now Rhys cuts you off with a warning growl, knowing you were about to expose your tragic past in ways you’d regret as soon as they’d fall from your lips. 

“No, no.” Azriel shakes his head rapidly at your words, blinking quickly, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Like hell I did,” you scoff, pushing your chair from the table loudly, tossing your napkin onto the tabletop before excusing yourself.

Azriel knew better than to follow you, knew it wouldn’t end well if he tried to.

You sat on the couch near the fireplace only one room over from everyone, listening to their low conversations. Listening as Cassian scolded Azriel, telling him how stupid he was for trying to push you too soon, and how he needed to give you time and space. The wording of your brother’s scolding confused you slightly, but you didn’t care. You only cared about the hollowness that crept back into your chest, the empty feeling from where you couldn’t feel that unrequited bond anymore, likely from the painkillers that dulled any magic within you. So you let your silent tears flow, let yourself cry over the man who you had convinced yourself could never love you, let yourself drift into a sad sleep on the couch, the warmth of the fireplace inviting you into a dreamless state.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you awoke to the feeling of weight on the other side of the loveseat you sat on and a dark breeze passing over your neck, the caress of a shadow over your skin. 

Your eyes flutter open and Azriel’s heart almost breaks at the state of you. Your wings are tucked behind you tightly as if you were ashamed of them, eyes glossy from the remnants of sleep and tears, lips full and red from trying to bite back the sobs that threatened to escape before you let sleep take you in. The look you give him is one of confusion at first, but quickly turns to one of frustration then anger at the sight of the male in front of you.

He tries with everything in himself to reach out to you, to your soul, to tell you he’s there, but he can’t get through that haze in between the two of you put up by those painkiller tonics Madja gave you. She’d explained to him that you wouldn’t know that the bond had snapped for him until you were completely off the tonics, your magic was restored to its full power and he willingly uncovered his side of the bond to you. So he would wait, would try his hardest to befriend you and make you realize that he never hated you until that moment actually comes when you feel the snap. 

“Before you try to kill me–and rightfully so–” he starts, pushing his hand out in front of you, holding a plate of the tart Elain had made for dessert out to you, “I come with a peace offering, your favorite.”

You narrow your eyes at him, hesitant to take the plate from him at first. But there’s a pleading and truly apologetic look in his eyes, one that makes you give in almost immediately. You take the plate from him finally, gaining a small smile from the shadowsinger that makes your heart skip a beat, though you don’t let it show. 

Azriel watches as you take the first bite wordlessly, watching your features soften as you let out a soft groan, mumbling about how good it is.

“How would you know berries are my favorite?” you question finally, setting the fork back on the plate after another bite.

“You and Cass, you’d always give him your melons and he’d give you his berries at breakfast in Windhaven–” Azriel says, cutting himself off when he sees you wince at the mention of the camp, frowning as he speaks, “s–sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“No–no. I’m sorry, for everything.” he replies, sitting up straighter on the couch to sit face-to-face with you. “For being an ass when you said you work alone, for doubting your abilities, for–for acting like you don’t exist for the last four and a half centuries.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say with a sad smile, sinking back into the shell of self-doubt you’d grown accustomed to, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I–That’s anything but true.” Azriel says, shaking his head quickly, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. “I know I acted like that but–I want to know you. I want to get to know you and be your friend. I just–just never knew how to approach you.” 

Truthfully, he wants to say that he never knew how to approach you without giving in to his desires and without telling you how much he needs you in every way, shape and form. 

You look up to him, weary eyes meeting his hazel ones in a curious gaze. You’re unsure if you truly believe him or not, but the look in his eyes seems sincere so you stay silent for now, willing him to continue. 

“I wanna make it all up to you,” he suggests, gauging your reaction as you continue to eat the tart. “I wanna train you, wanna help you get back to being the warrior that you were before everything happened. I can work with Madja too, to make sure that you’re healing properly and not over-exerting your wings. I can help you–”

“Why would you wanna help me now?” you interject quietly, still not believing that he actually wants to help you after essentially calling you incapable less than an hour ago, “did–did Rhys put you up to this? Did Cassian–”

“No, nobody put me up to this.” Azriel starts, shaking his head quickly, “I shouldn’t have said all those things back there, I was just worried. I don’t want you to get hurt anymore than you already are.”

You stare at the male for a long moment, searching through those amber eyes for any notes of deception but find none. Your heart tugs for his, trying to feel him through the obsidian smoke and gray haze between your souls, but there’s nothing, no tug in return, for now. The logical, and traumatized, part of your brain is screaming at you to run from the Illyrian male in front of you and never look back. But the romantic, and bonded, part of your heart is screaming at you to take anything he’ll give you, to trust him endlessly.

You were never one to listen to logic, anyways. 

“Fine.” you say finally, narrowing your eyes at him. “We start tomorrow. If you don’t think it’s good for me to train with the Valkyries yet then I’ll come after they leave in the morning.”

“You’ve got a deal.” Azriel says, smiling wider than you think you’ve ever seen him smile, making your heart flutter as you can’t help but give an equally wide smile in return. “I’ll see you at ten.”

——————————————————————

The late morning sun beat down on you as soon as you stepped foot on the roof of the House of Wind the next morning, dressed in your fighting leathers.

You spot Cassian, Nesta and Azriel across the roof, so deep in conversation that they didn’t notice your arrival.

“Are you ready to get your ass handed to you, Shadowsinger?”

The three turn to you when you speak, the ghost of a smile on Azriel’s lips when he takes you in, taking in your raw beauty as you stand in front of him in your leathers with your beloved sword sheathed at your side, your wings hanging higher than usual as you grin excitedly over at them. Azriel swears his heart skips a beat when he takes it all in, the hope glimmering in your eyes makes him extremely grateful that he decided to shove his feelings aside to help you train. 

“Oh, you’re not doing any kind of combat today.” Cassian scoffs at you, as if he’s offended that you’d even think you were going to spar with the Shadowsinger during your training.

Your smile falls as your brother talks down to you, and almost instantly turns into a scowl directed at him.

“You aren’t training me today, so you have no say in what I do and don’t do during this session, asshole.” you snap back as you take one last step to stand in front of Cassian, shoving your finger against his chest pointedly. 

There’s an expression you can’t quite read on your brother’s face when you look up at him, but he only ignores your combative response, looking to Azriel instead. He sighs and slaps Azriel’s shoulder before mumbling ‘good luck, brother’ under his breath as he begins to walk away. Before you can question the odd interaction, he and Nesta are already making their way back into the House of Wind. You turn to Azriel then, brows furrowing as you stare at the Shadowsinger. He gives you a sympathetic look then, his eyes softening as he notes the confusion in yours.

“Don’t shoot the messenger here, but I did speak to Madja in order to see what she’s okay with you doing during these training sessions.” he starts, brows knitting together as he tries to think of how to explain the situation. “Long story short, she doesn’t think you’ll be ready for combat or flight for another month or so.”

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words, disappointment settling in your core as you feel your throat start to constrict and tears prick your eyes. You only shake your head in disbelief, though you know deep down that you’re in no shape to even think about sparring right now, considering your body is running off three and a half hours of sleep and an extreme amount of pain tonics. You’d been telling yourself that you were healing perfectly for the last three weeks, but it truly has been anything but perfect. 

Azriel reaches for your elbow with one hand as you take a step back in shock, concern filling his hazel eyes as he watches your internal panic.

“I know that’s not what you wanna hear today, but I promise that it’s for the best. Madja won’t clear you because she knows you have a lot of healing to do before fighting again.” Azriel interjects gently, careful with his words so he doesn’t set you off. 

“W–Well, what did she say I could do?” you say quietly as your voice strains, using all your strength to hold back from breaking down in front of him. You don’t have the energy to argue with him about it, to tell him that you’re fine. You want to scream and cry and fight him, but you know it’s no use. 

“She suggested that we try some of the exercises that we use during initial flight lessons in the camps, as physical therapy in a way.” he says, and you can tell he doesn’t like the thought of doing that based on the tone of his voice.

“Like–doing the exercises we teach the children when they’re learning how to fly?” you retort, brow furrowed as you mull over the suggestion. “That–That’s ridiculous. I’m five centuries old for fucks sake, I will not be treated like a damn child–”

Your eyes are squeezed shut in frustration as you speak, so you don’t see Azriel’s hands reach up to cup your cheeks, only feel it as you start your angry spiel, but it’s jarring enough to stop you in your tracks. Your eyes fly open at the featherlight touch, looking up to see the Shadowsinger staring at you with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, I–I can’t let you do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.” he says once he’s got your attention, “You can’t fly right now, you’re still healing. I know Madja has you on bone-mending medications and is giving you tendon repair salve every damn day and I know you should not strain your wings with anything other than light physical therapy right now. I know how much flying means to you and I know you don’t want to be treated like a child but please.” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper as he stares down at you, “Please, just let me help you heal, let me show you that I want to help you and that I’ve never hated you. A–And once you’re healed, once Madja clears you for flight and combat, we will do anything you want.”

There’s a sense of urgency in Azriel’s voice as he pleads his case, his hands firm against your cheeks as he stares down at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen from him before. He looks desperate, broken even. Little do you know, he’s tugging with all his might on his side of the clouded bond, silently hoping that you’ll feel him if he pulls hard enough, though it doesn’t work. You search his eyes for any signs of dishonesty, for any ill intent, but find none, so you sigh.

“Fine,” you finally say, forcing yourself to stay composed in front of the male as you step back and out of his grasp, though the feeling of his touch lingers on your cheeks as though he’s still grazing them. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Azriel’s shoulders sag in relief, surprised that you give in without much of a fight. Truthfully, you’re too mentally exhausted to even think about protesting, too tired of being kicked down every time you get your hopes up. So in the moment you choose to lower your expectations and tell yourself that you don’t deserve to fly anymore after being too damn stupid to see the attack coming, that you have to earn your wings back, that you might never earn your wings back if things go poorly. 

“Right,” he says with a nod as he stands up a little straighter, trying to stay serious as you look at him expectantly, “we can start with some simple things, like wing-lifts and getting your back and shoulders back into shape with a few different workouts.”

——————————————————————

Your training sessions with Azriel carry on for weeks, spending every single morning together after the Valkyries leave their training sessions. Sometimes you’ll see Gwyn or Emerie with Nesta when you make it up there a little early. There’s always an ache in your chest when you see the females, desperate to get better so you can just fucking train with them finally.

But you push your feelings aside and train with Azriel, pushing yourself past the point that you knew you should, but you couldn’t help it. Azriel always asked if you were okay to train, he genuinely could never tell, since you’d become almost completely unreadable after the incident.

Your body ached after every session, joints sore and wings aching, but you didn’t care. You needed to get better, you needed to get strong again and never let anything or anyone get to you in any way ever again. 

Though you were with the shadowsinger every single day, he felt as though he wasn’t making any progress with getting to know you or making you open up to him. His heart ached with longing after every training session, when you’d simply mumble a ‘thanks’ to him and make your way back to your bedroom at the House of Wind. He would try to joke with you, try to make conversation with you, hell, he’d even try to tug on that damn bond as hard as he could, but he could never seem to get through to you. So, he gave you space, gave you time, gave you what he thought you wanted from him instead of what he wanted. 

His desires could wait until you were off the pain tonics and could finally feel him reaching out to you.

Since you couldn’t be sent on any missions until you were off the pain tonics that suppressed your daemati skills, you had all the free time in the world. Any time not spent training your body, you spent training your mind. Though you didn’t have the ability to use your powers, you could still waste the days away with your nose buried in books about how to hone your skills and how to strengthen your mental shields. 

Everyone in the Inner Circle notices you reverting back to the shell of a person that you were when you initially found out that you were mated to Azriel, but this time was different. You were even quieter, kept to yourself even more, and they could all tell that you beat yourself up over every little thing you’d do wrong. Cassian tried to call you out on it one time when you were in the living room with him, Rhys and Feyre, but soon swore to never mention your new behavior again after you threatened to destroy him with your mind once you were able to use your powers again when he inquired. 

The only one who you ever confided in about your self-loathing and hatred was Feyre, she was the only one you felt you could trust enough to talk about everything with, about the mating bond, about the wing-clipping, about it all. She made it a point to check on you almost daily after that, insisting that you spend time with her a few times a week, whether it’s only to sit in silence and read your books together at the River House or to run errands around Velaris. You’re eternally grateful for her being there for you, for her forcing you to leave your bedroom and spend time thinking about anything other than the self-deprecating thoughts you had about yourself. 

It’s almost three whole months before Madja clears you to come off your pain tonics, but warns that the first full day off of them will not be completely pain-free. 

You heed her warning and tell the Shadowsinger that you won’t be attending training the next morning, in case you’re in excruciating pain. You swear you see a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when you tell him, but the expression is gone before you can question it, and so is he, as he turns on his heels to avoid facing you as his chest aches and his stomach churns at the thought of you possibly not wanting to train with him anymore. 

——————————————————————

Azriel is woken from a dead sleep in a cold sweat, shadows skittering nervously around his head as he sits up, an unfamiliar gnawing feeling eating away at his chest.

He looks around, glancing out the window to realize it’s still the middle of the night. He feels it again, that tug in his chest. It’s a feeling of agony and panic, a feeling coming from deep in his soul. It was something he’d never felt before, something so curious that he wasn’t sure how to deal with it, until the shadows came closer to his ears, whispering mate, mate, mate, in his ear.  

His heart flutters at the words, hands shaky as he pushes himself up in the bed. It’s the first time since you’d been on those painkillers that he’d been able to actually feel you through, actually reach out for you. 

He could tell you weren’t doing well by the tension on the thread between your souls, but he wasn’t sure what to do to help.

In that moment he thanked the Cauldron for fae hearing, because he heard a muffled cry of agony coming from down the hall that once again made his chest ache. Immediately he stands from bed, hastily shoving a sheathed Truth Teller into his sleep pants pocket before making his way out of the bedroom.

It nearly feels like an out-of-body experience as he rushes toward your room, mindlessly opening the door. All he can think about is helping you, making you feel better. He doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of that door, doesn’t know if you actually need help or not, but he’s ready to face whatever it is no questions asked, to help his mate. 

You’re laying on your side in the middle of your large bed when he steps in, only the moonlight flooding in from the window lighting your figure underneath the sheets. Your wings flare weakly as you squirm, small cries escaping your lips as your eyes squeeze shut. Azriel can tell you’re sleeping, and likely having an awfully realistic nightmare considering how strongly he could feel you when he woke. 

He rushes to the bed, sitting on the edge while reaching for your face. His large hands stroke your cheeks as he tugs for you through the bond, silently attempting to soothe you, willing you to wake from the nightmare.

It takes nearly a minute for you to stop thrashing in his grip, for you to finally come back to consciousness. 

You’re clammy when you wake, sweat and tears glistening over your face as your eyes flutter open. Your brow furrows when you look to see who helped you come down from the Gods awful nightmare, and it’s none other than your mate. 

Azriel gives you a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are shining with concern as he grasps your cheeks gently.

“There you are,” he says softly, hands finally falling from your face, “I—I wanted to make sure you were okay, heard you from across the hall.”

You stare up at the male before you for a long moment, taking in everything you can about your current situation. Azriel has one hand on your arm and the other next to your side, your faces mere inches from each other from when you sat up slightly in the bed. It’s the closest the two of you had ever been, and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch him to bring him even closer, to kiss him and never let go. 

It takes a few moments for you to fully register what’s happening. When you finally do, you sit up and push out of Azriel’s grip, embarrassment flushing through your chest as you stare at him. He stands from the bed as you sit up, something deep within him taking over and telling him you need space, and a glass of water. He knows the bond is directing his every move now, which makes his heart throb against his chest as he turns to your bedside table. There’s a carafe next to your pile of novels, which he takes in his unsteady hands to pour into the accompanying glass. 

He’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed in an instant, far enough away to give you space as you catch your breath. You take the glass of water when he offers, taking a long sip before looking back to him. When your gaze slips back to his, you become painfully aware of the very shirtless male in front of you. Your cheeks flush as your mind slips to places it shouldn’t for a millisecond, but you compose yourself quickly when his brow furrows. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he presses, a frown on his lips as he watches you carefully.

“Y–Yeah, I did.” you breathe out, hands shaky as you raise one to run your fingers through your hair. “I guess those tonics were repressing more than just physical pain.”

“You stopped taking the painkillers?” Azriel asks, trying not to sound too excited. “Did you get cleared from Madja? Did she say it was okay?”

You nod once, wondering why he’s so invested in your consumption of pain tonics all of a sudden.

It all makes sense to Azriel then, why he could feel you so intensely after not feeling you through the bond for so long.

A rush of relief mixed with a twinge of terror flows through Azriel when you nod, realizing he has less time to mentally prepare for the truth that the two of you would have to face very soon. But it also means he’ll finally get to breathe around you, finally admit that he knows that you’re his mate, his fated lover. 

Deep down, you know it too, but are too scared to admit it at the moment.

So the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, neither sure of what to say to the other. Two cowards in love, two cowards afraid to fess up, two cowards staring the mating bond in the face but choosing to ignore it for the sake of saving their hearts. 

The silence between you is too much for Azriel, so he stands from the bed. You look up to him, eyes shining with a look that he can only describe as fearful enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You truly are disappointed when he stands, secretly wishing he’d attempt to coddle you and offer to take care of you. You curse yourself silently for letting yourself feel so much towards him in this vulnerable moment, especially after working so hard to become an emotionless wall of obsidian for the last three months. 

“I–I’m sorry for barging in, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” he stammers, watching as his shadows insist on swirling around you in a protective manner insteading of coming back to him. “If you’re really okay, I’ll just go–”

“S–Stay.” you nearly beg, eyes shimmering with tears you didn’t know were there as you stare up at him. His face flares with shock at your words, taken aback by your desperation. “I–I mean, if you don’t mind. I just–just would really appreciate the company.” you continue, feeling pathetic as you try to reel yourself back in mentally before you start sobbing in front of him.

“If you want me to, I can, I’ll keep guard for you if it makes you feel safe.” he says simply, smiling weakly at you. 

Azriel is quiet as he walks towards the desk on the other side of your room, pulling the chair to face towards the bed before sitting down. He turns to you to see your brow furrow as he sits, lips pulled into a frown. His gaze softens as you stare at him and you know you look pitiful, but can’t help the way your heart aches for him, the way your body craves his next to yours right now. 

“Are you alright?” he questions, frowning back at you as his shadows skitter around your face in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Would you–fuck.” you murmur, blinking back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Would you want to stay in the bed with me?”

He’s up in an instant, his heart working faster than his mind as he nods at you. Your own heart skips a beat as he glides over to the bed, climbing into the spot that you leave for him. He slips under the covers but sits with his back propped against the pillows, halfway sitting up as one of his wings hovers over you in a protective manner. 

You can’t help but give him a watery smile as you inch closer to where he’s sitting, looking up at him as if you’re waiting for permission to approach him. He gives you an inviting smile back, adjusting his arms so you can get as close to him as you want. You’re hesitant at first, but push past your doubts as you lay next to him, your body flush against his side as you lean your head against his warm chest. 

You try to go back to sleep, but your body is still tense against his, on edge as the nightmare you just woke up from replays in your head every time you close your eyes. Azriel’s arm relaxes at your back, his hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder gently.

“I’m here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he reaches down to wipe a rogue tear that slipped down your cheek. “You can sleep, you’re safe with me.”

That’s all you need to hear for your body to fully relax finally, drifting to sleep as you try not to think about the conversation you’ll have to have with the shadowsinger in the morning.

——————————————————————

Sunlight streams through the large window in your bedroom when you wake, groaning softly as you grab a pillow to cover your eyes and curse yourself internally for forgetting to shut the blinds last night. 

It takes a moment for you to realize that your bed is emptier than it was when you fell back asleep last night, the space where the shadowsinger once sat now empty next to you. You sit up in bed when you realize you’re alone, a sinking feeling in your chest as you do. 

The sinking feeling is quickly replaced by one of joy when you look to the empty side of the bed and see what he left in his place. There’s a silver tray on the bedside table next to where Azriel slept, and on top of it is a plate with an almond croissant from your favorite bakery and a cup of berries next to a glass of water and the rest of the pills and salves that Madja had you on. 

A note sits by the food that reads ‘Gone to train. Didn’t want to wake you, you looked too peaceful. Enjoy.’ 

You truly don’t stop smiling the entire time you eat, unable to fight the giddiness that you feel from the tiny act of kindness. You read over the note at least ten times, memorizing every swirl and scribble of his writing before starting to get ready for the day. 

Though there’s an ache in your wings as you stretch them when getting dressed, just like Madja had warned you about, you realize that you haven’t felt this good in months. Your chest feels lighter, mind clearer, and eyes brighter as you think about your mate. 

Mate…Mate…fuck.

Your excited mood sours when you think about the conversation that has yet to be had with Azriel. You’re almost entirely sure that he knows now, considering you’re 99.99% certain you could feel his concern for you striking down the bond last night when you woke from your nightmare. 

It takes you longer than it should to get into your leathers, but you’ve decided that you want to train, want to face Azriel this morning, want to see which of you will be the first to break. 

The sun feels more intense than normal as you make it to the roof of the House of Wind, just in time to see Azriel, Cassian, and–surprisingly–Rhys stowing their weapons away after wrapping up their own training. It’s well past the time that the Valkyries finish their daily session, so the three of them must’ve wanted to take advantage of you asking for the day off, using the hour to spar with each other instead. They’re all shirtless, likely due to the heat, so your eyes obviously drift directly to your mate as soon as you step foot onto the roof. 

He’s facing away from you, so you can see the swirls of his dark tattoos over the expanse of his back and shoulders. There’s sweat beading down his neck and you can see that his hair is slightly damp as he runs his fingers through it. Your mind wanders as you stare at him, wondering what it would be like to dig your fingers into the skin of his back while you’re under–

Your thoughts are interrupted by a lone shadow snaking around your hand as Azriel whips around, looking in your direction likely due to his other shadows alerting him to your presence. He raises a brow when he sees you in your leathers, mouth open as if he’s about to speak as you approach the trio, but he says nothing. 

“We thought you were taking the day off today,” Cassian says, stepping in for Azriel as he’s obviously at a loss for words. 

“I was supposed to be,” you start, looking down to your side to adjust the sword there as it wobbles in its sheath, “but Madja’s prediction about my pain levels after coming off of the pain tonic were wrong, I’m feeling great this morning. So, I decided to come up and train, with or without a trainer.”

Azriel doesn’t miss the way your eyes glimmer with confidence and hope as you speak to your brother, knowing that he’s not likely to try to argue with you now that you’re cleared to spar and use your powers again. It’s the happiest he’s seen you in months, and it makes his heart swell, accidentally projecting his adoration in your direction. Your smile falters as you feel a tug at your own chest, eyes flicking towards him as your heart lurches. 

As the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, you feel a talon rake down your obsidian mental walls that you’re finally able to put up again. 

Are you alright? Rhys questions wordlessly, making you finally break your staring contest with Azriel.

Quite alright. Just ready to spar and have a very serious conversation with a specific shadowsinger, if you don’t mind giving us some privacy. You snap mentally, glaring at Rhys as he smirks at you. 

Is it finally happening? He retorts teasingly.

Not if you don’t get out of my head and off this damn roof. You bite back before slamming your mental shields back up, blocking the High Lord from teasing you anymore. 

“Well, I don’t have any urgent tasks this morning, so we can continue with training as usual if you’d like.” Azriel suggests, the faintest smile on his lips as he stares at you. 

Cassian looks between the two of you for a moment, eyes wide before taking a step back with Rhys, who leads him away before he can ruin the moment for you. He’s probably silently telling your brother what’s about to happen as they walk away, considering you hear Cassian say ‘fucking finally’ as they reach the door.

“That sounds great,” you say finally, smiling at him meekly.

The morning proceeds as usual, but you’re a little more distant than usual, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s standing in front of you shirtless as he instructs you how to kick and punch defensively, or the fact that you just felt him tug on the bond. Yeah, it definitely has nothing to do with either of those things. 

“You’re distracted.” Azriel says matter-of-factly when you throw a half-assed punch that he easily blocks with his forearm. 

“Oh, am I?” you say sarcastically, sweat beading down your forehead as you throw another kick towards the male, though he easily pushes your leg back down. 

“Wanna talk about it? Or do you just want to punch it out?” he suggests, raising a brow as you huff in annoyance. 

“Just wanna punch it out, can’t–can’t talk about it.” you retort, shaking your head.

You’re terrified to admit what you felt earlier, terrified that he’s going to laugh in your face and tell you that he’d never want you and that you’ve been pining over him to no avail. 

“I think you can talk about it. I think you’re just scared,” he taunts, confidence rising in him as he feels your frustration and longing subconsciously projected down the bond.

“You’ll laugh at me,” you pant out, pushing down your feelings as you throw another punch. “You’ll hate me and never talk to me again if I talk about it.”

That’s when Azriel’s face drops, his hand coming up to grasp your wrist when you try to throw one last punch. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, like he’s the biggest asshole in the world. You truly think he hates you and that he would never want anything to do with you other than training you and being acquaintances. His heart lurches at the thought, but he keeps his composure as he looks down to you.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he insists, frowning at you. 

Your breath hitches as he maintains his light hold on your wrist, tugging you closer so you’re shielded by his wings from the sun beating down on you. 

“You–You don’t get it.” you say, voice barely audible as you fear for the worst.

You tell yourself that he’s going to want nothing to do with you after you finally say what you’ve both been feeling for the last day, that he’s going to reject the bond and never speak to you again. That’s what you’ve told yourself since the day the bond snapped for you all those years ago, so why would it be any different now?

“What don’t I get?” he implores.

He wants you to be the one to admit it, to confirm what he’s been feeling, to confirm that he isn’t delusional. He needs to hear you say it, he feels like he’s going to die if you don’t say it in the next thirty seconds to be honest.

“You can say it, tell me what I don’t get.” he coaxes, eyes glued on yours as you stare at his hand wrapped around your wrist. “I won’t laugh at you.”

You finally look up at him with that, seeing that there’s nothing but serious adoration shining in his eyes as he waits impatiently for you to speak. He’s about to explode if you don’t just fucking admit it.

“I know that you know, Azriel.” you say bluntly, frowning up at him, “I–I know that you know that I’m your Gods-damned mate, and I know that you’ve been ignoring it because you don’t want it to be true. I know you wish that anyone else in this world was your mate–”

Before you can continue your breakdown, you feel two warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards the male in front of you. Something wonderful blooms in your chest as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. There’s five hundred fucking years of intensity behind that kiss and it almost knocks you off your feet, but Azriel is there to wrap a strong arm around your waist to pull your body flush to his instead.

He doesn’t pull away for a while, savoring the way your lips feel against his as if it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to touch you in his life. It feels so right to be kissing you, like your bodies are made to be flush against each other, like your lips were made to mold to each other’s. 

Once he does pull away, there’s a wild look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, one you can only assume is filled with love and satisfaction. 

“I don’t know what made you think that I would hate the idea of being your mate, but I’ve been waiting five fucking centuries for this moment right here.” he says against your lips, both of your souls humming with excitement as he pulls you back in for another quick kiss. “It’s a true honor to be your mate, and I promise to make up for every moment of lost time that we had over the last five decades in any way that I can. I promise to keep you safe and never let you feel alone ever again. You’re not getting rid of me for a very long time.”

Relief washes over you at his words, though you’re unable to completely comprehend the fact that he actually wants you back. It’ll come to you eventually, so for now you push the doubt you have away in order to enjoy the moment the two of you are sharing.

“You promise?” you say, eyes shimmering with more tears, thankfully these ones are happy tears for once.

“I promise,” he retorts with a smile, “I promise to give you everything you deserve and more, okay?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” you giggle, reaching up to cup his cheeks gently as he leans into your touch. 

He grins and pulls you in for another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last, if not more. You never want him to pull away, never want to forget the feeling of his lips against yours. It feels as though time stops for a moment while the two of you stand there, soaking up all of the love shimmering through the bond between your souls.

“Hey! Finish up your love fest and get your asses inside.” you hear your brother call out from the door to the roof, wondering if he was eavesdropping this entire time, “It’s time to celebrate you two idiots finally admitting what we’ve all been waiting to happen for years.” 

Azriel chuckles against your lips one more time before pulling away, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for your hand. 

“You ready?” he asks gently as you intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” you retort, following him inside to begin the rest of your eternal lives, finally together. 

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[novaursa]

Hii,I love your work, you are on of my favs on this app .I wanted to request Arthur Dayne x Targaryen Princess reader ,where they have a relationship in private just like Rhaenyra and Harwin,they share moments together hidden from all the others...I hope the information I gave u is enough.

What Honor Cannot Hold

- Summary:  He was a knight, bound to oaths and honor. But in shadows beyond duty, he was yours.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I had something similar already done. These are actually parts of the various chapters from the story "The Price of Fire" that were never posted. As they were unnecessary for the plot at that time. I've managed to reuse them for your request.

The gardens at King’s Landing were not like the ones in the North. It lacked the solemn weight of snow-laced boughs and the ancient, weeping face of a heart tree. But it was quiet, tucked away from the court’s endless whispers and sharp-eyed courtiers. Here, the stillness was sacred in its own way—broken only by the gentle rustle of red leaves and the hush of silk skirts brushing against grass. You had come alone, or at least you were meant to be alone, cloaked in twilight and the scent of cedar, your thoughts tangled with longing and dread. And yet, you were not surprised when you turned and found him there—Arthur Dayne, cloaked in shadows and moonlight, standing as though he belonged more to a dream than the world that hurt you.

He said your name like a prayer, soft and reverent, his violet eyes catching the last rays of dusk. You watched him approach, every inch of him perfect and poised, the white cloak trailing behind him like a vow he could not yet break. “You shouldn't be here,” you murmured, your voice trembling more from hope than fear.

“I never should be,” he answered, “and yet I come.”

You exhaled, closing your eyes. “People will notice. My father—”

“Let them,” Arthur said, stepping close, his voice low but fierce. “Let them whisper if they dare. I would face your father a thousand times over before I walk away from this.”

Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and you tilted your chin up, searching his face—handsome and solemn, carved with the weight of honor and want. His hand hovered, hesitating at your cheek, fingers curling just short of touching you. You wanted to fall into him, but fear kept your spine stiff.

“You don’t understand what it means,” you said, almost pleading. “What it could cost. My brother, my blood… My father would kill you.”

He gave a small, sad smile, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your gaze. “Then let me die for something that matters.”

The words unraveled you, their truth laying bare all the nights you’d dreamed of his arms, the stolen glances in the Red Keep, the way he held your gaze a moment too long in the throne room, and how your hand brushed his gauntlet once on the training yard steps and your whole world tilted.

“Arthur,” you whispered, and this time it was your hand that reached out, trembling, pressing to the curve of his jaw. His breath caught.

“You’ve ruined me,” he said, voice low and shaking. “I thought I could serve you from afar. I thought honor could silence the ache. But every time I see you, I forget my vows. I forget my name. I would give up everything if you only asked.”

Tears stung your eyes, and you leaned closer, until his forehead rested against yours, until your lips were a breath apart. “I’ve loved you,” you admitted, “since Duskendale. Since you brought me that lily from the river and said it reminded you of me.”

“I remember,” he whispered. “You wore it in your hair.”

“And I kept it,” you said, barely audible. “Pressed between pages of a book I never read again. Because I didn’t want to lose the smell of you on it.”

His hand finally moved, strong fingers threading into your silver-gold hair, cradling the back of your head. “Say it again,” he pleaded, his voice frayed with longing. “Please, I need to hear it.”

“I love you,” you said, and the words spilled out like fire and rain, like a storm you could no longer hold back. “I love you, Ser Arthur Dayne. And gods help me, I always will.”

And then he kissed you.

It was not chaste or cautious—it was the kiss of a man who had waited too long, burned too deeply, who held back nothing. His mouth was warm and desperate, and yours met him with a hunger that left you both breathless. You clutched at his cloak, drawing him closer, feeling the hard planes of his chest against you, the sword still strapped to his side. His white cloak draped around your shoulders as though to shield you from the rest of the world, from duty and fear and war.

He broke the kiss only when he had to, resting his forehead against yours again, both of you gasping like you’d emerged from drowning. “Tell me this isn’t a dream,” he begged.

“It’s real,” you said, voice trembling against his lips. “You’re real. We are real.”

The world beyond the gardens still waited—your father’s madness, your brother’s tragedy, the tangled fate of houses and crowns. But for this moment, under the blood-red leaves and silver moonlight, all of it faded. There was only Arthur, and the way his arms wrapped around you like you were the most sacred thing he’d ever known.

It was never enough.

That kiss in the gardens had broken something open between you and Arthur—a dam long strained under the weight of unspoken glances and lingering touches, finally giving way to a flood of everything neither of you could say aloud before. What followed were stolen moments, threaded like pearls through the tapestry of court life, hidden between silences and shadows. You became an expert in slipping away. A longer visit to the sept, a sudden desire for fresh air, feigned headaches to escape court functions. Your ladies whispered about your strange moods, but they never followed you when you wandered. They never saw the way you disappeared into alcoves behind heavy drapes or slipped through narrow servant doors into dim hallways that snaked toward nowhere. But Arthur did.

He always found you. Sometimes he was already waiting—leaning against a cold stone wall with his arms crossed, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth as though he could hear your heartbeat before you even turned the corner. Other times he would appear beside you in silence, stepping out from shadows, his presence like the sudden hush of snowfall. He would never touch you in public, but his eyes did. Every time they locked with yours across the feasting hall or a corridor, the world dimmed and your skin prickled, heat blooming in your chest.

In the library once, you’d pretended to be lost in a dusty tome on Valyrian histories. He came to you silently, his armor left behind, dressed simply in a black tunic that made him look more like a rogue than a knight. He sat beside you at the long table, his thigh brushing yours under the wood, sending shivers through your spine. You didn’t look at him, not at first. You simply whispered, “We’ll be missed.”

“I don’t care,” he said softly, his voice low and rich, meant for no one but you. “Let them miss me.”

You turned to him then, and his hand reached under the table, his fingers sliding over yours with the reverence of a prayer. His skin was warm, rough with calluses, and you squeezed his hand tightly, needing that grounding contact more than air. “I dreamed of you last night,” you confessed, barely above a whisper. “You stood at my window and called me down like a knight from a song.”

His smile flickered with something pained and tender all at once. “If I thought you'd come, I would.”

“I would,” you said, and the truth of it made your cheeks flush.

Later, in the old rookery where ravens once flew, now abandoned to dust and cobwebs, he kissed you again—gently this time, with infinite patience, as though trying to memorize every shape your lips made against his. The stone tower was cold, but his hands were warm where they cupped your face, his breath warm against your skin. He pressed his forehead to yours afterward, his eyes closed, as though praying to gods neither of you fully believed in anymore.

“We’re playing with fire,” you murmured, tracing the lines of his jaw, your thumb brushing the shadow of a bruise beneath his eye—an old sparring match, perhaps, but it still made your heart ache.

“Then let me burn,” he said, lifting your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “If I burn with you, I’ll die happy.”

Sometimes you would meet beneath the stables in the early dawn, when the grooms were still asleep and the first birds hadn’t yet stirred. There, among the scent of hay and horse sweat, he’d pull you into his arms and bury his face in your hair, holding you like a man starved. Once, he took your face in his hands and whispered against your brow, “When I take the White again, when I kneel in service before your brother... will you be there?”

“I’ll be there,” you promised. “Always.”

And you meant it. Even though you both knew how fragile this was. Aerys watched you too closely these days. Rhaegar had begun to speak of duty, of marriage and alliances. But none of that could quiet the thunder in your chest when Arthur’s hand brushed your arm, or when he said your name in that low, reverent voice that turned you to ash and gold.

There was one night—stormy, wild—that you would remember forever. The wind howled through the Red Keep like a grieving spirit, and rain lashed against your windowpanes in violent rhythm. You hadn’t planned to see him. You had resigned yourself to your lonely chambers and the ache of wanting. But he came anyway, soaked through, his cloak dripping, his hair wet and clinging to his face. You let him in with shaking hands, and he kissed you the moment the door closed behind him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured between kisses, his hands tangled in your hair. “All I could think about was you. The rain… it sounded like your voice. I thought I’d go mad if I didn’t see you.”

You took his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing raindrops from his cheeks, and you kissed him with everything you had, desperate and fierce. You didn’t care that your dress was soaked now, or that your bed was rumpled with wet cloaks and half-torn silks. You only cared that he was with you, that his body pressed against yours, solid and real, and that when he whispered your name, it sounded like love.

He stayed until the rain stopped.

And when he left, it was through the servant’s passage, silent as a wraith. You watched from the window, the wind tugging at the curtains, your heart still racing in your chest.

You knew you would never belong to him in the way you both dreamed. Not in this world. Not in this life.

But the stolen moments were yours—and for now, they were enough.

[ficnation]

Chapter 2: Biting Into the Past

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 3,9k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings

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Will’s eyes flutter open gradually, the gentle sunlight caressing his pupils with its warm, comforting fingers, slowly coaxing him out of the dreamless slumber. He isn’t drenched in sweat like always, and there’s no sign of dread in his mind. It’s a peacefulness he missed so much—a peacefulness that was taken from him a long time ago. 

The man rubs sleep away from his eyes with the back of his hand. He lies still for a while before the events of yesterday rise up to life in his clouded brain. He lets his arm fall limply onto your side of the bed. The sheets are cold underneath his palm. You’ve been gone for a while already, and he’s surprised your movement didn’t wake him up earlier. Will mumbles out your name, propping himself up on his elbow as he looks around the room.

You sit on the carpet in front of the fireplace, back leaning against one of the armchairs. The fire casts a warm glow over your skin as you pull the blanket draped over your legs a little higher. Your focus is solely on the book grasped in your hands—it’s a picture of pure serenity. Eyes glued to the pages in front of you, you allow the words—each line and sentence—to carry you away into the distant lands of the story.

“What are you reading?” Will asks, his voice spiked with a twinge of raspiness that’s always there in the mornings or when he’s sick. 

You turn your head toward him slowly, but you keep your eyes on the page till the end of the sentence. When you finally look at him, he can’t help but smile at you softly—you mirror him in an instant.

You close the book and raise it above your head, giving the brunet a clear view of its cover. “The Godfather,” you reply with a cheeky glint in your eyes. 

“Again?” He raises his eyebrow in curiosity.

You’ve read that book at least six times already, and Will could never figure out why it pulled you in so much—why did it keep you from reaching for something new and different. Was it the feeling of familiarity, fear of change, or did you genuinely enjoy the fictional world of Italian mafia so much? 

You stand up and stretch your arms over your head with a satisfied groan. You don’t even need to use a bookmark before you put “The Godfather” back into its designated spot on one of the shelves.

Will sits up a little straighter as you throw the blanket over your shoulders and join him in bed. You find a seat between his quilt-covered thighs and drape your legs over his hips, crossing your ankles behind his back. Will’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“You’ve been missing out,” you say with a cheeky grin, pulling yourself just a tad bit closer, craving the heat of his body.

The man in front of you takes a deep breath, then readies himself to disagree. He’s seen enough of murder and scheming to last him a lifetime. But before he can object, you lean in and seal his lips closed with a kiss.

Will doesn’t even think of resisting as his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, like he has no intention of ever letting go. When you pull away, his eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open. He looks downright angelic—absolutely gorgeous.

“We should probably get up,” you say, teasing him—testing him. Your fingers find solace in the messy brown curls on top of his head, tugging gently.

“In a little while… Just a few more seconds…” Will moans out, already lost in the sensuality of your touch. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes you in like a drug.

Your fingers run through his hair again, and he can’t help but bite down on your flesh softly. You whimper, and it spurs him on to continue, so he soothes your skin with the tip of his tongue, tasting you, before he kisses you again. There’s no thinking, no reason in his head that tells him he should stop—there’s only longing. He’s waited so long to be able to do this again, he can’t deprive himself of this—he can’t deprive himself of you .

With a hand on his diaphragm, you push him away gently, and he drops back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, and you wonder how did you manage to get through a single day without this man by your side.

“Will, I have a meeting with Crawford in two hours,” you protest, but your tone is unserious. He knows you don’t really care whether you should show up or not.

“You do?” Will raises an eyebrow, his hair in disorder, his breaths shallow and fast. It’s almost as if he’s been pulled back into reality, a reality in which other people and responsibilities unfortunately do exist. “Do you really have to leave so soon?” His tone is hopeful, a touch of vulnerability in his eyes—maybe even desperation.

You really want to say “no” and stay right where you are, straddling his hips—preferably with fewer clothes on. But the mystery of your sister’s murder still occupies the back of your mind—the deepest and darkest cranny of it. It’ll eat you alive if you don’t find out what exactly transpired.

“I hoped you’d come with me,” you propose, leaning down to kiss his forehead in consolation. That’s all you can offer him, and you hope it’s enough.

“I thought we’d spend the day together,” he confesses. The raspiness of his voice makes you inhale sharply. “I just…  I don’t want you to leave.”

Will looks at you— really looks at you—and takes your hand in his, fingers entwining with yours. You can feel how tight his grip is, feel how important this is to him. It’s a sentiment you share—you missed him too, and you don’t know how many times you’ll be able to do this again. What if you were the Chesapeake Ripper’s next victim—his main course?

“And we will. I just need to talk to Jack, and then I’m all yours. I promise,” you extend your pinky toward him, raising your brow in challenge. 

Will looks at your pinky, then back at you, before he extends his own in return. They curl together, and his face turns somber. He’s aware that if he looses sight of you today even for a second, he’ll panic. He absolutely dreads it.

“I’m holding you to that promise,” he says, his voice suddenly serious. But he doesn’t let go of your pinky, it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to risk letting you escape again. The grimace he sends you is a poor excuse of a smile.

“Are you ready?” he asks after a minute of silence.

Your eyes never stray from his face as your eyebrows scrunch in pretend-confusion. You look down at your pajama-clad body and your position straddling Will. “Uhh, can’t say that I am.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

You know it’s not, and that your attempt at diverting his attention elsewhere wouldn’t work. He’s the last person that could ever fall for it. You might know Will more than he even knows himself, but it doesn’t mean this goes only one way.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You shake your head and pull away from him, goosebumps rising over your arms the second you get up from the bed. You want to—you just can’t.

The blanket that was previously draped over your shoulders disappeared somewhere when you were busy kissing Will and despite the burning fireplace, the chill of the room still makes you shiver. You cross your arms over your chest, shuddering.

Will doesn’t push, he never did and he never will. The moment your feet clad in fluffy socks hit the floor, he’s reaching out to take your hand in his. He knows exactly what you need and even though he didn’t take your bait, he pretends he did.

“You always look beautiful,” he says softly, raising your hand to his face, so he can kiss your knuckles. “But I guess clothes that aren’t a pajama would be a little bit more appropriate for a meeting with Jack.” 

“Yeah,” you agree with a grateful smile—your voice almost a whimper. He understands you. He knows you.

“I already let the dogs out,” you inform him when his gaze strays toward his furry friends asleep by the burning fireplace. “Should I make breakfast?”

The man nods and watches as you cross the room toward the kitchen. He just can’t help but notice your figure—your curves, the way your body moves, the way your hair flows with every step you take. You must be conscious of his staring—you’ve always been aware of your surroundings, he taught you the importance of it—and yet you don’t react. You don’t ask him to stop, either.

“I can only offer you grilled cheese and eggs,” you say, pulling your hair up into a loose bun on top of your head. “We should probably stop by a grocery store on our way back.”

“Grilled cheese and eggs will do fine...” Will’s mouth quirks up into a smile.

He reaches for his clothes, that lay draped over one of the armchairs. Eyes glued to the muscles of his back as he pulls the shirt over his head, you retreat into the kitchen after a second of hesitation. Will joins you soon after.

You offer him a bowl and a fork to whisk the eggs as you look through the cupboards to find a pan or maybe even a toaster if you’re lucky. The man starts to whisk the eggs, a contemplation playing over his face as he watches you rummage through the cabinets.

It’s only now, in the morning light, that Will notices the difference in your behavior from when he saw you last. You are more confident, your movements more fluid and graceful. Your hair shines with silk, and your skin glistens with health. He is reminded again that you’re no longer the curious-eyed girl he met at work—you’re a woman now, aware of your knowledge, charm and the cruelty of the world. That light inside you might be gone, but there’s a new one taking its place—one he doesn’t recognize yet. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Will peers at you, his fingers on the handle of the pan as he heats it up. He looks more serious now, and that makes you wonder what’s on his mind.

“What was your life like once you left? I mean, I thought I knew, but seeing you now…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the right words. He isn’t good at it. It was far easier when he tried to prepare the questions in his mind at night, when it still felt like a fantasy or a dream.

Reminded of the reason you found yourself back in Wolf Trap, Virginia—your expression turns somber. You blink away the tears gathering in your eyes and turn to face him. The deep breath you take before speaking doesn’t give you the relief you hoped for.

“I didn’t have to watch dead bodies every day anymore. Turns out, this kind of detox does wonders for your health.” You rest your back against the cold counter, shutting the final cupboard after retrieving a few jars of spices from it. “I thought I’d be miserable going into witness protection. I missed you so much. You were all I could think about for the first few years, but then I just shut it all out. The past, I mean. I had to start my life from scratch.”

Will winces at your words—at the idea of you being without him, out of his reach. “Shut it all out?” he echoes softly. “You made me fall in love with you, and then you disappeared without saying anything,” the words pour out of him, and you can hear pain and anger in his tone, but there’s something else too. Something he’s fighting to keep hidden. “I... You never said why you left. But I couldn’t be mad at you. I just wanted you to be safe.”

“I couldn’t, Will. They didn’t let me say my goodbyes. It’s a miracle I even managed to convince Jack to tell you.” You sigh deeply, raising your hand to stroke his cheek, but the pained look in his eyes makes you drop your arm before it makes contact with his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“You could have at least written…” Will looks away, ashamed for even asking. He knew he couldn’t fault you for it, it wasn’t your fault, and yet, here he was, feeling hurt. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if you were safe, if you were even still…” his voice trails off at the end. He wasn’t even sure if you were still alive—if you still loved him, still wanted to be with him. He thought about the worst.

You don’t need him to verbalize it. You understand him without words. “I never stopped loving you, Will. There were men in my life, but they were just... strangers. I didn’t want any of them to stay.”

The idea of you being with someone else makes Will feel queasy, but he tries to dismiss the thought when he sees the love in your gaze. He had something with Alana, or at least he thought he did. She wasn’t a woman of his dreams, but she was the first one that didn’t give up on him for a long time—until she did. Will wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be with her, but she showed interest, and it’s been so long since you disappeared, he just accepted it.  Now the thought of touching someone other than you makes him want to wash his hands for hours, as if that would erase what he did.

Will moves a bit closer to you, so close that he can feel your warmth. “I didn’t stop thinking about you either,” he admits. “Every day you were the first thing on my mind. When I woke up, when I went to sleep…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’d lay there, and all I could think was, ‘where are you?’ and ‘why did you leave me?’ It was torture.” Will shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the painful memories. 

You move a little closer, and he raises his hand to rest it gently on your arm. You might as well be the only two people on the entire planet—nothing else matters at this moment but you and him.

“I will never do that again. I promise you that. I will never disappear again.”

Will pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in.  He doesn’t want to think about this anymore. He shouldn’t have to because you’re back, and you promised him you’ll never leave him again. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

He doesn’t want to be without you, doesn’t want to feel the void in his heart again. Even though he knows you could never hurt him willingly, he doesn’t want to go back to that empty place, doesn’t ever want to doubt it again. 

You’d stay like that forever if you could, but the smell of burning eggs makes Will move away swiftly. He takes the pan off the heat and stirs them. 

“Looks edible to me,” you mumble, looking over his shoulder. You’re still moved by his confession—by his desperate embrace.

Will doesn’t respond, instead focusing on ensuring the eggs are indeed edible. When they are finished, he grabs two plates from the cupboard over your head, then serves them.

You catch a glimpse of a smile—the tiniest glimpse—and you know he wants to be happy, wants to find peace and happiness in the present—but it’s clear the past has cast a shadow over him. Your presence has improved his mood considerably, and yet you’re aware of that shadow every time he looks away from you. When he leaves the kitchen, you almost let out a whimper. You feel guilty that you weren’t there when he needed you.

The room is quiet when you join him at the table, a plate with a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches on it. You sit across from Will and send him a reassuring grimace—it was intended to be a smile—placing the food in the middle of the table.

“You’re far happier than I expected you to be after what happened,” Will admits, shuffling the eggs around his plate mindlessly. He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. 

But it’s too late to take them back as you look at him with wide eyes, fork dropping onto the wooden table with a clatter. He looks down at his food, suddenly feeling the weight of his actions—how the air turns heavy around the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to...” Will shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he just tried to insinuate. His mind is a mess, and he can’t find the right way to change the topic.

You cut him off with a deep sigh, resting your elbows on the table as you look anywhere but at him. “I shut it off. I don’t want to remember it for now. If I want to survive this, I had to shut it off. If I think of her for even a second too long, I’ll break down. I can’t do that.”

It pains Will that you don’t allow yourself to even say your sister’s name out loud after what happened. He nods, his eyes on you. It’s hard for him to process the idea that you can just... push away those feelings, like they don’t even exist. After all, he’s the opposite, he can’t stop himself from feeling. You’ve always told him that the reason you two are so different is because you shut yourself off while he feels everything. 

Will understands your decision, though—not wanting to deal with the pain, not wanting to face it, not yet.

“You can talk to me about it if you want, you know,” the man offers gently.

“I know,” you acknowledge him, finishing the conversation. You lift your fork back and eat your breakfast, acting like nothing ever happened. It’s reassuring for some reason.

Will watches you eat, his eyes wandering over you, admiring the shape of your lips as you speak, the soft lines of your eyelashes. He’s happy to see you eat, happy to see that your body is no longer tense and stiff—a reaction to what he said. You seem to be slowly relaxing back into your natural movement.

You look up at him, and a small smile crosses your lips—almost like you’re reading his thoughts. Before he can protest—he should be paying attention to his food—you catch his gaze and ask him, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Will doesn’t deny it, but he takes time to answer you. “Just admiring you,” he says softly. “You seem different… Like yourself.” You’re still incredibly beautiful in his eyes. But you’re so relaxed, your body language more open than ever. You are different—maybe even better than before.

Squinting your eyes at the words, you call him out on his bullshit, but your tone is unserious. “You’re saying it, but those are not your thoughts. I was far quieter back then. I can’t imagine that my loud mouth is something familiar to you.”

Will grins, but he knows there’s still a lot of truth in what he said. 

“No…” he says, shaking his head with a small laugh. “I’m happy you’re finally speaking your mind. Back then, you didn’t speak enough. Now I feel like I’ll need to remind you that silence can be comfortable, too.”

You observe him quietly, surprised he doesn’t relate to his description of the new you . This is probably the most open he’s been since the day you’ve met. You’re glad. You’ve lost almost ten years—now, it’s time to catch up, to piece everything together.

“But now… I’m not sure if I can handle your mouth. I feel like I’m going to get a migraine if I keep listening,” he changes the tone of the conversation, and you look at him in disbelief.

“Will!” You feign feeling hurt, clutching at your heart and blinking fast.

Will rolls his eyes, and that little smile of his returns. His gaze drifts over your fingers, your arms. And he’s so tempted to reach out and touch them, feel the softness of your skin. Or grab your arms and pull you closer.

You finish the breakfast in a playful mood, not touching any topics concerning your past after the mention of your sister. Will can’t help but marvel at your transformation. As he watched you eat, laugh, chat and make quips like you’re not afraid of being yourself, he can’t help but think that maybe your disappearance was the best thing that could have happened to you.

He wants to enjoy you as you are now, as you always were, and he looks down at his plate, his thoughts wandering back to everything you said. Will is still curious, he wants to know everything there is to know about the years you were away from each other, but he leaves you be for now. 

Once you’re done, Will offers to wash up the plates and lets you get ready. You agree after a little playful resistance.

When you find him again, you’re wearing beige linen dress pants, white lace button-up and your favorite coat—business casual at its best. Will takes comfort in the fact that at least your style didn’t change much.

The outfit looks fantastic on you. You always knew how to dress to emphasize your curves, the smooth, elegant lines of your figure. The white button-down hugs your body, emphasizing your breasts and waist, and the long line of the coat highlights the length of your legs. It’s feminine, a bit provocative, and yet there’s a sense of modesty in your outfit—you’re not trying to prove anything to anyone. In a way, you’re just being your normal self. The real you.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says softly, his eyes fixed on you.

You acknowledge the compliment by walking up to him and standing on your tip toes to kiss the slope of his nose. 

Will smiles, and gently cups your face. Your lips are so close. Your skin is soft, your smell still drives him crazy, and you are so, so beautiful.

You feel his fingers gently caress your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, and then your arms… and as you move in closer, he moves with you, his fingers wrapping around your back. Your bodies are pressed so close together. He can feel the warmth of your skin. He looks at you—at the smooth skin of your neck, at the soft shape of your lips, and then—his mouth is on yours.

You will be late—you know that, yet you can’t bring yourself to keep all the affections at bay. And this is another reason why Will has always been in love with you. You’re not afraid to chase what you want, to seize something even though you know you shouldn’t. He loves that about you, and he loves kissing you. Your lips are so soft, and the sound of your shallow breaths sends a rush of excitement through his body.

The doorbell rings.

And Will just about loses it. You smile to yourself, enjoying this game you’re playing. You feel how much he wants you right now, how much he wants to lose himself in you, and you can’t blame him.

The bell rings again, louder now.

[muddyorbsblr]

the final Lady Sharpe part 7: the air of finality

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: The time has come for you to head back into the city and finish the plan you'd agreed on with Thomas your first night at Allerdale Hall

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: married idiots in love angst; steamy (?) makeout session; mentions of Lucille; mentions of divorce [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Thomas & Reader are married (for now)

This is nice, Thomas mused, smiling to himself as he opened his eyes to the bedroom awash with the morning light and seeing you still sleeping peacefully in his arms. He lightly ran his fingers through your hair, the motion causing your sleeping form to stir and hold him a bit tighter, a sigh escaping your lips as you positioned your head to rest on his chest.

This was the picture of tranquility as far as he was concerned. All he needed moving forward was knowing that your face would be the first thing he sees in the morning, and the last before he sleeps in the night.

But what put his heart at a state of unease was the knowledge that this tranquility would not last forever. Your wounds from your altercation with Lucille during her arrest were all but fully healed, mercifully none of them quite as severe as to lead to a scar.

I want you to stay, the words defiantly tried to fight out from the back of his throat, weighing his tongue down like lead. What use is this freedom if I don't get to spend it with the woman I love?

He couldn't help but to place a tender kiss to the crown of your head, his fingers grasping at the fabric of your nightgown desperately. The motion caused you to stir again, this time a grumble slipping through your lips. "Good morning," you mumbled, almost incoherently.

"Good morning, wife," he said softly, reverently. Savoring the word on his tongue for fear it may be his last chance to call you that.

"l think I'll be going into town today," you said, moving out of his embrace and stretching your arms out. "I've finished with penning Edith's novel some days ago, and her spirit passed on when I swore to her I'd have the book published. That shall be my task for today. Along with some…other errands."

You forced a smile on your face as you reached for his hand. Had you not been so focused on masking your own emotions, if you listened closely you might have heard the sound of the baronet's heart splintering at your words.

No, it's too soon, the words danced on the tip of his tongue. Instead the words that escaped him were, "Let me make you some breakfast then, darling." He could barely say the next words aloud. "Before you go."

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that Thomas was trying to stall you from leaving the manor and going into the city. Starting with the more elaborate than usual breakfast he'd prepared of breakfast sausage and scrambled eggs and even jam on toast, and then suggesting that you two have your tea in the library.

That was where you two were now, seated together on a chaise as your husband held you close to him, hand skimming aimlessly up and down your arm while he read aloud the lines of Shakespeare's sixty-fifth sonnet. And while it was all too tempting to allow yourself to succumb into the comfort of his embrace, and the familiarity of his company, the somber truth was that this comfort and familiarity was simply not yours to keep.

"O, none, unless this miracle have might,

That in black ink my love may still shine bright," he finished softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of your head before turning the page.

A quick look out the window had a pit of dread sinking into your stomach once again. If you were being truthful with yourself, it hadn't left since woke earlier this morning. But now, on this uncharacteristically and almost offensively sunny day, you could see that the sun was steadily reaching its highest point.

"That really was lovely, Thomas." You forced yourself to give him a small smile as you finished off your tea. "I should get going…if I want to catch the printing press before the day ends."

The smile that illuminated his beautiful face dropped at your words, and you wanted nothing more than to take them back. To know what the right words were to get him to smile at you and brighten the room once more. Power through this, Y/N, you told yourself. He will smile again soon enough, and that should be worth all this heartache. Even if you will not be the one to see it after today.

"Very well," he said, his voice suddenly strained before he cleared his throat. He offered his hand to you, helping you stand. "I shall see you to the door." His face was stone cold as he walked you to the massive double doors of the manor.

Despite your effort to think of quite literally anything else, your mind ruefully wandered to your first night here in Allerdale Hall just barely over a month ago. When he lifted you into his arms to bring you across the threshold. At no point in your entire endeavor did you think that this part would cause such a heavy ache in your heart. That you would have to dig deep into your soul to find the strength to walk away from the man that you wanted nothing more than to call your husband.

"This shouldn't take too long, hopefully I'll be back before to--" Your words were cut short, dying with a faint squeak when Thomas pulled you into his arms and laid his lips on yours in a fevered kiss.

You allowed yourself this last indulgence, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of his lips moving against yours. Of him wrapping his arm around you to pull you in closer, hold you tighter. Of the way your entire body weakened when he licked into your mouth and his tongue tangled with yours, your muffled moans the only sound that filled the vast emptiness of the manor.

"Hurry back, wife," he said shakily when he pulled away, pressing a final soft kiss to your lips before he loosened his hold on you. He didn't take his eyes off you until the carriage began to move, offering you a somber smile and a wave before walked back into the house, closing the door behind him.

Only when Allerdale Hall was so far from  your view did you allow the tears to roll down your face, crying into your sleeve knowing that you'd shared your final kiss with your husband. And by the day's end you would no longer be Y/N Sharpe.

Had you given in to the urge to turn back around and return to the manor, you would have found the baronet in a similar state, sat on the floor and crying his heart out, pleading with any god that would listen that there had to be another way.

"All you have to do now is sign this affidavit that according to your findings from your investigation independent of Scotland Yard's, the evidence you found that could incriminate Thomas Sharpe was circumstantial and negligible," Jeffries told you, handing you over a thin bundle of papers that summarized the nearly four weeks that you spent in Allerdale Hall. It almost felt surreal seeing that time condensed into such impersonal words.

He handed you a pen, one of the secretaries at the station walking over and giving him another stack of papers. A lump formed in your throat at the sight. You knew exactly what those papers held. And once you'd signed your affidavit, that stack was slid over the desk in your direction.

"And the dissolution of marriage documents," he said, visibly pausing when he made a motion to place a hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure about this, Y/N? That this is something that you both want? He seemed rather--"

"It's what's best, Jeffries," you cut him off. "I didn't help him get out of one prison just to keep him in another."

Before you could even second guess yourself, you took the papers from the detective and scribbled your signature on the last page. You wouldn't be able to sign it in front of Thomas; you knew yourself far too well.

"So that's that then," you said a touch too loudly, forcing a smile onto your face as you tied the papers together with a long string of twine before shoving them back in the envelope. You smoothed your hands over your dress as you stood before holding your hand out to Jeffries. "Thank you. I should be available again for any new cases that may arise sometime next week."

"Sharpe--I mean, Y/L/N," he corrected himself. "I say this as a friend, you faced off against a woman who I can only refer to as one of the most horrifying, hedonistic, and sadistic criminals that any one of us would have ever had the displeasure of knowing. And you evaded her poisons and her cleaver for the better part of a month while you put together and executed a plan that can now put her away for the rest of your natural life. You deserve some time off. Allow yourself to unwind before jumping back into the thick of it with the rest of us."

You knew that he meant well, but something that he would likely never understand was the simple yet somber truth that you needed to get back into the overwhelming load from taking on a new case. Otherwise you would be left alone in your apartment in the city, with nothing but the memories of the nights with Thomas to keep you company.

Especially your memories of your night together at the post office.

"I'll think about it," you told him, shaking the detective's hand before heading out of the station.

The officers that were taking down the case files for Edith and Enola and the rest of Lucille's victims stopped when you drew closer, offering you pats on the back and their congratulations for closing the cases. And for finally being able to give the families that mourned them the closure that they surely needed to move forward.

Your next stop was fairly straightforward. The bank. To deposit a token of gratitude extended to you by the family of your most recent solve from before you married Thomas. With the amount being added to your account, you briefly contemplated taking that time off that Jeffries had mentioned, but brushing off the idea just as quickly.

Afterward you purchased two bouquets of tulips and headed to the cemetery. It took a while to find them, but eventually you landed at the graves of Edith Cushing and Enola Sciotti.

"I've come to give you my thanks," you said, hoping that wherever their souls had gone since leaving Allerdale Hall, they could still somehow hear you. "If it weren't for your help, I'd probably be a ghost, too. And we'd all be stuck in that manor.

"Wherever you've found yourselves, I hope it's someplace breathtakingly beautiful and we can all see each other again one day. Just…maybe not so soon. Who knows? Maybe there's life left for me to live. Somewhere else…with someone else."

You choked on those last words, the pit in your stomach worsening knowing that in just a few short hours you'd have to stand and watch as Thomas signed his name on those forsaken papers. And you'd have to hold back every impulsive thought to stop him.

"I suppose since it's only us here, I can allow myself the indulgence of a touch of honesty," you spoke into the foggy London air, letting the tears roll down your cheeks with no thought of wiping them away. "I don't want to leave him, and I know that's selfish because that just means I'm keeping him hostage in my own twisted way. But I love him, and that's why I want to keep him. But it's also because I love him that I can't--No, I shouldn't be selfish."

Your heart ached as you finally confessed, saying the words you'd been protecting so fiercely for weeks now.

"But he deserves to have his life back," you said with a sniffle, standing up and resting your hand on Edith's tombstone. "And you deserve peace, my friend. I'll be seeing you…someday."

You righted yourself back up to your feet, smoothing your hands over your dress again before you called for a carriage back to your apartment in the city. There would be much tidying up to do considering how long you'd been away, and it was best to get to that before you returned there again with a shattered heart.

The divorce documents weighed heavily in both your satchel and your heart. Would you even be able to watch as Thomas signed his name next to yours? Could you bear to see the smile of relief on his heartbreakingly handsome features once he regained his freedom?

Ultimately you knew that you couldn't, but that you must. And you must do it without a word of protest, and with a smile on your face. This was to be a day for celebration for the baronet. You refused to be the one to put a dampener on the mood.

Walking down the familiar halls of your old apartment building nearly felt as if the gods were taunting you. Tutting and tsk'ing away as they watched you return to where you began, seeing the adventure you'd found yourself on and foolishly falling in love with the very man you had to bid farewell to in a few short hours.

This place that had once been a safe haven, somewhere for you to rest and recuperate and put your blades away, now reminded you of your twisted failure in life. Finally finding what you'd thought to be love only to be brought into the path of that wretched Lucille. And then for the events to unfold the way they had, leading to what may very well be the biggest arrest of your career.

You'd put away what both you and your colleagues at Scotland Yard could objectively classify as a serial killer. Put an end to the maniacal Sharpe's ways for the rest of her natural life. Brought closure to four grieving families.

In truth, you should be celebrating this win as well. And all you could think about was your impending goodbye.

An unfamiliar shape by your door caught your attention, finally looking up and nearly dropping your keys from the complete shock to your entire body once you'd gotten close enough to realize who was at your door.

"Thomas?"

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! Gonna kick off the year with hopefully a good productivity kick that'll set the scene for the rest of 2025 because goddammit there's so much I wanna write, there's like 4 more things in my current writing queue (including something from RTC, something from OLTK, the start of 'back to you' FINALLY, and the smutty conclusion to 'feels like mine')…and then there's even more after that 🫡

Also back in 2022 when I planned out the story points for this series, I really did intend to leave this chapter at that cliffhanger and I fully intended to deliver…and hopefully the final (?) chapter will find its way into my noggin soon 🫠

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814

[wreckless-tempestry]

“It made me think of you.”

Year of the OTP 2025 — February Prompt

Characters: Finn x Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

AN: Thank you for all the positive feedback on my last post! Reading your comments is truly my source of dopamine. I’ve decided to write these two pretty ambiguously since I want to be accommodating for any peeps who think these two are just a rad non-romantic pairing. I didn’t fully proofread this as i was in a bit of a hurry to finish, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless! Word count is around 6.3k.

I SWEAR GOOB ISN’T THE STEREOTYPICAL ONE-DIMENSIONAL CLUELESS AND INNOCENT CHARACTER… I plan to give him some more screen time (wordtime?) in the future. Gigi also uses they/them pronouns because i said so.

Part 1 part 3

A little over a month had passed since the fateful night of the New Year’s dance, and already some new streamers were beginning to adorn the hallways of Gardenview – the shimmering whites of January being replaced with the ominously familiar shades of crimson and pink. And the hearts… oh Lord, the hearts, they were everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling, you name it. Hell, there were even those cliche heart boxes with all the shitty chocolates in them that seemed to always end up in the possession of at least a couple Toons. I love you this, I love you that, on and on and on.

This might be Shrimpo’s most hated holiday for real.

It surprised no one that Shrimpo wasn't particularly festive, but if he had to choose just one holiday to wipe off the face of the Earth, he's almost certain that he wouldn't hesitate to choose Valentine’s Day. It was so… weird. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to make an entire day about love? He already had to suffer through a truckload of other people’s feelings every day he spent in this hell; twenty-four hours reserved for the mushiest of all emotions felt like his own special-made nightmare. 

From his spot slouched against his bedframe, Shrimpo glared at the calendar on the wall across from him, on which he had already scratched a rather aggressive line in red pen on the box with the number 13. He had a couple more hours to brace himself before the dreaded day arrived, before he’d be subjected to all the heart eyes and sentiments and — Uurgh. 

In an attempt to keep the looming dread at bay, Shrimpo’s gaze flicked upward a little, focusing on the picture displayed on the calendar’s upper page. Two koi fish looked back at him, red and white scales contrasting greatly with the vibrant blue waters that served as the background. Kōhaku, he thought, the word popping into his head with little provocation. His clenched fist loosened a tad.

He remembered when Finn had run up to him a couple days after the New Year’s party, waving that calendar above his head. 

“Hey hey hey, Shrimpo! I got something for ya!” 

Shrimpo had turned around, blinked once at the rapidly approaching fishbowl, and barked out an “Eh? What?!”

”Look, it’s a calendar!” Finn slowed to a stop in front of him, holding out the calendar in question. “Brightney let me have some, said she’s already got too many of ‘em. We could be matching!” 

‘Finn wants to… give me something.’ Shrimpo gave the cover a critical once-over. It depicted a shoal of some fish he could not identify, with the words ‘Aquatic Life’ printed boldly near the top. ‘Figures.’

“…Lemme see.” He extended one hand, and Finn gladly let him take hold of it. He briskly flipped backwards through the pages within, getting glimpses of various fish whose names were foreign to him. A flash of red and white caught his eye, and his thumb stilled momentarily on top of the U in ‘February’.

Noticing the page he had paused on, Finn chirruped, “Those’re koi! Pretty, aren’t they? They’re REEL popular in Japan especially.”

Shrimpo shot Finn a stink-eye at the pun, but did not retort with an insult right away, which Finn chose to interpret as a sign to continue. “This particular type here is called kōhaku koi, because of their red and white markings. They’re one of the three most well-known varieties of koi, actually! The other two are called the Sanke and Showa varieties; both have black scales as well as red and white, but the Showa is primarily black with white and red markings, while the Sanke is like the Kōhaku but with some black marki—”

”I’ll take it.” Shrimpo could sense a full-blown yap-fest on the horizon, and there were only so many hours he wanted to spend standing in the hallway. His evasion tactic seemed to be successful, as Finn’s expression brightened and he bounced jubilantly on the soles of his feet a couple times. 

“Oh, yippee! You’ll love it, I swear! They even put in a couple facts about the fish in there too, haha!”

‘Which you already know by heart, I’m sure.’ Shrimpo watched as Finn raced off down the hallway once more, almost bumping into Poppy with a rushed “sorry!” and then he was gone. The calendar remained clutched in his hand, open to the page with the damn koi.

Slowly, he turned and began shuffling in the opposite direction, towards the dorms. He held the gift tight against his chest, glancing down occasionally to ensure it didn’t ruffle or tear.

Kōhaku, huh…

He wondered if he had any thumbtacks stored away somewhere.

About a month had passed since that encounter, and Shrimpo still did not know where they stood with each other. In the interactions they had since the dance, Finn had remained just as friendly and pun-prone as ever – but what sort of friendly was it? Was it just regular friendly, or ‘I'm trying not to cringe at the sight of you so I'm doing my best to act normal’ friendly, or… or… or what!? There might as well be a thousand types of friendly that a Toon could be, how the hell was Shrimpo supposed to know!

This would all be so much easier if Finn just let himself be hated like everyone else.

Groaning in agitation, Shrimpo rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. His brain was not being cooperative today. Why did every train of thought have to become weird and confusing? “I hate brains,” he declared into the smothering fabric.

A knock on the door called for his salvation (or doom, depending on the circumstance). “Who’s it?” he yelled, lifting his head up to speak. 

A familiar voice answered him. Shrimpo decided he would have been better off pretending he wasn’t home. He reluctantly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed the doorknob, hesitated, then flung the door open.

“Heya, bud! How goes it?” Finn seemed to have an extra bounce in his step today, almost exaggeratedly so. Some snippets of red paper had gotten into his head somehow, and were now drifting placidly near the bottom of the bowl.

Shrimpo quirked one dubious brow. “What’s up with you?” he replied instead.

“Hm? Nothin’, nothin’, I’m just… Excited! Yeah, excited for tomorrow.”

So Finn was one of those people, huh… Figures. He looked like the type who’d be all for a day of getting all emotional and tenderhearted. Shrimpo’s expression did not change. “And you’re here because…?”

“Um… just cause! I felt like visiting you, keheheh.”

“Try again,” he deadpanned, doing his best to ignore the peculiar swelling feeling in his chest if he dared entertain Finn’s words – which were not true at all, obviously. Surely.

A brief pause, before Finn accepted defeat and loosened his shoulders, his expression turning sheepish. “Um… can you help me get the, ah, the paper? Out of my head? I was doing, uh… something… with Scraps and Goob, and it got in there one way or another. I can’t reach that far in.”

“All this red shit? Why the hell are you asking me?” 

“Well, Scraps couldn’t, cause, uh, she’s made of paper… and I’m pretty sure Goob just ended up getting more of it in there. Plus, his hands aren’t necessarily the best for more, ah… delicate jobs. You’re the first person I thought of.”

The aforementioned details Shrimpo could not deny; Goob could probably crack Finn’s head in half without even trying. For whatever reason, the thought of such a thing brought with it an odd sense of discomfort.

‘The first person he thought of…’

“...Fine, fine,” Shrimpo sighed irritatedly, grabbing Finn by the arm and yanking him forward. “Just hurry up and get in here.” 

Finn stumbled into Shrimpo’s room, glancing around with curiosity – though not much had changed since his last visit on the evening of the dance. ‘Why the hell does the damn dance keep coming up?’ The fishbowl’s gaze landed at last on the calendar, and his grin rebounded with double the energy. 

“Hey, you did put it up! I knew you’d like it!” His eyes shone like the sun.

“Mm,” Shrimpo replied curtly, grabbing the stool next to his closet and dragging it over next to Finn. He stepped up onto the platform and proceeded to grab the rim of Finn’s head with one hand, to the surprised yelp of the boy in question. “Hold still,” he ordered before plunging his other hand into the water, keeping his eye on the sides of the bowl to pinpoint the location of the paper fragments.  

“Ack – careful, Barnaby Wilikers is in there!” 

“You’re aware that ‘Barnaby’ isn’t a live fish, right?” Shrimpo snorted.

“He’s my emotional support animal, leave him alone,” Finn retorted with a mock pout, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” 

The water in Finn’s head was surprisingly warm, Shrimpo mused as he managed to catch a couple pieces of paper in his palm. He wondered where he got it from. A sink, perhaps? Did his head magically procure water? Shrimpo considered asking, and decided against it for fear of seeming ignorant.

“Um, so…” It was Finn who broke the silence, while Shrimpo stubbornly chased after the last stray paper piece. “You doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” His voice gained a faint lilt to it. “Heh, got a special someone you’re getting something for?” 

The water felt a tad warmer now. Peculiar.

“Are you kidding? Please. I hate everyone in this dump.” Shrimpo paused his paper-fishing for a moment and laughed dryly. “You couldn’t pay me to get chocolates or some shit for anybody. I don’t even eat that crap.” If ever he took a chocolate bar when on one of the expeditions down below, it was solely to keep it from everyone else.

“Oh. Alright. Guess that’s… pretty on-brand for you. Hah.” 

Shrimpo couldn’t see Finn’s face all that well from his current angle, but he sounded… well, not as sunshiny as before, somehow. Before Shrimpo could wonder why, he at last captured the final snippet of paper, and he triumphantly raised his closed fist out of the tank.

“SHRIMPO WINS!” he shouted, whilst some water splashed outward to land on the floor from the sudden movement. Shrimpo pretended to pay it no mind, hopping down from the stool and putting his fists on his hips. “You can thank me later.”

Finn gave Shrimpo a somewhat tight smile, taking a step towards the door. “Thanks, Shrimpo,” he replied, eyes fixated on a spot behind Shrimpo’s shoulder. “You’re…” he paused, then shook his head. 

“Nevermind. Bad joke.” 

He turned away, and out into the hallway he went.

Shrimpo stared at the empty space where Finn had stood a moment ago. Bad joke? Bad joke? Not once had Finn been so self-aware as to recognize his puns were horrendous; something truly problematic must have happened. Had Shrimpo said something wrong? Had he messed up Finn’s brain by accident? Did Finn even have a brain?? 

Shrimpo racked his own for any idea as to what might have caused Finn’s change of heart, and rapidly came to the conclusion that he hadn’t a clue. He loathed to admit any weakness, but it was most undeniably true that Shrimpo was not well versed in social cues. Could you blame him? – he never would have thought in a million years that he’d have to know any. He prided himself on dancing to the beat of his own drum no matter how problematic this deemed him, but it would seem that this was one of the few occasions where doing so would not benefit him. 

Why was that? Why could he not push Finn’s feelings aside the way he did everyone else’s?

Okay. Revisit the facts. Finn had asked him if he had plans for tomorrow, then if he had somebody he was getting a gift for (ew). Shrimpo had denied this, obviously. And then… had Finn gotten mad? Disappointed? Why? There was literally no reason for him to get upset that Shrimpo didn’t have someone he was going to spend the day with… unless he was some major empath or something and felt bad. Shrimpo couldn’t relate, but even if it were true Finn’s reaction still seemed a bit unusual.

He was getting nowhere fast, and what little patience he had was wearing thin. He had to know the answer to his query as soon as he was able; it was already eating away at his chest and making his brain prickle uncomfortably. 

Despite his contempt towards the mere idea of it, he might have to rely on… other sources, more socially adept ones. He could not believe that one stupid fishbowl was getting him so out of sorts, making him resort to such desperate measures. 

Stupid Finn. Stupid social cues and stupid paper strips. 

Emitting another agitated groan, Shrimpo aggressively shook his hands in front of him for a moment in frustration as he began stomping towards his door. His room was doing that dumb thing again where it started feeling too small, signaling his cue to head out. 

He paused briefly as he stood parallel to his punching bag, before whirling to face it and throwing a singular wild punch. His fist landed a bit off-center, but it was enough to make the bag bump against the back wall. Unsatisfied, he grabbed the frame and heaved it to the side with a grunt, making it topple over onto the floor with a loud clatter. Only then did he cross the threshold into the hall.

Like some specter of doom, Shrimpo stood still in the empty hallway, fists at his side and an ireful gaze fixed firmly on the wall in front of him. Where should he go? He hadn’t actually formed much of a plan about which ‘outside sources’ he planned to use. 

Other Toons were out of the question, forget Finn himself. He refused to ask for assistance from anyone; he’d already spent too much of his time purposely antagonizing them, no way was he going to wreck all his hard effort now. So then what else was there?

The library – yes, of course, the library. He’d never paid it a visit once during his entire stay, but allegedly libraries had books about pretty much everything, so surely he would be able to find something that could help him out some. Didn’t they have computers in there sometimes? That could also work. He still had his reservations about relying on anything other than himself – and God forbid he ran into Brightney’s book club –  but modern problems required modern solutions or whatever. He’d just have to be extra careful not to run into anybody.

Now to actually find where it was. He swiveled on his heel to face the hallway to his left, fully prepared to spend a good amount of his evening traversing through Gardenview. ‘Alright, I’ll try upstairs first, and then–’

“Whoa, look who it is!”

A cheery voice behind him shattered his hopes of remaining undetected. For half a second he wondered if Finn had come back, but a glimpse behind him confirmed something much worse.

“Don’t see you out and about much!” A couple yards away, Goob waved one absurdly large hand at him from his doorway, sporting that moronic smile that Shrimpo had come to despise. “Where ya off to?”

“None of your business!” Shrimpo snapped. Geez, could this guy take a hint? Shrimpo had lost count of how many times he had vowed his eternal hatred towards Goob, and the number of times those vows had been all but forgotten an hour later. In a sense he was almost the same as Finn, except a whole lot dumber. Finn at least acknowledged Shrimpo’s spiteful claims and simply chose to pay them little mind; Goob just straight up didn't seem to remember.

“Uh, okay! Anyway, I have something for ya, so come over here real quick!” Goob’s multicolored hands were already outstretched and making their way towards Shrimpo at an alarmingly high speed. Oh no. Surely he wasn’t going to—

Shrimpo was not proud of the high-pitched screech that left his mouth as he was grabbed by his sides.  All of a sudden he was being half-dragged across the floor towards the ginger shitbrain that seemed to have absolutely no concept of personal space. In mere moments he found himself on his ass in front of Goob, whose smile had not changed since the beginning of their encounter.

“Wh— LET GO OF ME!” Shrimpo scrambled away from the offending hands, which let go of him without complaint. Already could feel the skin where he had been grabbed tingling, a sensation not unlike that of an ant colony crawling about. Jaw clenched, he clutched his sides tightly with his arms and glared wrathfully up at his attacker, who looked down at him with an expression that now displayed blank confusion. 

“Goob?” A feminine voice called from inside the boy’s room. “Who’s out there?” Light footsteps could be heard getting closer, and within the next couple of seconds Scraps poked her head outside; her ears lowered slightly when her curious gaze landed on Shrimpo. “Oh.” 

Goob turned to look at his sister, his smile widening once more. “I was gonna give him his valentine! I know it’s a little early, but he was right there. It was the perfect opportunity, right?” 

‘What the hell is this guy talking about? A valentine? He’s gotta be joking.’ Realizing he was still sitting on the floor in front of witnesses, Shrimpo swiftly got to his feet and brushed himself off, ignoring the remnants of the tingling feeling. Goob had just earned himself the #1 spot on Shrimpo’s hit list for that move. 

Scraps sighed, crossing her arms as she eyed Shrimpo warily. “Whatever you think is best, Goob.” As the Toon retreated back into the room, presumably to grab whatever it was he had prepared, Scraps raised one brow at Shrimpo and queried, “So… what happened here?”

Shrimpo considered just booking it out of there and heading to the library like he’d been planning to do in the first place — nothing was keeping him here, after all — but that could be taken as a sign of weakness or incapability. No way was he fleeing with his tail between his legs from some paper cat lady and her dumbass brother. 

Besides… he might as well see what Goob had pulled together for him while he was here. To critique it, of course.

“The idiot grabbed me and yanked me over here,” he replied with a scowl, gesturing with one hand in Goob’s general direction. “I hardly even said a word to him. Doesn’t he have any common sense?”

Scraps’ ears flattened fully against her head, her tail lashing about behind her. “First of all, my brother is not an idiot, thank you,” she hissed at him, pupils slit and eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry he touched you without permission, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult him, you hear? He’s been nothing but nice to you all this time, and you treat him like this.”

Shrimpo would have gladly started a full-on argument with her (at least there was one other Toon here who had some backbone), when none other than Goob himself popped up out of nowhere and thrust something into Shrimpo’s hands. Scraps, begrudgingly, took a step back.

“Here! I made it for you yesterday!” Turning his scrutinizing eyes downward, Shrimpo was met with a piece of red paper cut out to resemble a heart – or perhaps a lopsided piece of mutton, it was a bit difficult to tell. The words “HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!” were displayed boldly, albeit somewhat off-center, in black marker. Taped near the bottom was a single gumball. ‘How charming.’

“What is this,” Shrimpo deadpanned, looking up towards Goob. “We are not… a thing. You should not be giving this to me.”

“What do you mean?” Goob blinked in mild surprise. “You don't need to be dating to give someone a valentine!”

“Goob’s right,” Scraps added, shooting Shrimpo a look as if to say ‘Don’t be an ass’. “Valentine's Day is about spending time with people you care about, not just romantically. It could be a family member or a friend. Love takes on more than one form.”

Shrimpo refrained from commenting for a moment, absorbing this latest knowledge. He had assumed that love was reserved for, y'know, people who were in love, but apparently this was not the case. Though he didn't have any relatives whom he cared about, and as far as he was aware he didn't have any true friends here (right?), so Valentine's Day still didn't apply to him. Hah. Take that.

And yet…

He felt this info was important somehow, to his own puzzlement. He looked down at the vaguely heart-shaped paper in his hands again. It looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. 

‘More than one form…’

Wait.

He almost tripped over himself as he stumbled backwards slightly from the suddenness of his revelation. The craft siblings observed this with varied looks of concern. 

“I gotta go. I will… I will accept this,” Shrimpo said hurriedly, almost rushing the words to leave his mouth. “Bye.” And he turned on his heel and ran off down the hall like a man possessed. 

“Um… okay! Bye bye!” Goob waved at Shrimpo's retreating form. The farewell was left unheard.

The elevator doors couldn't open fast enough. Shrimpo slipped inside the moment they began to and slammed his fist on the button to the next floor up. Only when the doors closed on themselves did he let out a breath and lean against the back wall. He clutched Goob’s valentine against his chest.

He couldn't believe it. He simply could not believe that this was his answer.

If it were true…

‘Does Finn want me to do something for him tomorrow?’

It would explain his earlier reaction, at least. From that perspective, getting told that Shrimpo hated everyone in Gardenview could be cause for some resentment.

However.

The other connotations that went with the theory were… a big pill to swallow.

The elevator doors slid open again, and Shrimpo stiffly marched out. His original plan to go to the library no longer seemed as necessary now (though he could be entirely wrong and the library would provide him with the correct, easier answer). Despite this, he felt there was something that could be done here. He had an inkling of an idea of what it might be.

He looked both ways down the hall, to double check he was alone, before allowing himself to half-fall into a sitting position on the floor. He loosely wrapped his arms around his knees, setting his valentine next to him, and stared off into space with a furrowed brow.

If Finn truly did want something for Valentine's Day… the possibility that he was thinking of something for Shrimpo didn't seem too far-fetched, right? Maybe it was, he didn't know. He didn't seem to know a whole bunch of things nowadays. He was never taught, and to learn seemed an impossible task. 

‘Never mind, just assume he's getting something.’ So, theoretically, if Finn was getting Shrimpo a… a gift… 

Valentine's Day is about spending time with people you care about.

Would that mean Finn cared about him?

While yes, he already sported a pretty friendly disposition, it could also be that he was just choosing to tolerate Shrimpo out of politeness; this was the explanation that the latter had subconsciously chosen to believe, ignoring any signs that might say otherwise. It was plausible and relatively easy to understand, no room for subtext or misunderstanding. 

You did not get a Valentine’s gift for people you merely tolerated – this much Shrimpo knew. You did not become disappointed if they said they had no intentions of doing the same. 

Not for the first time that day, Shrimpo thought back to the dance, that fated 1st of January. He had dismissed the entire thing the morning after, blaming anything he might have felt about it beforehand on exhaustion, and left it at that as best as he was able.

But he could claim whatever he wanted – it didn’t mean it was true. It did not erase the memory, the way Finn had looked at him then. Even now he would not be able to describe that look or what it meant, but he knew that was not the sort of look meant for any random Toon. 

May I have this dance? 

God, life could be so much easier if he had stayed in his room that night. 

Shrimpo ran a hand over his face, nails dragging slightly over the skin. He got the sensation he was hurtling towards a line in the sand that could not be uncrossed. Giving Finn a gift in return now seemed on par to giving an admission he wasn’t sure he was prepared to give. 

‘Or maybe you’re being a sissy and overthinking it,’ a different part of his brain snapped at him, breaking his spiral into an early midlife crisis. ‘Man up and get something for the fishbowl, goddamn. It’s literally not even that serious.’

…On rare occasions, Shrimpo could appreciate his brain a little. He blinked, inhaled, then took hold of Goob’s valentine and rose to his feet again. 

He was thinking about it all wrong, he decided as he began walking down the corridor. This was just a… a chance to prove his capability. Yes. Like the thing with Scraps earlier; he could have left, but he didn’t, because he wasn’t a pathetic weakling. 

This had to be like it, right? This whole conundrum was a test to see if he could hold his own. If his resolve would crumble under the pressure. Finn had looked disappointed because he’d expected Shrimpo to rise to the challenge. Damn, he must think Shrimpo was pathetic.

He refused to let that idea stand, no matter how… unique this test was. 

Yeah. This was definitely what was going on. He was just tweaking out earlier and overanalyzing it. Totally hadn’t been having a revelation. Absolutely wasn’t half-assing another explanation to save himself from figuring out the original.

Yep. 

So… a gift, huh. Where might one be found? The image of a multicolored flower popped into his head, and Shrimpo instantly brushed it off. He hated Dandy. He hated everyone here, of course, but Dandy was #2 on his hit list. (Previously #1, but a certain Goob had claimed that spot a couple minutes ago.) Shrimpo just… didn’t trust him. He’d smile at you in passing, but Shrimpo had learned long ago not to count on outward appearances.

Although… he could think of another Toon with lots of items to offer. One that may be susceptible to threatening bargaining.

He jogged a little ways down the hall before stopping in front of a door. Glancing at the designation code painted on the wall to confirm it was the one he was looking for, he inhaled, squared his shoulders — and promptly began banging on the door with his fists.

“GIGI!!” He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty hall. “OPEN UP!!” Through his peripheral vision he could see a head peering out to see what the cause of the ruckus was, then quickly shutting the door again before he could see who it was. Whatever.

Mercifully for Gigi, it did not take long for them to answer the call of their visitor. “Holy shit, quiet down,” they chastised, glaring at him. “It’s late. The hell do you want?”

“I WANT TO BUY SOME SHIT OFF OF YOU,” he replied, maintaining his original volume to quickly assert dominance over the situation. “LET ME LOOK.”

“Wh— dude, my collections ain’t for sale,” Gigi answered as Shrimpo stomped his way into the room. “Why do you need anything from me, anyway? I don’t have no boxing equipment, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“IT’S… NOT FOR ME.” Shrimpo had some reservations about revealing his true intentions, but he recalled seeing Gigi hanging around Finn a couple of times, listening to his fish facts — of all the things! Who would willingly sit through a monologue about anglerfish mating customs? (Shrimpo had once endured such a thing, albeit against his will; he could only get so far away in a closed elevator.) Perhaps adding in this detail would help sway the tides in his favor. “IT’S FOR FINN.”

“For… Finn?” Some of Gigi’s aggravation faded, to be replaced with surprise — and then, to Shrimpo’s horror, a sly grin. “Well, well, well,” they drawled, crossing their arms as they leaned against the wall. “Never thought I’d see the day when you finally softened up. Someone catch your eye at last, eh?” 

“WHAT— NO!!” Of all the horrid assumptions. Shrimpo clenched his jaw. “I AM PROVING MY SUPERIORITY. I WILL NOT BE BESTED BY A BOY WITH A PLASTIC FISH FOR A COMPANION.”

”Mhm.“ Gigi did not seem impressed by his explanation — but at last they loosened. “All right. I’ll let you take up to two things, and I expect to be paid real nicely. I recommend looking over on the third cabinet, with the tackles n’ everythin’: Finn would probably like that sorta stuff.” 

“Whatever.” With the hard part out of the way, Shrimpo felt free to lower his volume, at least a little. Sauntering over to the shelf in question, he rapidly noticed that this might take a little longer than he thought. Gigi was known for being a hoarder, but hell, they could probably give Dandy a run for his money with how much crap they owned. This cabinet alone was only a couple items away from maximum capacity, as was every other. 

“Where’d you get all this junk?” he muttered as he began sifting through the collection. It wasn't meant to warrant a reply, but Gigi answered with a vague “Oh, here and there.”

Most of the stuff he was looking at had something to do with fish, with a tackle box here, a painting there, and so on and so forth. There was some jewelry, though, and Shrimpo’s fingers happened to catch upon something whilst rummaging in that general area. 

It was two beaded bracelets, one crimson and the other cerulean, bots with the same charm of what appeared to be an octopus. Shrimpo considered them in his palm; he had no idea why one would need two matching bracelets, but whatever. It would do — he’d rather not stick around for longer than he had to. He whipped around and thrust them forward in a silent query.

Gigi glanced at them, a faint smirk reammerging on their face (though Shrimpo did not see why). “60 tapes,” they hummed at last. At Shrimpo’s withering glare, they relented and added, “Okay, fine, 40.”

Shrimpo fished around in his pockets, for once thankful that he snatched up so many of them during runs. “Here,” he snapped, shoving the currency into Gigi’s hands. In the next second he was gone.

“A thank you would've been nice,” Gigi scoffed to themselves, reaching out to close the door. 

“FINN!” The rest of the prior evening had come and gone, and the dreaded 14th of February had descended upon them. Although Shrimpo was no less spiteful of the current date then he had been before, he had business to attend to. Namely, a certain gap-toothed buffoon.

Sitting at one of the dining room chairs, the boy himself turned his head with a brow raised, only to devolve into a grin Shrimpo knew all too well. “Shrimpo!! I’ve been meaning’ to look for ya, actually,” he chuckled, scooting his chair over a little and pulling out the one next to him. “Come and sit!” 

Plopping down unceremoniously on the offered chair, Shrimpo opened his mouth to rush out the words he needed to say, and was promptly beaten to the punch. 

“So, uh… I made something for you. Here.” Reaching into a small cross-body bag he had slung over his shoulder, Finn pulled out an ominously familiar-looking piece of paper and extended it to Shrimpo, who snatched it in one hand after a beat of silence. The words “Happy Valentine’s Day!” were written in a large, round font in the center. The shape of this one was a much more distinguishable heart. Some stickers of starfish and coral were scattered about on the sides.

Of course he had assumed that there was a good chance Finn had something for it, but to see material proof was an entirely different matter. He held the paper on flat palms, as if he believed his touch would rip it in two, and thought ‘This was made for me.’

“…This looks like what Goob made me,” Shrimpo commented after a moment, with striking bluntness, “but less sloppy.” 

That was certainly one way to deliver a comment.

“Oh-!” Finn emitted a sheepish hah. “I guess that makes sense; I did make it with him, after all. He offered to work on some handcrafted valentines with me yesterday, and it seemed like a fun thing to do.”

“S’that where the paper in your head came from?” The dots connected quite suddenly, but when they did it the whole ordeal made a lot more sense. 

“Yep. Sorry about that, by the way.” Finn shifted in his seat a little, gaze drifting downward to the floor. “Uh, I know you… weren’t planning to do anything, but it’s alright, it’s not mandatory or anything. I jus’ wanted to—“

“OH RIGHT,” Shrimpo interrupted loudly, remembering what he had come here to do in the first place. “I forgot. Here.” He placed the fist he had kept tightly closed the entire conversation on the tabletop in front of him, opened his fingers, and let the items he’d held loose before quickly retracting his hand again. The bracelets sat quietly for the whole world to see, the octopus charms catching the yellow glare of the linoleum lighting above.

Finn stared at them. The silence was deafening. Shrimpo’s mouth opened again to shatter it. “Um.” What was it that people always said in those sappy romcoms again? 

“They made me… think of you.”

Hang on, since when did I use fucking romcoms as a reference for social interactions? Stop that. That show was years ago anyway.’

Finn’s hand at least reached to inspect the bracelets, eyes wide and pondering. The tentacles of the two octopi caught together for a moment as they were picked up before releasing each other. 

“Are these.. for us?” Finn asked at last, looking back up at Shrimpo. 

Shrimpo frowned. “Eh? No, they’re for you.”

At this, Finn couldn’t help but break out in a brief giggle. “Not just for me, silly. They’re friendship bracelets. Each person gets one.” 

Shrimpo thought back to how sly Gigi had looked when he'd picked out his gift. He silently resolved to exchange a couple choice words with them later. 

“Uh…” He watched as Finn extended one to him, the cerulean one — an offering. For whatever reason, such a simple gesture felt loaded with meaning he wasn’t sure he was fully able to grasp. 

It felt almost like a commitment. A confession.

‘Again with this hyper-analyzation thing…’ There was his favorite voice of reason again. ‘Seriously, brother, you’re spazzing out. It’s Finn’s gift, he decides what he wants to do with it. If he wants you to take the bracelet, take the bracelet. Simple as that.’

He felt this brain-voice of his had a habit of omitting certain details, but he decided to let it slide for the time being. He’d already been sitting there like a dumbass staring at Finn’s hand for a second too long.

“…Fine, whatever.” Shrimpo reached out and plucked the thing up with two fingers, lifting his other wrist to slide it on. It felt eerily akin to putting on his own shackles. 

Shackles… to what?

‘Dude, for real! Snap out of it!’

Okay, okay! Keeping his fingers straight, he let the jewelry piece fall down to rest on his arm. He pulled on the cords to tighten it, although just a little, and looked up at Finn to gauge his reaction. The fishbowl’s smile was brighter than ever, holding out his own wrist adorned with the crimson beads. 

“This is a great gift, Shrimpo.” How warm his eyes were. The flecks of yellow seemed even more prominent, now. “You’re a real great friend.”

Friend.

“Okay,” he answered, for lack of a better word.

The boy seemed almost to glow. 

That night, Shrimpo lay silently on his mattress, looking up at his ceiling. Not much had changed since January; it remained as unremarkable as it had been the day he arrived, free of any holes left behind from outbursts. Maybe someday. 

He looked down at the calendar. The 14th had been triumphantly crossed off, and tomorrow so would the 15th. And eventually so would the 16th and 17th and all the other days, and then he’d have to get a new calendar so he could check off all the boxes all over again. 

He now looked to the calendar’s left. The words Happy Valentine’s Day! looked back at him, written in two different types of handwriting. The room was dark, but he could still see them faintly, unchanging. Even when he slept, he knew they would be there, for whenever he needed to look at them. 

Love takes on more than one form.

So do gumball flavors, he mused, chewing on his Valentine’s present. 

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. A/N: This chapter is 24k words & Tumblr won't let me upload it all in one post so cutting it off in four smaller parts.

Previous Chapter 19 - Part 2 (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 19 (alt ending 2.10) - The Anatomical Weight of Neglect in Infinite Drops - Part 3

You knew what you were doing.

Pregnancy hormones were dangerous. They made you crave pickles at three AM, made you cry over insurance commercials, and—most importantly—made you fearless.

So, when you saw the TikTok, you knew exactly what you had to do.

"Kento."

Nanami didn’t even look up from his book. His reading glasses—they were yours; he’d stolen them—were perched low on his nose, the perfect balance of nerdy and hot. His left hand rested on your thigh above the blanket, a quiet weight that made your heart full despite yourself.

"Hm?"

"I want a cum pendant."

Nanami's hand slid off your thigh.

Slowly.

Methodically.

Like his brain needed a moment to catch up.

Like he was trying to pretend he didn’t know you in public.

He turned a page of his book.

Stared at it blankly.

Then he closed it with a decisive snap.

"I'm sorry, what?"

You smiled sweetly, brushing your hand along his pillow. "You heard me."

Nanami’s expression barely shifted, but you could feel the existential dread radiating off of him.

His eye twitched behind his glasses.

"Where… did you hear about this?"

"TikTok."

His expression darkened like you’d just mentioned Satan himself. "Of course."

You leaned in, brushing your mouth against his ear. "Come on, Kento. I’m pregnant with your child. Doesn’t that mean I deserve… a little keepsake?"

"No."

You pouted. "But I thought you loved me."

"I do."

"So prove it."

"I am not turning my bodily fluids into jewelry."

"But other men do it."

"Other men are not me. And other women clearly have no self-respect."

"Wow," you murmured. "Misogynistic and selfish. My body is changing to bear your child, Kento."

Nanami's hand shot up to rub his temple. He was visibly sweating now. "I need to lie down."

"No," you said, straddling his lap with an evil smile. "You need to cum in a jar."

Nanami physically flinched. "Stop saying that."

You dragged your fingers down your stomach. "It’s a symbol of our connection."

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "If you keep talking, I will sleep in the spare bedroom tonight."

"Okay." You slid your fingers under his collar, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "I’ll just ask Satoru then."

Nanami’s hand shot up, grabbing your wrist.

His cursed energy spiked. Not that you could see cursed energies.

"You wouldn't."

You smiled. "Wouldn't I?"

Earlier

"Hey!" you called, sauntering into the bedroom where Gojo was sprawled upside-down on the bed, shirtless.

"Mm?" He flipped and grinned when he saw you. "Hi, baby mama."

You crawled onto the bed, sitting on his chest. Gojo beamed up at you like the lovesick fool he was. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I want a cum pendant."

The smile slid off Gojo’s face like someone had yanked the floor out from under him.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

"I’m sorry," he said. "A what?"

"A cum pendant," you repeated sweetly.

Gojo’s brows furrowed. "Why do you want a cum pendant?"

"I saw it on TikTok."

He sighed. "Of course, it was my fault for paying for internet."

You smirked. "If you really love me, you’ll make me one."

"…I’m not doing that."

"But you’re the strongest," you whispered, brushing your fingers over his bare chest. "Surely the strongest sorcerer in the world isn’t scared of a little… commitment?"

Gojo's eyes sharpened. "I am very committed to you. And our child. And our marriage."

"Then why not make me a little keepsake?"

"Because," Gojo said, "if Nanami finds out, he’ll actually kill me."

"Nanami doesn’t need to know."

"Nanami knows everything," Gojo muttered darkly.

You slid your hand down his chest. "Oh? Afraid of him?"

"Absolutely."

"And what if I make him one too?"

Gojo's mouth curled into a dangerous smile. "I think you underestimate how fast Nanami would file for divorce."

You smiled, leaning down until your mouth was just above his. "So you're scared."

"I’m not scared," Gojo whispered. "I'm…"

He hesitated.

"Okay, yes, I’m scared."

You smirked. "Coward."

Gojo sat up suddenly, gently flipping you onto your back beneath him. His mouth pressed against your jaw. "Listen, sweetheart," he whispered, lips skimming the edge of your throat. "I love you. I worship you. I would die for you."

You grinned. "Then—"

"But—" Gojo’s mouth curved into a sharp smile— "if you make me ejaculate into jewelry, Nanami will kill me first, then I’ll turn into the strongest curse possible and haunt you for eternity."

You pouted and sighed. "Ok, then I'll settle with a bracelet."

Gojo visibly relaxed. "A bracelet?"

"A cum bracelet."

Gojo’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh my god."

You burst out laughing as Gojo groaned, rolling off of you and pressing his hands over his face.

"Just think about it," you teased.

Gojo peeked out from behind his hands. "Only if you promise not to tell Nanami."

"No promises."

---

2 Tuesday

Nanami was waiting when you walked into the kitchen the next morning. He was standing with his arms crossed.

Gojo was behind him, sitting on the counter, looking suspiciously pleased with himself.

Nanami’s expression was sharp. "Satoru told me."

You glared. "He’s such a snitch."

Nanami continued, deadpan. "You can’t have a cum pendant."

"Why not?"

Nanami’s eyes darkened. "Because I have standards."

You shrugged. "That’s funny. Considering you married Gojo."

Gojo gasped. "Top ten anime betrayals in history!"

Nanami ignored him. His eyes narrowed. "Let me make myself clear: no pendants. No jewelry. No…" His lip curled. "Anything with bodily fluids.”

You crossed your arms. "You guys are no fun."

Gojo slid off the counter, draping his arms around Nanami’s shoulders. "Come on, Kento. It’s kinda romantic."

"Don’t touch me."

Gojo smirked. "Do I get credit for saying no?"

"Absolutely not." Nanami shot Gojo a look. Gojo immediately backed off.

You suddenly yelled. “Hah! Gotcha! Both of you failed. He touched me yesterday—on his own—and you were talking to him just now.”

Gojo’s face paled, his grin faltering for the first time. “Wait… so you don’t want the weird jewelry?”

You laughed, cold and mocking. “Of course not. I’m not insane.”

Nanami’s expression shifted, cycling through what could only be described as the seven stages of betrayal—or maybe relief.

Soon, he spoke. “You mean all three of us lost? Because I clearly remember the rules about no talking to him applied to you too.”

You scowled for a whole minute at him like you could burn him through your eyes.

Then you stormed off. “I hate both of you.”

Gojo’s arm slung back around Nanami’s shoulder like they were old friends, which they technically were. “Good thinking, Kento.”

Nanami shrugged him off, returning to his breakfast with the precision of a man who refused to let chaos derail his routine. “This was a one-time lapse. She’s clever—too clever to not find every loophole. Consider this the first and last time we catch her off-guard. Now get lost.”

Gojo sauntered away, his laughter echoing down the hall. “See you around, Kento.”

---

Nanami was already suspicious when he saw the notification.

He had been cleaning the kitchen—because, apparently, Gojo had decided to "help" earlier by preparing an elaborate brunch that ended with more flour on the ceiling than on the plates—when his phone vibrated.

A TikTok. From you.

Nanami narrowed his eyes. You rarely sent TikToks to him unless it was to annoy him or make a point. The last one had been a video about "Signs You’re in a Codependent Relationship," and he’d had to sit through a very awkward 45-minute conversation afterward.

He unlocked his phone.

"If you have a little boy in your life, send this to him.”

“Supp my lil gay boy."

Nanami’s brows furrowed.

"...What?"

Then his phone buzzed again.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀

Daddy: Did u see it?

Father Time: Yes.

Daddy: WTF does it mean? 🤔

Father Time: I don’t know.

Daddy: I feel like it’s about us. 🤷‍♂️

Father Time: What makes you think that?

Daddy: Idk… vibes. 🌌

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He hated when Gojo said things like that.

Mainly because he was usually right.

You had been glaring at them earlier.

Correction: You had been glaring at Gojo earlier.

Nanami had merely gotten a polite but frosty look.

Gojo, however, had been receiving the type of glare typically reserved for cheating husbands and men who said, "Calm down" during arguments.

Daddy: She was glaring at me. 😬

Father Time: She was glaring at both of us.

Daddy: Yeah, but more at me. 😤

Father Time: Fair. 😐

Nanami sat down, rubbing his temples.

Gojo, apparently, was spiraling in real time.

Daddy: What if she’s trying to tell us something? 🤔

Father Time: Such as?

Daddy: Idk… like maybe she thinks we’re gay. 🏳️‍🌈

Father Time: That seems unlikely.

Daddy: Do u think it’s ‘cause we were holding hands yesterday? 🤝

Father Time: That was a strategic decision.

Daddy: Yeah, but we were holding hands. 💀

Nanami’s jaw twitched.

Father Time: That was your idea.

Daddy’s typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Daddy: Do u think she’s mad about it? 😬

Father Time: Why would she be mad?

Daddy: Idk… vibes. 🌌

Nanami scowled.

Then—

Gojo called him.

Nanami answered on the third ring.

"She’s mad at me," Gojo said immediately.

"Probably," Nanami said.

"Why?"

Nanami rubbed his temple. "We don’t have enough information."

"Okay, but the TikTok. It’s a message," Gojo insisted.

"It’s likely a joke."

"But why that joke?" Gojo pressed.

Nanami’s brow furrowed. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"That she thinks we’re—" Gojo hesitated. "—You know."

Nanami’s silence stretched ominously.

"Okay, hear me out," Gojo said. "We’ve been hanging out a lot."

"Because we share custody."

"And we’ve been… close."

"Out of necessity."

"And we’ve been holding hands."

"That was your idea."

"And," Gojo said pointedly, "you let me."

Nanami’s jaw flexed.

"She’s mad about something," Gojo pressed. "And then sends us that TikTok."

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"

"I’m implying that maybe…" Gojo trailed off. "…Maybe she thinks we’re gay for each other."

Nanami stared at the floor. His jaw tightened.

"That’s ridiculous," he said.

"But not impossible," Gojo pointed out.

Nanami exhaled sharply. "She would have said something."

"Would she?"

Nanami’s silence stretched again.

Gojo’s voice lowered. "You don’t think she’s mad that we’ve been spending too much time together, do you?"

Nanami considered this.

It was true that they had been in close proximity lately. Strategizing. Moving in tandem around you. And Gojo had been—

Nanami’s eye twitched.

"That’s ridiculous," he repeated.

"Yeah," Gojo said. "That’s what I thought."

A long silence.

"…You don’t think we should stop, right?"

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "Stop what?"

"I don’t know," Gojo said. "Hanging out."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. His jaw flexed. "No."

"Cool," Gojo said lightly. "Just checking."

Nanami inhaled slowly.

Gojo’s tone shifted. "You know what this means though, right?"

"What?"

"She’s trying to make us jealous."

"Of each other?" Nanami’s tone sharpened.

"Obviously."

Nanami exhaled sharply. "That makes no sense."

"Maybe." Gojo’s tone brightened. "But just in case…"

Nanami’s brow furrowed. "What are you suggesting?"

"We stake it out."

"Stake what out?"

"Her next move."

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "This isn’t a chess game."

"But if it was," Gojo’s tone sharpened, "we’re already two moves behind."

Nanami sighed. "What’s your plan?"

Gojo’s voice softened dangerously. "We make her jealous back."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

"Elaborate," he said.

Gojo’s grin could be heard through the phone.

"We hold hands again."

Nanami exhaled sharply.

"Strategic decision," Gojo said innocently.

Nanami rubbed his temple. "I’m starting to think you enjoy this."

"Maybe," Gojo said. "But you’re still holding my hand."

Nanami sighed.

This was going to end badly.

---

It started as a joke.

That’s what Nanami told himself.

But after the fourth TikTok—and the third strategically timed glare—he was beginning to think it wasn’t.

Nanami was in the kitchen, again. Cutting vegetables with the kind of clinical precision that would have made Martha Stewart weep, when his phone vibrated.

Another TikTok. From you.

He dried his hands, unlocked his phone, and saw:

"If your man doesn’t send you a 7-page essay about how much he loves you and include MLA citations, you’re single, babe."

Nanami stared at the screen.

The audio looped.

"—you’re single, babe."

Nanami’s jaw twitched.

You walked into the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts that barely covered your thighs. His eyes tracked the hem automatically.

You raised a brow. "Something wrong?"

Nanami set down the knife carefully. "No."

"Cool." You grabbed a glass of water and left.

Nanami’s jaw flexed. He stared down at his phone.

Seven pages. MLA citations.

What was this, a thesis defense?

The phone buzzed again.

Daddy: Did u see it? 👀

Father Time: Yes.

Daddy: She’s trying to get in your head. 🧠💭

Father Time: Unlikely.

Daddy: I’m telling u, it’s a trap.

Father Time: If it is, it’s a poorly constructed one. 🏗️

Daddy: U should probably start writing tho. ✍️

Nanami’s eye twitched.

He was not going to write a seven-page love letter.

Was he?

---

Nanami was doing the dishes when his phone buzzed. (He wanted to spend time with you, so he had given the entire staff indefinite leave—totally not because he was paranoid about someone poisoning you, of course.)

He wiped his hands and read:

"If your man doesn’t fix your cravings within 15 minutes, it’s not real love."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

From the living room:

"Nanami."

He turned.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch.

"I want those Indian Red Chilli Pickles."

Nanami set down the dish towel. "It’s 10 PM."

"I’m carrying your spawns," you said simply.

Nanami’s jaw flexed.

Then Gojo’s text appeared:

Daddy: Run.

---

The next day, you wake up to the sound of quiet rain tapping against the glass windows. The penthouse is dim, the curtains drawn tight. A heavy warmth presses down on your chest, and for a moment, you think you’re dreaming. Then you realize you can’t breathe.

“Kento,” you rasp, voice weak.

Nanami’s arm is wrapped around you, forearm pressed just beneath your ribs. His chest is against your back, solid and unyielding. He’s asleep, his breath steady against the nape of your neck.

You shove at his arm. Nothing.

“Kento,” you try again, louder this time.

A deep, gravelly hum. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he mutters, “Mm. Five more minutes.”

“I’m literally dying.”

His arm releases you in a swift, controlled movement. His hair is rumpled—golden strands falling over his forehead in a rare, unpolished way.

“You’re not dying,” he says.

“You sure?” You roll onto your back, hand pressing against the spot where his arm had been. “Felt like I was about to go into cardiac arrest.”

Nanami sighs. His hand slides across your belly, fingers pressing lightly over the swell of your six-month-pregnant stomach. His touch is measured, careful—but his eyes are scanning you with the sharpness of someone cataloging a threat.

“Their cursed energy is spiking again.”

You try to sit up. He stops you with a hand to your shoulder.

“Rest,” he orders.

“I have a long day ahead of me playing video games.”

He laughed—a deeper sound than usual, rich with his morning voice, the kind that warms you on a rainy morning.

---

Daddy: Nanamin. Did you know that pregnant women produce 50% more blood than usual? 😏

Father Time: Stop.

Daddy: Which means there’s more circulation. Which means—

Father Time: No.

Daddy: —she’s probably more sensitive rn 😏

Father Time: Satoru.

Daddy: I’M JUST SAYING IT’S BIOLOGY 😈

Father Time: Go back to bed.

---

Sometime later, he serves you a bowl of rice and miso-glazed salmon. You lean down and sniff it.

“Did you season this?”

Nanami shoots you a look so dry it could crack concrete. “Do you want to find out what happens if you insult my cooking?”

You smirk, take a bite, and hum thoughtfully. “Mm. Could use more salt.”

Nanami steps toward you. His hands settle on either side of you, caging you in. His face is inches from yours.

“You have two options,” he murmurs. “Eat. Or I’ll feed you myself.”

You hold his gaze. A slow smile curls at your mouth. He stares at your lips.

You’re about to say something cutting when the elevator chimes.

Haibara steps out, hands in his pockets. His smile is too sharp to be friendly. “Accountant. Nice shirt.”

Nanami stiffens. You watch the tension settle into his shoulders.

“Why are you here?”

Haibara’s gaze slides toward you. His smile stretches wider. “Friendly check-in.” He looks at you. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“I’ve been busy doing nothing.”

Haibara shrugs. “Well, that’s disappointing.” His eyes flick to you. “Call me if you get bored.”

Nanami doesn’t relax until Haibara’s gone. His jaw is tight, his hands curled into fists.

“Why does he think we’re friends?” Nanami asks.

“Because Haibara never accepts reality.”

---

Gojo’s UV Photography Era (Much to Megumi’s Misery)

Haibara was already annoyed.

It had been three days since Gojo moved in, and in that time, Gojo had:

Disrupted the entire energy of the penthouse by existing too loudly.

Claimed the biggest bedroom and decorated it with neon LED lights, despite Megumi’s very obvious disapproval.

Referred to himself as the "House Guest Supreme" in group chats.

Tried to eat takeout on the couch once and was nearly stabbed.

And now?

Now he was standing in the middle of the living room, holding a UV flashlight, grinning like an idiot.

"Okay, hear me out," Gojo said, waving the light around. "Did you know there’s like—a whole world of things the human eye can’t see? And I, the enlightened one, have discovered a new hobby."

Haibara glanced at Megumi, who was already putting in his headphones.

"Nope." Megumi turned on his heel. "Not engaging."

"Aw, c’mon, Megumi, don’t you wanna see what’s lurking in your apartment?" Gojo flicked on the UV light and shone it across the room.

Megumi didn’t even pause. "If you shine that anywhere near me, I will throw you off the balcony."

Gojo grinned, absolutely undeterred.

"Tough crowd," he muttered. Then, he turned to Haibara. "What about you? Wanna see something cool?"

Haibara shrugged. "Depends. Are you about to expose how filthy this place is?"

"What? Nooo." Gojo beamed. "I already did that in the kitchen this morning. You guys are disgusting, by the way."

Megumi clenched his jaw, visibly resisting the urge to strangle him.

"What are you actually doing?" Haibara asked, already regretting giving Gojo attention.

"Taking photos," Gojo said proudly, pulling out your camera.

Haibara’s brows furrowed. "Since when do you do photography?"

"Since five hours ago," Gojo declared. "I asked my lovely, perfect, amazing wife how UV photography works, and she told me all about filters and light spectrums and editing."

Haibara stared. "You absorbed all of that in five hours?"

"No, like in an hour," Gojo said smugly. "I’m a genius, and she’s a good teacher."

Megumi actively sighed through his nose.

"Haters gonna hate," Gojo sang, snapping a UV picture of Megumi’s scowl, then grimaced when adult Megumi looked an awful lot like Toji.

Megumi’s eye twitched. "Delete that."

"Mmm… nah." Gojo grinned. "This one’s going in the album."

"You have an album?" Haibara asked, genuinely impressed and mildly horrified.

"Of course," Gojo said. "You think I do things halfway? My wife told me to make one, of you two."

Megumi muttered something suspiciously like "should’ve killed him when I had the chance."

Ignoring him, Gojo practically skipped back to his room.

Haibara sighed, rubbing his temples. "At least he’s entertained."

Megumi shot him a look. "He’s getting too comfortable."

"What, you don’t like hearing him giggle at his own jokes at 2 AM?"

"I hope he suffocates in his sleep."

Later that night, your phone pinged.

Satoru: (8 attachments)

— LOOK WHAT I DID

— UV photos of YOU (from when you weren’t paying attention and I was hovering outside your balcony)

— Also, I took one of your hand on my shoulder, and I made it black-and-white but kept the UV highlights blue, and it’s SO cool, baby.

You scrolled through them.

One shot showed the faint glow of your wedding ring-you didn’t wear these days-under UV light, delicate and striking. Another had the outline of your silhouette against a window, the contrast sharp and artistic.

Your heart skipped.

You: These are actually good, Satoru.

Satoru: Actually good??? EXCUSE ME.

You: They’re really good.

Satoru: That’s better.

— Anyway, what should I UV next?

— I’m thinking the bedroom.

You paused.

You: Don’t.

Satoru: …

Satoru: I did it.

Satoru: I regret it.

You burst out laughing.

From the other room, Megumi’s voice rang out, furious.

"GOJO, DELETE WHATEVER YOU JUST TOOK."

"I CAN’T. IT’S BURNED INTO MY SOUL."

You wiped a tear from your eye.

Satoru: Baby, I’m coming home.

— I can’t stay here.

— It’s cursed.

You: You are literally the strongest sorcerer alive.

Satoru: AND EVEN I CAN’T CLEAN THIS. WE NEED NANAMI.

Megumi thought Gojo had sent you the image he’d taken of him earlier; in reality, it was just Takahashi who’d come with him earlier in his bag.

Later, when you stared at the photos with a critical eye, you realized, he was trying to take some like how you preferred taking yours.

Your hormones almost made you cry over it.

---

Nanami Kento was sweating bullets.

Which was ridiculous, considering he was currently sitting in his own living room, on his own couch, in his own house.

You were sitting opposite him, legs crossed, one hand resting lightly on your pregnant stomach. A faint smirk curled your lips.

Your gaze was steady—too steady.

Duel-at-high-noon steady.

Nanami didn’t like it.

His jaw tightened. His elbow pressed against the couch armrest. "What?"

You tilted your head slightly. "You seem tense."

"I’m not tense," Nanami said flatly, despite the fact that he could feel a bead of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

Your gaze sharpened.

He could feel it like a needle behind his ribs.

"You’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes," Nanami said.

"You noticed." Your tone was lazy.

"Of course I noticed," Nanami said, his teeth clenching slightly. "What are you doing?"

You leaned back against the armrest, brushing a hand down your stomach. "Negotiating."

Nanami’s brows drew together. "Negotiating what?"

"If you let me join a gym," you said smoothly, "and cover the membership fees—without following me there or micromanaging my workouts—I’ll let you hold my hand for one full minute."

Nanami stared at you.

"Is this a joke?"

"No," you said. "Completely serious."

His brow furrowed. "Why can’t I go with you?"

"Because you micromanage," you said. "I’d get one stretch in before you’d start lecturing me about improper form."

Nanami’s mouth tightened. "If you stretch improperly, you could injure yourself."

"See?" You gestured toward him. "Exactly this. And don’t worry it’s not because someone said something; I just read that it helps with back pain, and I already have terrible posture from work."

Nanami sighed and rubbed his forehead. "And who’s supposed to accompany you, then?"

"Haibara."

Nanami’s spine went stiff. His mouth flattened. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" you asked.

"Because Haibara—" Nanami inhaled sharply. "Because he’s Haibara."

"Exactly," you said, smile curling. "And if I collapse or go into early labor, he’s strong enough to carry me out."

Nanami’s eye twitched.

You leaned forward slightly. "So. Do we have a deal?"

Nanami’s eyes sharpened. His gaze flicked to your hand resting lightly over your bump.

"And why," he said carefully, "would holding your hand for a minute be a suitable reward?"

You shrugged. "It’s all I’m willing to offer."

"And if I say no?"

You leaned back. "Then I guess I’ll just have to ask Satoru. He will agree to anything."

Nanami’s gaze was steady—calculating.

You could feel the tension stretching between you both like a taut wire.

He didn’t want to say yes.

He wanted to refuse.

But you could already see the cracks forming.

"I can tell you’re considering it," you said sweetly.

Nanami exhaled slowly through his nose. "You are a menace."

"And you’re stalling," you replied.

Nanami’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Then—

"Fine."

You smiled. "Excellent."

Nanami sighed, rubbing his temple. "This is going to end badly."

"Only if you interfere."

"And Haibara?"

"He promised not to post any photos."

Nanami's eye twitched again. "This is the worst decision I’ve made in years."

"And yet," you said, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles, "you’re still making it."

Nanami’s gaze softened slightly. His hand curled lightly over yours.

One minute.

Maybe two.

"Don’t push it," Nanami murmured.

You smiled. "No promises."

---

At first, you didn’t notice.

Because why would you?

You were pregnant, focused on maintaining some level of fitness without slipping into full discomfort. The gym was supposed to be a neutral zone—a place where you could breathe and feel like yourself, even as the babies you were carrying made their presence increasingly known.

And at first, the women seemed nice.

Compliments about your workout form. Polite smiles. Questions about your pregnancy.

"Oh wow, you’re still working out at seven months? That’s so impressive."

"Your skin looks amazing. Do you use snail mucin?”

"It’s so inspiring seeing you keep up with everything. How do you do it?"

You liked them. You smiled back. You answered their questions.

But then—

Things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

The way their eyes lingered when you mentioned Gojo or Nanami in passing.

The way their smiles sharpened when you told them you weren’t here with your husband.

The way they started asking more… pointed questions.

"So… Gojo Satoru is your husband?"

"Wait—Nanami Kento? From Jujutsu High?"

"They both live with you? Wow. That’s… interesting."

You didn’t think anything of it.

At first.

Then you started noticing the way they would brush too close to you during workouts. The way they would adjust their leggings near you, making sure you could see the way they fit. The way their eyes would glint when you mentioned that Nanami was picking you up, or that Gojo had cooked breakfast that morning.

Still, you ignored it.

Because you were a confident and well-adjusted woman.

And because you didn’t feel threatened.

Until—

You were sitting on a mat, stretching, when you heard it.

Behind you.

"She’s lucky. If I had two men like that, I wouldn’t be here working out—I’d be home getting pregnant again."

You froze.

"Oh, totally."

"Nanami’s so serious, though. I bet he’s hard to crack."

"But Gojo…" A laugh. "He’s gotta be easy."

"And with her pregnant, they must be so… pent up."

"Right? You’d think they’d be looking for a distraction."

"Maybe they already are."

You turned your head slightly.

Three women, all in matching pastel sets, were sitting on mats behind you, stretching.

They weren’t even trying to be subtle.

Your hand curled over your knee. Slowly, you turned around.

"Sorry," you said, voice light. "What was that?"

The brunette smiled, lips glossed to perfection. "Oh, nothing."

"Just girl talk," the blonde added, eyes sharp.

"Interesting," you murmured.

You stood with a little struggle, brushing off your leggings. Your stomach was tight beneath your hoodie, the weight of the twins pressing comfortably against your spine.

The brunette’s gaze flicked to your bump. "You know, it’s impressive you’re keeping up. A lot of women… let themselves go."

Your gaze sharpened.

"And it’s so sweet of your husbands to support you like this," the blonde added, smiling. "You’d think they’d be more… distracted."

"Mm." You smiled faintly. "Why would they be distracted?"

The third girl shrugged. "Well, you know." Her smile curled. "Men have needs."

Your jaw flexed. "Do they?"

"Oh, totally." The brunette’s gaze sharpened. "I mean, it must be so hard for them, watching you like this, knowing you’re not exactly… available right now."

"You’d think they’d need a… break."

Your smile widened. "Would they?"

The blonde’s gaze sharpened. "Well, if they ever did…" She smiled sweetly. "They’d have options."

You exhaled slowly.

"Oh." You smiled wider. "Sweetheart."

All three girls stilled.

You took a step forward.

"I think you might be under the impression that my husbands are…" Your eyes narrowed. "Approachable."

The brunette’s gaze flicked. "Well—"

"They’re not."

The blonde’s smile tightened. "It’s not like we’d actually—"

"Of course you wouldn’t," you said softly. "Because you wouldn’t survive the attempt."

The brunette’s eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

You smiled. "Did you think they were vulnerable?"

The blonde’s mouth opened.

"Do you know how many women have tried to approach them before?" you asked conversationally. "Do you know how many times Gojo has smiled politely while Nanami’s hand was already curling into a fist?"

The brunette inhaled sharply.

"And do you know how many of them actually succeeded?" You stepped closer.

"Exactly zero."

The blonde’s mouth parted. "We didn’t mean—"

"You thought I wouldn’t notice." Your smile sharpened.

"You thought I’d be too tired. Too distracted."

The brunette’s face paled.

"Here’s the problem," you said softly. "You’re not competing with me. You’re competing with them. And you will lose."

The blonde’s mouth pressed into a thin line. "We were just joking."

You smiled. "Sure you were."

The brunette’s gaze sharpened. "You think you own them?"

Your smile widened.

"Now see, unlike you guys, I’m not five years old, and my husbands are not objects of possession," you said, voice soft but mocking.

The brunette’s mouth parted.

"And if you think," you said, voice low and steady, "that they would ever settle for less than me—a woman more capable than your entire bloodline combined—you're more delusional than I thought." Your gaze sharpened, cutting through the thin veneer of civility. "I could dismantle your entire family’s reputation before breakfast. So if you think harassing or objectifying my husbands is something you’ll get away with…"

You leaned in, a slow smile curling at the corner of your mouth.

"…then you have no idea what you’re dealing with."

The blonde took a step back. "We didn’t mean to offend you."

"Of course you didn’t, girls," you said brightly. "You won’t survive the attempt like I said, which is why I’m letting you leave."

The brunette inhaled sharply.

You smiled.

"And next time," you added, tone light, "maybe try approaching someone a little… safer."

The blonde’s mouth tightened. "We were just making conversation."

"Sure you were." You tilted your head. "Now leave, if you don’t want your families evicted suddenly."

The blonde hesitated. The brunette’s jaw flexed.

Slowly, they turned and left the gym.

You watched them go, smile fixed in place.

Then Haibara’s voice came from behind you.

"…Wish you’d been that resilient in school."

Your nostrils flared. "Shut up."

Haibara smirked. "Does Nanami know you can talk like that?"

"Oh, he knows."

"Think they’ll try again?"

Your eyes glinted. "Not if they’re smart."

“Good thing, no one will bother you here now.” Haibara muttered as you nodded and left to weight-lift.

Not that you noticed, but Haibara Yu—tactically well-coordinated ex-spy and Eldritch horror Haibara Yu—had been dropping weights on his foot ever since you joined the gym with him because he was too busy watching you, finally getting the chance to spend time alone with you, uninterrupted. And honestly? He wasn’t even mad about the bruises.

Meanwhile, Megumi, who had inherited his father’s Hybrid Functional Training regimen—a brutal combination of heavy lifting and combat conditioning—would have micro-managed your every move worse than Nanami ever could. That’s exactly why you chose Haibara as your gym partner. And when the opportunity landed in his lap, he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

---

Nanami had known something was wrong the second you stepped through the door.

You were back from the gym—and you looked like you had just come from the gym. Your leggings were clinging to you, your hair was tied back in a loose bun, and you were still lightly flushed from the workout.

Nanami had already prepared a glass of water and a protein bar. He wasn’t going to comment on the fact that Haibara was the one who had taken you—that was a separate problem to address later.

But something was… off.

You were standing in the hallway, frowning at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

"Did something happen?"

Your hand slid protectively over your stomach. "No."

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. "You’re sure?"

You exhaled sharply, still staring at your reflection. "Yeah."

Nanami’s brow furrowed. He set down the glass of water and crossed the room, standing beside you. His gaze followed yours in the mirror.

"You look fine," Nanami said carefully.

Your mouth tightened. "I look huge."

Nanami’s brows drew together. His gaze flicked toward you. "You’re pregnant."

"I know that."

"Then why are you—"

"I just feel big," you snapped, turning toward him.

Nanami went still. His eyes sharpened.

You sighed, brushing a hand down your shirt. "I was next to Haibara in the gym mirror today."

Nanami’s jaw immediately clenched. "And?"

"And I looked huge next to him." You gestured toward your stomach. "Like a planet orbiting a star."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened.

"And everyone was looking at me," you continued, your tone sharp. "I could feel it. Like they were thinking, How did she let herself get like this? I’m—" Your voice caught. "I’m massive."

Nanami inhaled slowly through his nose. His hand flexed at his side.

"Did Haibara say anything?"

"No," you said quickly, like it was the most absurd thing in the world, right up there with pigs flying. "He’d never."

"Then who?"

You hesitated. "No one said anything."

Nanami’s jaw flexed.

"But they were looking." You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know why it just hit me today, but I feel…" You trailed off.

Nanami’s gaze softened. "You feel what?"

"Like I’ve lost control of my body." Your hand pressed lightly over your stomach. "I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought I’d just feel… low on energy. Or at least in control. But instead, I just feel…" Your throat tightened. "Heavy."

Nanami exhaled slowly. His gaze tracked over your face, the slight tremor in your hand.

"You don’t look heavy."

"I feel heavy," you muttered. "And round. And—"

"You’re pregnant," Nanami interrupted gently. His hand brushed over your shoulder. "You’re carrying two human lives. Your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to."

"That’s not the point," you muttered. "The point is—"

Nanami’s hands slid down to your hips, steady and grounding.

"Listen to me," Nanami said quietly. His gaze sharpened. "You are not ‘huge.’ You are pregnant. You are growing lives. That is not weakness."

Your throat tightened. "You have to say that. You’re my husband."

Nanami’s gaze darkened. His hands tightened lightly over your hips. "I don’t have to say anything."

Your mouth trembled. "But—"

"You feel heavy?" Nanami’s voice dropped. His gaze cut through you. "Then let me hold you."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

Nanami lifted you.

"Nanami!"

You inhaled sharply as his hands curled beneath your thighs and lower back, lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped automatically around his waist, and your hands curled over his shoulders.

"Too heavy?" Nanami’s tone was low, dangerous.

You stared down at him, wide-eyed. "I—"

Nanami’s mouth curled slightly. "I don’t think so."

"That’s not the—"

"You said you feel heavy," Nanami said simply. "Do you feel heavy now?"

You swallowed. "That’s not fair."

Nanami’s hand slid over the back of your thigh. His gaze sharpened. "You’re not heavy," he said softly. "You’re mine."

Your chest squeezed painfully. "You’re just saying that."

Nanami’s brow lifted. "Am I?"

You hesitated.

Nanami’s hands tightened over you. "I could hold you all day," he said quietly. "Does that sound like someone who thinks you’re too much?"

Your throat tightened. "…No."

Nanami’s gaze softened. His hand slid over your lower back, steady and grounding.

"I don’t care how much you weigh," Nanami murmured. "I don’t care how you look next to anyone else. I care that you’re safe. I care that you’re alive and healthy. I care that you’re here with me."

Your lips parted. "Kento…"

Nanami’s gaze softened. His hand brushed over your jaw. "Do you understand?"

You inhaled shakily. "I… think so."

Just then, Takahashi scurried into the room, a chewed-up cord dangling from his mouth like a war trophy. His beady little eyes landed on you—

And then on Nanami.

Who was still holding you.

Takahashi’s baby raccoon brain immediately decided this was a crime.

With the righteous fury of a woodland creature who had never known oppression until this very moment, he launched himself at Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, unfazed, merely lifted you higher.

Takahashi, realizing his attack had failed, hissed—his little back arching, fur puffing up like a tiny, enraged marshmallow.

You barely stifled a laugh. "He thinks you’re hurting me."

"Hm." Nanami’s mouth curved slightly. "Should I put you down before he declares war?"

Takahashi bared his teeth, his whole body trembling with rage. He lunged for Nanami’s slippers, gnawing like he was trying to free you from captivity.

"Takahashi, no—" You wheezed, covering your mouth.

Nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on you as Takahashi flailed against his leg, clearly trying to defeat the great oppressor.

"You’re not helping, darling," Nanami muttered, voice dry.

"Put me down before he actually draws blood," you said, barely containing your laughter.

Nanami sighed but obliged, lowering you carefully to the floor. The second your feet touched the ground, Takahashi immediately stopped fighting—staring up at Nanami like, That’s right. Know your place, human.

Then, with one last threatening huff, he scurried off like a victorious warrior.

Nanami, unbothered, gave you a pointed look. "Better?"

You hesitated. "…Yeah."

"Good." Nanami’s mouth curved slightly. "Would you like to continue arguing, or should I order dinner?"

Takahashi, apparently satisfied with his bravado, sprinted away after spotting a bird by the window.

Your mouth twitched. "That depends."

"On what?"

"What kind of dinner."

Nanami smiled. "Anything you want."

You arched a brow. "Even if it’s expensive?"

"Especially if it’s expensive."

"Even if it’s complicated?"

"I’ll learn how to make it."

You narrowed your eyes. "Even if—"

Before you could finish, his hand slid over the back of your neck, tilting your chin upward. His mouth curved.

"Yes," Nanami murmured. "Even then."

Your breath hitched. "You’re too good at this."

Nanami’s mouth curled. "That’s why you married me."

You rolled your eyes, but your hand curled over his wrist.

Nanami’s gaze softened. "Do you feel better?"

You hesitated.

"…Maybe."

Nanami’s brow lifted. "Only ‘maybe’?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"If you’re going to rub my feet later."

Nanami’s gaze sharpened. "I would have done that regardless."

Your mouth twitched. "Dangerous."

Nanami smiled faintly.

You scowled. "Don’t get cocky."

"Too late." Nanami pressed his mouth lightly to your temple.

You sighed. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re beautiful," Nanami said simply.

Your cheeks flushed. "Stop that."

Nanami’s hand slid lightly over your lower back. His mouth brushed over your temple.

"Never," he murmured.

From across the room, Takahashi huffed disapprovingly.

---

t for watermelons. Not for anything."

Your chest squeezed painfully.

You leaned into him, pressing your face against his shoulder. Gojo’s arm curled protectively around you.

"Thanks," you murmured.

Gojo’s mouth brushed over your temple. "Anytime, sweetheart."

You sighed. "I can’t believe you actually got so many watermelons."

Gojo’s grin widened. "Marry rich."

You scowled into his shoulder. "I already did."

Gojo laughed. "Smart girl."

You sighed, resting against him as he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

And beneath his hand, your belly shifted softly.

Gojo smiled.

"See?" he murmured. "They approve."

Your lips curved. "We’ll see if you still think that at 3 AM when they wake up screaming."

Gojo’s grin widened. "Can’t wait."

You rolled your eyes. "You say that now."

Gojo’s hand slid over your belly again, his gaze bright.

"Watermelons and chaos," Gojo murmured. "It’s going to be a hell of a life."

You smiled. "Yeah."

Gojo grinned, relieved. "Yeah, yeah. I love you too pretty hoodie lady."

You turned to look up at him. 

Then, because Gojo never knew when to quit—

"You wanna go thank the watermelons personally? Maybe we can write them a letter?"

"Satoru."

"What if we start a fan club? ‘Mothers For Seedless watermelons.’ I'll be vice president—"

"Satoru."

"—and we’ll meet every Tuesday and talk about how life-changing they are—"

"Satoru, if you don’t stop talking—"

"I’ll carry you to the car?"

You sniffed and wiped your eyes again. "Fine."

Moments later, Gojo was holding both you and the watermelons.

He kissed your forehead before carrying you out the door like you were royalty.

---

Chili Rating Poll: Rate each husband's progress in couples therapy (1-5 🌶️): 1 🌶️ = Still setting fires in Sims 4 3 🌶️ = Gojo bought apology watermelons 5 🌶️ = Nanami admitted he’s a simp Bonus: How many times did you scream ‘JUST COMMUNICATE’? So how many parallels did you catch???🤔🌚 Or what was your fav line??? 👀

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[corpsekiller]

pls can you write gintoki finding out her s/o is pregnant? would he be happy? would he not? your choice (you can make it fluff or angst and i will be happy either way)

thank you so much for sending this request, i absolutely adored this idea! i was honestly considering writing this incredibly angsty, but i don't think gintoki would let his partner down if he truly loved them, so fluff it is. i hope you enjoy <3

PAIRING. sakata gintoki x fem!reader

WARNINGS. unexpected pregnancy and so much fluff

MASTERLIST

It's one of those days — one that drags out in tranquility, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

Gintoki slouches in his usual spot at the Yorozuya, draped over the blue sofa with no space left for anyone else to sit as he absentmindedly pokes at the remains of his parfait and he flips through the newest Jump magazine. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't even look up when you come in, though at least he puts in the effort to grunt lowly in a half-hearted greeting.

"Gin?" You ask carefully, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other as if the movement could ease some of the unbearable anxiety that churns in the pit of your stomach. "I really need to tell you something important."

"If it's about some new bill, just add it to the mountain in the corner over there." Your boyfriend doesn't take his eyes off the page he's currently reading, only raises his hand to give you a dismissive wave that gestures towards his desk where stacks of papers and unopened letters rest, right next to his wooden sword and a few coins of loose change that wouldn't even be enough to buy a bottle of strawberry milk.

For a moment, you just stare at him — to be truthful, you always admired his unheeding act, this mask of utter boredom that never seems to crack, no matter what kind of danger he faces like a rock amid the crashing waves of the sea, but right now, it's nothing more than infuriating. The thought of turning on your heels and leaving crosses your mind for a fleeting second, followed by dreading fear that tries to convince that he'd kick you out anyway if you tell him the reason for your unannounced visit and yet—

"Gintoki!" You snap, raising your voice just enough for him to actually look at you this time.

Just as you hoped, that catches his attention. Immediately, he straightens up and turns to face you, a glint of genuine surprise flickering across his face before it dims behind the furrow of his brows.

It takes him exactly five seconds to notice that something is definitely wrong.

Five seconds in which he lets his gaze linger on you, studying the way your hands fiddle with the hem of your sleeve and your chest heaves as you draw in a shaky breath, noticing the soft pout of your lips and the glaze in your eyes as if you're on the verge of crying before he speaks up.

"What's going on?" He asks tentatively, his voice gentle, now that he's realized how serious the situation truly is. There's a glint of confusion in the maroon of his eyes and you fight the urge to run away, try to keep your feet in place as you bury your fingers in the fabric of your clothes and push out the words before you can think too much about their weight.

“I’m… I’m pregnant, Gin.”

The silence that follows fills the entire Yorozuya and spills out into the busy streets of Edo. Your heart thunders in your chest, loud and violent, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you stare at him, waiting for a reaction no matter how much it scares you.

Your boyfriend's eyes widen and his mouth drops open, perhaps to offer you a stupid joke or a sarcastic remark, but no sound tumbles from his parted lips as your statement slowly sinks in.

Instead, he blinks once, twice, gaping at you owlishly.

Then, as if on mere instinct, he jumps back like you just announced you're carrying an alien parasite inside your body. "Pregnant?! Like... with a tiny human? In there?" He asks, wide-eyed and stuttering, pointing at your stomach in disbelief. "Are you sure it's not just a food baby?"

Exasperated, you roll your eyes, though you can't help but crack a small smile at his idiocy. "Yes, I'm sure."

"How could this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but—," Gintoki mutters to himself, stumbling over every syllable as he paces around the room, gesturing wildly and occasionally running his hand through his hair, tousling it in a frenzy — even worse, he looks like someone just told him strawberry milk has been banned for all eternity. "I was careful, I swear! I don't even eat my snacks without a napkin!"

Now, that's just a blatant lie.

Yet, despite the former shock, you can't help but chuckle, which only makes him pout more.

"Alright, alright," he finally mutters, seemingly trying to pull himself together. "So, I'm officially gonna be a dad, huh? It's not like I've been pulling this job off for two other brats... Just give me a minute process that — this is a big deal, like finding Jump's on break for the week kind of big. Y'know, traumatizing."

That comment earns him a slap on the back of his head.

"Yeah, okay, I deserved that," he huffs, rubbing over the sore spot where you hit him to ease some of the ache. "Guess I can’t get by on nothing but dango and parfaits if there’s gonna be another kid around, huh? My wallet was already dying, but now it’s going to be a corpse."

But even as he complains, you notice how his expression softens and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, dreamy and even a little proud. Slowly, he steps closer and wraps his arms around you, surprising not only you but himself as well as he pulls you against his chest and presses a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Y'know, I'm not exactly what you'd call dad material. Most people just call me lazy, reckless, a walking sugar crash waiting to happen," he murmurs into your hair, trailing off as he loosens his arms around your shoulders and pushes you back just enough to get a good look at your face. "But I guess if you’re crazy enough to want me in this with you… I’ll try not to screw it up. Too much, anyway."

Your lips curve upwards and you quickly cover your mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the laugh that dares to escape, but he already picked it up — he might not have reacted how a loving partner should have to such news, but he knows exactly how to ease your tension and bring back that smile he always loves to see on your face.

"We'll do this together, okay? Just promise me one thing," he continues, mischief glinting in his eyes. "If this kid tries to start eating my parfaits or cuts into my dango stash, you’re the one who has to deal with it. I’m not above grounding my own kid for a stolen snack, got it?"

With that, Gintoki gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and pulls you with him to settle on the sofa, cuddled against his side as things slowly return back to normal. Well, as normal as life can get now that he knows a child is on its way. But even if he has no idea what the future holds, one thing is certain—he’ll be facing it by your side.

Taglist: @jaerang @justwolosers @imjustaweirdnerd

[littleplantfreak]

A Candle’s Memory

Pairing: Umemiya x Reader

Cw: Fluff and slight hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1782

I did this as an exercise that turned into me writing for longer than I was supposed to because I felt sad about leaving it unfinished. The Prompts were candle wick or an old flame rekindled (I did both) and the theme was : Preservation in preparation for the coming winter, we try to hold onto the last bit of warmth. Write about letting go, or not wanting to.

Oh! Thank you @birinboom, min skat and my lovely beta reader. I wouldn’t have posted it without you 😘

Thunk

Snow hitting your window snaps your mind out of the book you were reading and breaks the immersion completely, causing more anger than fear. You know the face that pops up outside the window immediately as you give him a bored look. For a 12 year old, Umemiya's more dependable than most adults, dragging himself out of bed at 6:00AM to shovel the older neighbors' sidewalks. His cheeks and nose are stained red, and his sniffling causes the window to fog up.

When you crack the window halfway, the warmth is sucked out of your room, the wind blowing the candle you were using as a reading light out. Dog earring the page of your book, you reach out as your hands cover his cheeks, hoping to bring him some form of warmth. You really have to pity his poor skin with the way he gives it no more care than to wrap a scarf around his neck and sometimes bury his face deep in it to keep away frostbite.

"Whatcha readin' this time?" He asks, feeling the blood return to his face now that there's warm skin over his own frigid cheeks. The candle blown out stares him down while the wax cools as if faulting him for its death.

"Treasure Island. You should read it after I'm done." Because he should. You know his taste, and this is something he can get behind. Pirates and adventure for a boy who's got an equally adventurous dream roiling in his bones. He never asks what it's about, and you never tell him, both content at the surprise.

"I'll pick it up on my way to school," Is all he says to that before taking the matches off the side of the table and relighting your candle. He hops down a little ways, setting out to do at least two more sidewalks before he has to go back home and get dressed.

This routine continues until it stops snowing. Or at least you would think it would. He doesn't have any real reason to come back once it's warm enough, you'd think, but when he shows up on a morning without snow, you're a bit confused.

"I saw the candle going again and decided to stop by." He says immediately. It's still cold, but his face is much less irritated by it without precipitation.

"Are you...on a walk?"

"Something like that!" He says leaning into the window, giving no concern over how close he gets to you or the burning candle he almost knocks over. It'd be silly to say you didn't have a crush on him, especially with his constant morning attention and how his smile seemed to light up your room more than your candle ever could.

His eyes go to the book you're reading once again. This time the cover reads Hamlet. When he meets your eyes again, you let out a breath you'd been holding.

"This one is a tragedy, so you might not like it as much." It's more than you've ever said about one of the books before.

"Do you like it?" He asks, gray eyes dancing between looking at your bedhead and the pretty eyes that caught his attention the first time he saw you through the window.

"I do."

"I'll give it a try." He shows a softer smile, less thousand-watt and more warm sunny day. You're not sure if he can tell just how breathless it makes you when he does that. Surely he has to know. The thought of him smiling like that makes your heart twist in an unpleasant way, but you'll be damned if you ever let that monster win against showing him nothing but the smile you return to him.

The one morning you wish he'd come, he doesn't. The dread you feel lays heavy like a rock in your throat as the moving van comes that afternoon, dragging you away from your window. Before you leave, you look from the outside where he'd stand, seeing from his point of view what it looked like sans burning candle. Surely it must look more comforting with the flame and its golden halo.

When you think about him coming back to the dark empty frame, no longer allowed access, the tears you thought would be so easy to hold back fall painfully. The bookmark you lay out on the windowsill that your parents bought you as a birthday present sits limp and dead, and you wonder if it'll blow away before he finds it.

It does not blow away before he finds it, luckily. The unlucky thing is that you're gone. He's been kept away by a fever he didn't think would get worse after the first day. Try as he might've to meet you, the room spun, and he quickly and often became accustomed to the toilet those three days he was bedridden. The bookmark had small pressed petals and a pink tassel to match them. He holds it tight, looking at the window and feeling like it was a closed door.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

When you move back to your hometown, you're well out of high school. The town has changed for the better as you walk through, seeing the community flourish with potted plants in front of stores no longer kicked and smashed, and kids walking together, no nervous glances to the alleyways anymore. You've got an inkling as to who's responsible for the change, but you brush aside thoughts of him even now, the nostalgia keeping you from reading any books you'd shared back then. You'd learned fast back then that rereading them only caused stormy waves to wash over you, soaking you in a delicate sadness.

There are plenty of books in the world. A few are off limits. If you saw him, though, would it allow you to read them again, the way you so desperately wish to? Sometimes you wonder if it's the books you miss or the interest Umemiya gave to both you and the pages.

You buy your old house from your parents, who never got around to selling it. It's run down and dusty, and the rooms are the same as ever. You can't bring yourself to take any room but your own from back then, setting it up differently except for the desk against the window.

The old scentless candle is now replaced with a sweet lemon one that you allow to burn while the window stays open well into the later evening. The lack of scent back then was only due to your parents who weren't pleased with your staying up past bedtime, hours into the next morning, and then sleeping when you got home from school until you started the cycle once more.

The house feels better now that you've got it clean, at least. There are carpets to rip out, and leaks to check. The backyard is overgrown, and the light in the shed refuses to work, but this is home. It feels more like home than the house you'd moved to all those years ago.

The next day, you walk back to your house from the library with a stack of three books nestled close to your chest. You can't help your eyes flickering to the large figure making his way to the door you've just come out of, and when you hold it for him, you're more sure than ever.

"Umemiya Hajime, is that you?" you ask, voice a little more enthused than you'd wanted it to be. He looks once, then to the door before he double takes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind, with the cutest pout you didn't know a grown man could make. Your name falls from his mouth like a question. "The one and only," you say, and your smile turns fond, remembering just how much tinier he used to be. You were always taller than him, at least from your seat at the desk, but now he towers above you.

"It's really you," he breathes for a moment, looking at the differences and picking them out easily. He feels like it was just yesterday that he leaned too close to your candle, singeing the end of his scarf by accident. He remembers the look of panic when you realized he was on fire and started smacking at him with your book. You'd ended up having to buy that one from the library due to the soot and small scorches to the cover from your rescue. He still has it on a shelf in his room, insisting he'd pay you back, but you said it'd be a late Christmas present despite it being closer to Valentine's day than anything. When he brought it up back then, you'd waved it off, stuttering something about how it was more about intention than actual calendar dates.

"Are you visiting?" He asks, not having heard that you were around from anyone, but you always were a bit more introverted.

"I bought my old house and moved back actually. There was a job with a 20-minute commute from here, so I figured it'd be great to be somewhere familiar. I didn't know Makochi changed this much." He sees the crinkle of your eyes and the smile you throw to him when you say the last sentence, knowing you've always been fully aware of his dreams. Seeing that was worth more than any praise. The look was praise itself, maybe, given how it filled his chest with a warmth that had him laying a hand there as his fingers played with the neck of his shirt as he tried hard not to fist the fabric.

"If I'd known, I would've stopped by sooner."

"You know now, so stop by whenever you want," you laugh, because years ago, he would never have been shy about it. The book you see he's holding has something pink attached. A memory surfaces, spanning over years of living in a separate, different place, only to settle right where a story ended. At least you thought it had ended, but maybe you'll have to crack it open again just to be sure.

"This time, you can come in through the door."  You walk off with a wave, thinking about lighting that lemon scented candle again when you get home. You let it burn long enough last time for the memory to shape the wax into a nice, even pool, which will help the wick burn slow and steady once you relight it.

[dawnoftime22]

the cold and sickly kisses.

| T.S

Warnings: R being sick (having sore throat / cold), medicine (pills), maybe some clingy R

Summary: The moment you felt sick, nonetheless, Taylor stayed taking care of you, and sending you to sleep by reading a book.

Word Count: 1.9k

Category: Fluff

A/N: its ironic the world is making me be sick the moment I'm trying to work on my music 😞

| Started on 01/07/2024, 11:35 PM |

| Finished on 11/04/2025, 2:07 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

Request Guidelines

“every cuddle and kiss, give me it whether while sick or healthy.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

The birds were chirping gently from the bedroom window.

You were laid in bed asleep, beside Taylor, and she was reading a book, keeping you close to her. You could feel her fingers threading in your hair, while her other hand kept the pages open.

Since the book was bigger and looser, it made it easier to read as she slowly eased your body to relax.

Meredith was beside her, the cat purring gently as it curled up, the fluffy tail tucked comfortably against herself.

With the passing time, you were starting to move more, stirring from your sleep. You had been deep in slumber for the past hour or two, peaceful and undisturbed, and Taylor made sure to keep you safe in her arms.

Noticing the movement below, she looks down, realizing that you were awaking. A smile raises on her lips, and she slows down her movement in your hair even further than she already had. This was one of her favorite moments to watch, to keep and ingrain in her mind for her memories; the times you wake up and she could just gaze. The vulnerability, yet safety of it all.

You took a deep breath in, opening your eyes to see a silhouette of the blonde, blurry before you blinked away the sleep.

She was about to speak, when your familiar voice reached her ears, sleepy, and full of what she deemed cute. "Tay...?" you had whispered, turning more to her.

She hums softly in response. "Yeah, baby?" With the way she answered, you were sure you were still dreaming. But here you were, having your head rested in her lap.

"'M cold," you uttered quietly. Your throat had an odd feeling within it, but you try to think its because you had just woken up. Or hope.

"Come here then, honey," Taylor whispers, urging you closer. She had paused her reading, closing the book to put aside, and to gently pull the covers up.

Afterwards, she shifted down to get more comfortable, her back fully against the mattress. You cuddled up to her, nestling within her arms.

When you breathed in, you felt a yawn creeping to escape, and you let it, using her chest to hide your face. The warmth of it seeped through her shirt, and her heart squeezed itself out of love. "I don't know why I'm so tired today..." you had mumbled under your breath.

She thought about it for a long while, her nose getting itself buried in your hair. "Mmn...maybe your body just needs its rest? Probably been built up over the past few weeks."

You sighed softly, slumping against her. "Yeah, but I woke up sleepy today, then took a nap...and I still feel sleepy," she heard your murmur, and stayed quiet in her thinking.

Eventually, she asks the question thats been on her mind ever since she saw the exhaustion on your face, but she laces it with the gentlest tone. "...How does your head feel?"

You looked up at her, knowing she was probably looking for an answer between feeling it physically, or mentally. "Fatigued?" you considered, then sighed, trying to make it clear you didn't entirely feel down, just under the weather. "But I'm not like...tired tired."

Her face softens, and she gently pushes back a few strands of your hair since as it was all up in your face, and you didn't mind it.

"You know, now I think about it...I do feel like a sore throat is coming," you had added in. And there it was, the confession of an upcoming dreadful few days for you, but a caring one for Taylor.

She gazed at you, her fingers brushing through your hair before she settled the back of her hand to your forehead, her knuckles lightly making contact. "You're coming down with a cold, baby?"

"I hope not...or well, I mean, not a cold, but probably just a sore throat." You pouted, cuddling closer into her. She gave you a kiss atop the head, knowing full well it was still miserable either way, since being sick still came with the tendecies of your body turning weak for rest.

"Do you want any medicine, sweetheart?" she asked, giving it a try, even if she knew you didn't lean towards taking it when being sick a lot of the time.

You contemplated it, your lips pressed together slightly. "No...? I mean, maybe some, but no disgusting liquid, please." The sentence was somewhat agreeable. Something you weren't sure of, but you knew your sickly body needed some caring attention of healthy things—even if disgusting.

Her lips curved into a smile, and she nodded. "Okay. Stay here, 'kay? I'm gonna go get it." Although yet, to your dismay, she started to get up, cupping the back of your head so she can carefully place you on the bed and out of her lap.

"But..." you started, trying to protest in regret of realizing that she had to leave in order to get the very thing that'll make you feel well.

"Shhh, close your eyes. Count some numbers or something baby. Just for a couple of minutes," she said, urging you by also momentarily closing off your vision with her hand, to then walk away mindlessly as if she had done some disappearing act magic trick. What a way to distract you.

"Tay..." you called out, complaining slightly when you had your vision back, but she was already out the door, making you pout, blinking, to then close your eyes anyway.

It was quiet, the winds of the ceiling fan gently humming away, but the bed was also growing cold and lonely. Oh, the tragedy...but the least is, you had a cat purring beside you.

After a few seconds, you felt the bed dip down, and you instantly opened your eyes, seeing the blonde back in your vision.

"I'm back. Wasn't I fast?" She questioned, holding a glass of water in her hand, and a blister pack that had the pills in the other.

You nod, an unamused look on your face, mixed in with the pout still on your lips. "Mhm. Sure. Totally like the flash or something, baby," your response came, teasingly as ever.

She laughs, putting the glass down on the side table, then helped you up from your lazy position. "Sit up...there we go, just for a bit."

When she saw you blinking and in static for a bit, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You okay?" the blonde asked, and you tried getting the fuzziness out your brain.

Eventually, you somewhat nod with a breath in. "Just a little dizzy. Probably from all the time I spent in bed," you murmured, leaning into her shoulder, and she gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah...that happens." She pursed her lips, her hand gently patting your back to then rub up and down so she could soothe you. You melted slightly against her, closing your eyes.

You felt the disorientation start to fade away, and you let the air fill your lungs, letting it go after a short while. "It's a little ironic. Sick, and I need to stay in bed, but also, I can't be in it for too long. Doesn't make sense," you had mumbled under your breath.

She smiled softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Maybe we should hang out at the couch," she offered.

You pondered on it, turning your head to rest your cheek against her chest. "Maybe...but I wanna be in bed right now." Your voice was small, slightly raspy from the sore throat. She looked down at you, searching your eyes carefully.

"Mmn. Okay then." Taylor accepted it, although she turned her body to reach out for the glass of water, handing it to you with the blister pack. "But at least have these so you can get better, baby."

You took it, using your nail to pop out the pills. "Thank you." Soon, you drank the water with the medication, downing it easily, and wincing slightly as it went through your throat, but the feeling that came after was more relieving than you've been for the past day.

Once you got a couple more slow sips of water, you hold the glass out to Taylor, and she took it, putting it aside. "Better?" Her arms went back to wrapping around you, and she watched as you turned back to laying down on the bed.

"Yeah..." you breathed out, but reached out for her with a look she couldn't deny, and nothing cohld help the smile adoring her face as she gratefully sat back with you, pulling you in her lap.

"Good," she whispered back. You buried your face into her neck, your arms wrapped around her. She embraced you gently, her chin resting atop your shoulder.

The warmth in the air was familiar. Comfortable. But you leaned back after a while, looking up at her. "Come here..." you murmured softly, reaching your hand up to her cheek, so you could bring her closer for a soft kiss. You could only thank the water you drank earlier that didn't make you feel as icky anymore.

Taylor melted into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed as she presses herself closer. A hum of contentment escapes her, and eventually, she leans back with the corners of her lips raised.

You looked into the sea of her eyes. "I actually don't want you to get sick..." She heard you murmur, and tried resisting from squishing you into a big hug that would steal your air.

"But I already kissed you," you said defeatedly, leaning your forehead against hers. You looked so cute to her, that she had to giggle.

"Too late now," she commented softly, placing a soft boop to your nose. "Plus, you know my immune system is better, right?"

Her words made your lips turn up in return, and you hugged her tighter. "Yeah, yeah, okay...it is true, sometimes you're like a literal superhuman." Taylor laughed softly from her loved soul, registering your statement.

"Mhmn." She nodded in agreement, knowing it was right, and you flushed. Nonetheless, the back of her index finger lightly brushed your cheek, as if to soothe you.

You leaned into it, closing your eyes. "You're the best, you know that?" you whispered softly under the breath you let go. The cloth of her shirt was soft like a cloud, and you let yourself sink into it.

"Well, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't take care of the one that has my heart?" she questions back, her hand trailing off to be in your hair again.

You smiled, the red in your cheeks growing to a deeper color as you burrowed yourself into her chest. She squeezed you gently, needing to get her love out instead of putting it behind anything.

You cleared your throat slightly, trying to banish the mucus stuck in it, but it almost felt glued to your system. So instead, you just tried cuddling her closely as the feeling dissipated with a couple shifts in your position.

The quiet needed to be relished in, so for a moment, she just sat there, with you, snuggled close. The importance of peace filling up the very moment of your free day.

But of course, she had to soon lean down, her breath touching your ear like a ghost's touch, except she was right there. "Go to sleeeep..." she whispered, knowing all too well the medicine earlier is sending you off into a dreamful state.

You inhaled shortly, turning your face slightly out her chest. "I caaaan't...I just woke up." you whispered back, your tone just as playful, and the both of you giggled.

"I do want to though, I feel too sick right now..." you made sure to add in. Taylor looked at the time, it being 6:17 PM, and you had lunch just earlier, so there was time enough for a nap without missing anything.

She let her mind wander for a while, a small soft hum escaping her. You felt her leaning back, possibly getting more comfortable against the pillows and having you pulled up more to her chest. You of course took the pull gratefully, resting closely to her collarbone like it was your place to be. Which, she of course was.

"Okay, do you want me to read you the book I was reading?" she asked, grabbing the leather bound book that was deep in the color of red.

"...What is it?" you asked softly, looking at the cover, and seeing the golden text with framed designs and decorations.

"Narnia. I just started on the first few pages," she said, stealing a moment to kiss you on the head, and your eyes brightened at the name of the title in the meanwhile.

"Yeah, please..." you whispered, eager to hear her reading the comforting story out to you with that soothing voice of hers. Even if she was a singer, ready for a song or anything—for you, her voice was home. And most of the time, it held reassuring words of comfort, but sometimes you would fall asleep just listening to her.

She nodded, opening up to read the pages of the book. "Good. I'll start over since I'm not far."

"'Chapter 1, Lucy Looks Into a Wardrobe.'" Her voice was soft, starting quiet, but enough to understand and hear so she could lull you to sleep.

"'Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.'"

"'This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air-raids.'"

"'They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post-office...'"

Not long after a while, she had looked down, and there you were, eyes closed and sleeping peacefully against her chest. Although you were sick, she still found it the most precious moment, and helped you to be in a more comfortable position.

With a smile, she continued reading, but in her head instead, so she doesn't wake you.

--------------------

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[ssa-atlas-alvez]

hey could I be 🦕, if it's not taken?

I also have a request lol, could u do a meltdown comfort fic? ( definitely not requesting this be I had a meltdown over not having the right pasta sauce for my comfort/safe food) like where a male reader has a bunch of little things built up and it spills over when there's no more of readers comfort/safe food and they end up lashing out and having a meltdown because of it

anyways have a good evening,thx!

Hiya, I'm really sorry thats taken 😔 (I need to make a list lmao) - assuming you're not the other 🦕 anon currently in my drafts 😅

I hope this is okay, I don't have autism or meltdowns, so feel free to let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. I don't think the reader in this has a meltdown, he was distressed and then stims to regulate his emotions. But yeah, feel free to let me know if I get anything wrong, I don't want to offend anyone or anything.

Warnings: reader is distressed, meltdown

"(Y/N)? What's wrong-"

"Can you just fuck off?!" Everyone falls silent as the words burst from your mouth. You immediately look down, mentally scolding yourself for yelling at Hotch like that. Hotch. Of all people. Who had been nothing but kind to you since you joined. Who always made sure you were okay. Who was also your boss. "I- I'm sorry-" Your voice is quiet and Hotch has to strain his ears to hear you.

Instead of yelling, like everyone assumed he would, his gaze softens as he looks at you. "How about we head up to my office for a few minutes, okay?" His voice is reassuring and is doing nothing for your guilt and the dread for what he would say when it was just the two of you.

You hadn't meant to snap at him, but everything had just built up and built up and it was your tipping point. You should have just gone home.

It had started this morning when it turns out you had run out of milk - meaning you couldn't have cereal and a cup of coffee for breakfast. Then, you couldn't find the socks you had planned on wearing, you missed the early bus because of how long you had tried to find the socks you wanted to wear, and that made you almost late for work. And then, when you opened the fridge, it turns out someone had eaten the last of your safe foods you kept stocked up in the fridge.

You knew no one on the team would have taken it, they knew you were particular about your food (that's how you had worded it when you first joined the team - they knew the reasoning behind it now, of course but its still how you described it). And they always tried their best to make sure that you had food in the fridge that you liked.

You follow him to his office silently, you don't miss the look he shoots the rest of the team - who quickly make themselves look busy. So you don't feel more on edge than you already do. Your heart twinges at this. You had just yelled at him and here he was, being incredibly sweet to you.

When you reach his office, he shuts the door gently behind him and motions to the couch, you sit. "You don't have to speak until you're ready, whatever you need to do to help regulate your emotions is okay."

You take a moment to process his words before you give a small nod. It takes a few seconds before you gently start to rock, humming gently to yourself. Hotch sits down on the couch, at the other end. He wanted you to know he was there if you needed him, but enough space to do what you needed to. He slowly picked up the book on the coffee table, flicking to the page he was currently on.

Eventually, when your stimming comes to an end, Hotch closes the book. He had been keeping a close eye on you, not really paying attention to the book. He had just wanted to make you comfortable.

"You weren't reading," You state quietly.

"I wasn't," Hotch says with a nod.

"Thank you," You reply. You knew what he was doing - he had done it a few times during similar situations.

"That's alright," He gives a small (rare) smile, "Did you want to talk about what's going on?"

"It's just been a bad day." You shrug, "No coffee, no breakfast, wrong socks, and now no safe food," You felt your cheeks tint pink ever so slightly in embarrassment.

Hotch just nods, "I understand. What snack in particular were you craving?"

"I wanted a chocolate muffin," You shrugged, running a hand over your face. All you could think about was how stupid this all was.

"Is that the Starbucks one?" When you nod, Hotch smiles slightly and rummages about in his desk. "I had a feeling that this might happen at some point. So I stocked up on your safe foods." He said, pulling out a muffin. "There you go. As for drinks, take whatever you fancy,"

You look up, eyes slightly wide at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you,"

"That's alright, and (Y/N)?"

"Yeah?"

"Anytime you're feeling overwhelmed, or if the day isn't going quite right, you're more than welcome to come sit up here, okay?"

"Okay."

[rentsturner]

If you’ve a lesson to teach me… - AT

professor!alex turner x fem!reader

Warnings: established student/teacher relationship, smut, spanking (with a riding crop), oral (male receiving), tiny bit of face fucking, bdsm undertones, unprotected piv sex, sir kink, alex has tattoos, aftercare, teensy bit of angst but lots of fluff, cuddling.

A/n: this is from a request where reader gets a bad grade and Alex ‘punishes’ her. It’s very smutty, but there’s fluff at the end I promise. Thank you as always to my bestie @martinipoliz who wrote like 25% of this fic and is always putting up with me and my moods, couldn’t do it without her. As always, if you don’t like it, don’t read it :)

Today is the day.

The day that you’ve been dreading all week and wishing it wouldn’t come, but it still has.

Last month, Alex gave your class a task which was due last week, and you had barely submitted it on time. Three minutes before the deadline, you were just so relieved that you finished the essay, but not without receiving a disapproving look from Alex as he took the paper from your hands.

To say that you’re nervous about your grade would be an understatement.

You’re fucking terrified.

It was unlike anything Alex had ever given before, and you’re not going to deny that you did struggle a bit coming to terms with some of the subject matter, so that it took you way too long to finally understand it, and even longer to come up with sentences that didn’t sound like absolute dogshit.

You had even tried asking Alex to maybe help you in some parts but then immediately backtracked when he gave you a stern stare that meant you can do this yourself, and so you accepted your fate and gave everything you could and hoped for a miracle.

And who are you kidding? That miracle did not happen.

Because the essay lands on your desk, a large red B- staring up at you, and suddenly getting swallowed by the ground doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.

For you, a B- isn't necessarily bad, but it’s not as good as you usually do. And you know for certain that Alex is not happy with it, by the way he sighs as he hands you the paper and looks down at you pointedly. He taps the ‘B-’ with one long finger.

“Not quite up to your usual standard, sweetheart.” he mutters, quiet enough just for you to hear, and your ears turn red in embarrassment.

And then he’s off, hurriedly handing out the rest of the papers and giving praise to other students, and your heart sinks. To top it all off, you hear him saying “good job, darling,” to the girl sitting at the front while you got nothing. Not even a mere good job too.

You rifle through the pages of your essay, reading Alex’s comments written in red pen. Most of them are constructive criticism, things that you can improve on quite easily, except for the note at the bottom of the page: ‘SEE ME AFTER CLASS’.

You sit through the rest of the class nervously, hands fidgeting, struggling to keep still. Alex notices your restlessness and sends you a stern look from the front of the class. Your stomach twists and clenches just thinking about what he might have planned for you, it’s making you hot and bothered just thinking about it, as well as incredibly nervous.

Alex has talked about punishment before, it’s come up a few times in the relationship that you’ve been having for the past four months. He’s rather very good at communicating and negotiating stuff with you, telling you to be open to him without feeling any shame, and you did.

You told him about the things you wanted to try out and he listened, nodded, indulged your fantasies without making you feel judged or walking on eggshells. Your confession ranged from giving him full authority over you during sex, to negotiating what kind of punishments you’d be comfortable with when you misbehaved. It seems that conversation will be coming in useful now.

Finally, Alex wraps up the class and dismisses the other students. You slowly pack up your notes and pens, waiting patiently for everyone else to filter out the class before making your way to Alex’s desk.

He’s piling up his papers, the sleeves of his white dress shirt neatly rolled up to the elbows.

When your shadow crosses over his desk, he looks up at you. His eyes are soft, but you can tell he’s disappointed.

“I know it was a hard paper, but I did expect better from you, darling.”

“I tried, Al, I promise, I just -”

“Maybe you need a reminder of how hard you should be working. You don’t get to coast in this class just because you’re fucking me. Handing it in with 3 minutes to go wasn’t acceptable either.” He raises his eyebrow at you before going back to stacking his papers.

You stay quiet, guilt and embarrassment rolling in your stomach. He’s right. You’re usually better than this, maybe you have taken your foot off the pedal the last few weeks. It wasn’t like you to hand in papers late, or struggle to write about a subject that you love. But you had been tired recently, it was getting to that time of year where everyone starts to burn out, you included.

Alex seems to notice your silence. He stops messing with his papers and places one hand on your shoulder, brushing his thumb gently along your skin.

“Look, I am a little disappointed in you, darling, and I admit that I expected better. But don’t mistake my disappointment as me being mad, because it’s different. If I was mad at you, I would’ve already bent you over this desk.” He chuckles at that, and you manage to crack a smile too, a jolt of electricity running through you from the thoughts that that comment incites.

“But, this is just me reminding you that just because I’m your boyfriend, that doesn’t make me any less of your teacher.” Alex squeezes your shoulder and you nod at him, understanding what he’s saying. Because he’s right, Alex is still your teacher, and you want to impress him with your work, not coast through his class.

Alex continues marking papers for a bit while you do some revision, taking your usual spot at the end of his desk. He notices you yawning and losing focus after a while, so he offers to order you an Uber back to his flat. You’re practically living at Alex’s place at the moment, half of your clothes and toiletries are there, and it’s a lot easier to go to and from school from his.

Alex walks you to the pick up point, one hand planted protectively on the small of your back - he’s planning to stay on campus for a little longer to finish marking, as he wants you all to himself when he gets home later.

When the Uber arrives, he grabs the door for you, ushering you into the car while he whispers, “I expect you to be naked and kneeling by the bed when I get back. If not, then you’d find yourself in more trouble than you already are.”

You shiver a little at his words, suspecting there would be some element of punishment involved tonight, but now that Alex has confirmed it, you’re incredibly excited. This is something you’ve wanted for a while, and obviously you didn’t want to do badly on your paper, but maybe something good can come out of it…

When you arrive at Alex’s flat, you manage to have a quick nap in an attempt to calm your nerves.

An hour later, you’re kneeling on the floor, ready and waiting. Your skin is coming out in goosebumps, partly from the cool air on your bare skin, partly from the anticipation of Alex arriving home. You rub your thighs together, trying to create some friction to ease the ache in your cunt. The sound of the door opening and then slamming shut startles you a little, your stomach dropping in excitement as you realise Alex is finally back. You hear him drop his bags in the hallway, then his long strides echo through the house as he makes his way up to the bedroom. The suspense is killing you now, you're practically shaking as you wait in your kneeling position for him. You just hope he’s impressed.

The door swings open and Alex enters, a smirk growing as he takes you in, naked and kneeling for him. You swear you see his pupils dilate, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“What a sight to see, really,” he comments, leaning down fully and pressing both of his hands on his knees to meet your eyes. “If only I get to see this every day I come home. Would you mind it, darling? Would you mind if I ask you to be in this exact position every day, naked and vulnerable, waiting for your Sir like a good girl?”

You shake your head, then open your mouth to speak. “I wouldn’t, sir.”

“Good. Because it’d be such a shame if you do,” Alex flashes you a smile, leaning forward to peck your lips. “But let’s not forget why you’re currently here in that position now, yeah? Can you tell me? Tell me the reason why I’m punishing you, wanna hear you say it.”

“I –” your lips quiver, gulping down hard. “Because I got a B- on my paper, sir.”

“That’s right,” he nods, now standing up straight and fixing his posture. “And what am I gonna do to you exactly?”

“Straighten me out?”

Alex laughs softly at your reply, bringing one of his hands up to pet your hair gently. It’s a small gesture yet still manages to make your stomach erupt with butterflies. “Not the words I would use, but sure, darling – I’ll straighten you out.”

Alex quickly discards his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, exposing his arms. You feel yourself gush just looking at them, the veins snaking across his pale skin, marred only by the intricate tattoos extending from his wrists up into the sleeves of his shirt. You think about how the patterns curl around his shoulders, spreading into wings across his back, how you trace them so gently when he’s sleeping, admiring the beauty of him.

Alex interrupts your thoughts, opening his wardrobe and rummaging around in there for a bit. You squirm with anticipation, having no idea what your boyfriend might have planned for you, only knowing that it’s going to be intense.

Alex turns round to face you, a menacing grin plastered across his face, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the object in his hands – a long, slim riding crop, the end a double fold of stiff leather. Your eyes widen, your heart racing as you watch Alex tap the end against his hand.

“What do you think of this, baby? Think you can take it?”

You nod again, but Alex needs more this time”

“Need your words for this, love. What’s your colour?”

“G–Green, sir, so green, please.”

Alex smirks. He takes a few strides so he’s standing over you, stroking your hair gently, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“On the bed, baby. You know what to do.”

He points the crop to the king sized bed behind you, following you as you stretch your stiff legs and make your way over. You sink slowly onto the soft mattress, knowing exactly what position Alex wants you in – ass up, face down. You stretch your arms out in front of you to support your head and try to relax your thighs, presenting your bare cunt and ass to Alex. You can hear his breathing quicken as he takes you in – he’s just as excited as you are.

“I want you to count these out for me, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

You feel the bed dip behind you as Alex takes his position, then hear the swoop of the riding crop through the air, then a burning sensation on your left ass cheek. God it hurts, but it feels so good at the same time, sending a jolt right to your cunt as you cry out.

“One, sir.”

He lands another one on your other cheek, you whimper as the burn spreads across your skin, and manage to whisper out a ‘Two, s- -sir.”

“Colour?”

“Green, please keep going Al – Sir, more please.”

Seems like Alex doesn’t like the way you accidentally addressed him by his name, and so two more quick swats land on your cheeks in quick succession. You bite into the pillow, feeling the tears welling up as you muffle your scream. It fucking burns. You’ve always been so used to his hands spanking you but never leather.

“Forgotten how to count already, princess?”

“No – no, Sir, just –” you sniffle, swallowing down the sob threatening to spill. “Three a–and four.”

“What’s that? Let me hear you –” he pauses, you try to look back in confusion, but before you can see what he’s up to, he’s already bringing the riding crop for another lash on your ass – much harder than the last four. “– say it fucking louder!”

“Five!” You scream, burying your face into the mattress and pulling your lower torso away from the sheer pain, but Alex places his hand on your waist to pull you back closer. “F–Five, Sir, that’s – that’s five, please, it hurts –”

“Does it?” Alex mocks. “You know deep down in yourself that you deserve it, so count properly unless you want me to bring the number up.”

You can’t bring yourself up to speak since you’re already shuddering from your sobs, your skin burning in pain, just adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It was so much, all at once.

You took 5 more strokes from Alex, forcing out the number and a thank you each time, until the 10th blow had you collapsing onto the bed, shuddering and crying.

“Alright, I think that’s enough, yeah, baby?”

Alex places one hand on the small of your back, rubbing up and down your skin in an effort to calm your shaking form.

“You did so well, baby, I’m proud of you.”

Alex’s voice is softer now, and you suspect you’ve got past the worst of the punishment. His words fill you with warmth, and you nod and hiccup into the duvet, reaching one hand back to grab at Alex’s. He intertwines your fingers, letting you find comfort in him for a few moments.

“Good girl. But we aren’t done yet. Need you to make me feel good.”

You roll over, wincing as your raw ass rubs a little on the sheets. You aren’t going to be able to sit down for a few days, that’s for sure.

Alex shuffles to the end of bed and sits back on his heels, beckoning for you to come over, a growing bulge glaring obvious in his navy pants.

You crawl over to Alex, swaying your hips seductively as you move, knowing it will just turn him on even more.

You unbuckle his belt and pull down his fly, your hands shaking a little in your eagerness to please Alex. You’re practically drooling at the thought of his thick cock in your mouth. His fingers card through your hair, gathering it into a ponytail in one hand. He pulls your head back a little from his grip on your hair, until you’re looking up at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown from anticipation, his chest heaving up and down under his shirt. God, you wish you could just rip the white fabric off him, run your hands over his shoulders and chest, feel the solid muscle under his smooth, pale skin.

“Slow down, baby, we’ve got all night, yeah?”

You nod your head, taking a few deep breaths before tugging on Alex’s boxers. He helps you pull them down, his cock slipping out, already thick and hard, a dribble of pre-cum leaking from the swollen tip. You wrap one hand around his length, feeling his velvety skin under your fingertips. Alex’s deep groan fills the room as you drop your head to lick slowly along the underside of his cock. His grip tightens on your hair as you suckle gently on the tip, tasting the saltiness of his precum when you flick your tongue over his head. He sucks in a harsh breath, pulling on your hair.

“Don’t tease me now, darling, you’ll just make it worse for yourself.”

You smirk, giving him your best doe eyes, before ducking your head down to try and take him fully into your mouth, feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat and trying to swallow down a gag. You wrap your hand around his base, pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth. You continue looking up at Alex, his face blurring as a film of tears cloud over your eyes.

Alex groans, the deep sound going straight to your cunt and you try to rub your thighs together for a bit of friction, but Alex is quick to put a stop to that.

“Uh uh, darling, none of that. You can have your pleasure when I’m done, alright?”

You just whine around his cock, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can. There’s drool dripping down your chin and tears slowly spilling from your eyes. Even after numerous tries, you don’t think there will be a day in your life where you can fully take his whole nine inches down your throat without choking yourself to death – but whatever, that’s one good way to die.

“Fuck – so good baby, so good to me.” Alex pants, hand fisting your hair roughly as his hips buck against your mouth. You choke a little at the action and your own hands go to grip his thighs for support, a trail of spit dripping down your chin and onto the floor as the fat head of his cock hits the back of your throat again. “Yeah, darling, fucking choke on it – take it all, fucking take it all like the good girl you are –”

You moan at his words, feeling his cock throb in your mouth, so hot and heavy on your tongue. He’s close, you can tell, so you hollow your cheeks and suckle fervently on his length, getting Alex to his climax the only thing on your mind. Alex growls and you feel a tug on your hair as he pulls you off his cock, and you peer up at him, confused. A string of saliva still connects your lips to his cock and you can see it twitching in front of your face.

“Want to come in your cunt, darling.” Alex declares in between pants.

You nod your head eagerly. “Please, sir, want your cock, please.”

Alex nods, pushing you back until you’re lying back on the soft pillows. He grabs your wrists and puts them above your head. “These stay here, okay?”

You nod again, although you're desperate to touch Alex, you know it's better to do what he says. The cuddling can come later.

Alex drapes himself over your body, the fabric of his trousers brushing against your skin as he nudges your thighs apart, his hand dropping down to spread your folds.

“Fuck, baby, so wet for me, you just fucking love getting punished, don’t you?” One long finger flicks over your clit, spreading your slick over your hot skin. He’s right, you're soaked, a result of the spanking and having his cock in your mouth, so ready for him to have his way with you. And so is he, you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg, still sticky from a mix of your saliva and Alex’s precum. You moan as Alex’s two fingers press roughly into your cunt, scissoring and pressing against your walls, trying to find that special spot inside you.

“You’re lucky I’m giving you some prep, baby, bad girls don’t get stretched out before they take my cock. But you’ve done well for me so far, so I’m gonna be generous.” Alex pants into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to spread across your skin.

He pulls his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on them. Your eyes widen as his face contorts in bliss, licking all of your juices off of his digits. His eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you, his eyes are dark, lust completely overtaking any semblance of reason.

“Gonna fuck you now, darling.”

You both groan in unison as Alex nudges his cock against your clit, grabbing himself at the base to push slowly inside of you. Despite how wet you are, and the few moments Alex spent stretching you out, there’s still a sharp burn as your walls try to accommodate his girth. He’s hot and heavy, throbbing inside of you, and you swear you can feel every ridge and vein as he slowly bottoms out.

Your whole body is trembling, your eyes rolling back into your head, the feeling of Alex so deep inside you almost enough to send you over the edge right there and then. You clench your fists, trying to keep your hands in the position you left them in, fighting the urge to rip Alex’s shirt off and scratch your nails down his back.

“Look at me, baby, look at me while I’m fucking you.” Alex practically growls, grabbing your chin in his hand and turning your face to him.

“Please move, Al- Sorry, Sir, please move.” The feeling of being full is so overwhelming, you need him to move or you might just combust.

Alex just smirks. “I really don’t think you're in any position to be making demands right now, darling. Remember why you’re here, yeah?”

You just whine and nod your head submissively, trying to keep your gaze on his. He lets you suffer for a few moments before finally moving his hips. He pulls out until just his tip is left snug in your hole, then slams his hip back forwards. You scream as his cock drags along your walls, his pelvis rubbing against your clit and his balls slapping against your still raw ass. Within seconds, the fire in your belly is reignited and you can feel yourself approaching your orgasm. You feel like you've been on the edge the whole night, and now, finally, you might get your release.

Alex pounds into you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his gasps and moans coming in time with his thrusts. You can feel the sweat dripping down his brow onto your chest, the fabric of his shirt rubbing roughly against your nipples. You’re desperate to touch him, to run your hands over his shoulder, his neck, his hair, and you can’t hold it back anymore.

“Please, sir, p–please can I touch you? Please, I need to.”

Alex lifts his head from your neck, one sweaty lock of hair falling over his forehead as he looks down at you. “Oh really? You think you’ve been good enough to touch me?”

“Y–Yes, please, I’ve been a good girl, I have.”

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Good girls don’t get bad grades, do they?”

You’re truly on the edge now, can feel your orgasm approaching like a runaway train, and you squeeze your eyes shut to try to fend it off, not wanting to come without your arms around Alex.

“You close, baby? Gonna come for me?”

You shake your head desperately. “Please, sir, need to touch you, please.”

“You wanna touch me?” Alex smirks, breathing hard as he drives his cock even deeper, loving the way your walls clench around his length everytime he hits that special spot that never fails to make you fucking shake. “If you wanna touch me, you better cum around my cock and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Now that’s something that’s not very difficult to do. With a sniffle and a loud whimper, you crack open your teary eyes and look at him. He’s watching you very carefully. One of the few things you’ve noticed at the start of your relationship is that he never takes his eyes off of you when you’re cumming – whether it’s around his cock or his fingers or even his mouth, his eyes will always find their way to look at your face as you crumble down from both his generosity and cruelty.

Your vision tunnels to just Alex’s face, his dark eyes, long lashes, pale skin, the little scar under his brow, and you come. The emotions of the past few hours finally catch up with you and you shake and shudder under Alex, clenching and milking him for all he’s worth. He groans and his hips stutter as he reaches his climax as well, a warmth filling you as he empties himself deep inside of you. You sob and bury your face in Alex’s neck, which is damp from sweat. His chain presses against your cheek, cold against your burning skin.

“Fuck, baby, such a good girl, so good for me. Come here, love.”

And finally you move your stiff arms to wrap yourself around Alex, curling your legs around his waist, his softening cock still inside of you. You tug at his shirt, whining into his neck and Alex immediately knows what you want, pulling back for a moment to peel the shirt off his shoulders, flinging it to the other side of the room. His pants are also discarded within moments, until he’s left just as naked as you are. His chest is sweaty and if you aren’t so tired from getting dicked down within an inch of your life, you would’ve taken your time admiring it and maybe leaving a very funny comment that would surely make him laugh.

But unfortunately you don’t have the energy to do all that, you’re sure Alex will understand.

“Tired?” He croons, pressing his hand on your cheek, loving the way it’s burning and still a bit wet from your tears. “You wanna shower, baby? Need your answer here, don’t leave me hanging.”

“No,” you whine, pawing at his shoulder and pulling him closer, purposefully draping his whole body on top of you and putting his head in the crook of your neck. “Stay here.”

You hear him chuckling, his hot breath tickling your neck as his hands then move underneath your back and wrap you up with his body like a big weighted blanket. “You wanna stay like this? All night? You sure I'm not gonna crush you or something?”

“No, you’re warm.”

Based on your short responses and clingy attitude, Alex comes to the conclusion that you’re in one of those moods again. You often get clingy and a bit out of it after a good orgasm, but not entirely in subspace. He would’ve known the tone of your voice if you were, but right now he thinks you’re just a bit floaty, and you think you are too.

“Is there anything you want to do after, baby? Take a bath? Sleep? Order a takeout?”

You don’t know. You’re still very much intoxicated by his scent especially since he’s closer to you than he has been all day. Alex’s aftershave mixed with his sweat is practically making you mewl like a kitten, and you have to stop every urge not to rub your cheeks against him like one.

“How about just lie here for a bit, then take a bath, then order a takeout, then sleep?” You suggest, voice hoarse and raw from getting throatfucked earlier. Wonderful. “And I wanna…” You trail off, a hand snaking up to play with his hair.

“Wanna what?” Even though you don’t see Alex’s face, you can practically visualise in your head that he’s currently holding up his confused expression. Raised eyebrow and all. “You wanna go for another round or something?”

“No!” You giggle, slapping him slightly on the shoulder, which earns a quick nip on your neck and a chuckle from Alex. “Well, not that it’s a problem. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Wanna apologise.” There it goes. Your voice sounds a bit teary and sad, no doubt Alex picks up on that. “I didn’t… mean to have that kind of grade, you know that. It’s just everything has been stressing me out lately and I haven’t really figured out how to fix it yet. I guess overthinking about making it all better kept me from putting all my focus on that paper. I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

Alex doesn’t answer for a bit and you think that maybe he’s thinking if your excuse is good enough, but luckily that’s not the case when you feel his lips pressing soft kisses on your neck and up behind your ear. You flinch a little from being ticklish, a giggle spilling out of your mouth.

“I know you will,” Alex finally says, pulling his head back and looking at your face. “I know you’ll do better, sweetheart. You always do. And I love you for that. You know that if there’s something bothering you, you can always just ask me for help, right? I’m not a mind reader, darling, that’s why we need to communicate. I’m not always with you when we’re in school so I have no idea what problems you might be facing, but if there’s something I can do to help, then please tell me. Okay?”

He’s right. He always is.

“Okay. I understand. I love you too,” you give him a smile, now feeling a little shy under his stare as he brushes your hair out of your face. “I’ll tell you about my problems next time. Would you still help me if it was about your subject, though?”

Alex laughs cheekily at your question, leaning down to kiss your nose. “I’ll think about it. Still depends if you’d be willing to give me something in return.”

“Oh yeah?” You quirk an eyebrow, a playful grin making its way on your face. “And what’s that?”

“What do we say about roleplay –”

You push his shoulders before he can even finish his question, barking out a laugh when Alex only scoops his arms underneath your back again and pulling you closer to him.

“Absolutely not!”

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry x reader] pt. 11

read part 10 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: discussion of suicide, attempting and faking

cw: (fake) suicide, mild gore / body horror (? if you squint), guns

a/n: back from the dead. the party ended an hour ago and she's still here (me still writing this fic when the scream vi/ethan landry fandom is basically dead and it's almost 2025). i'm gonna finish this even if it kills me bc my mom didn't raise a quitter. im also on ao3 btw

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wake up.”

Fuck, I must have fallen asleep on my desk. I lift my head up groggily, unsticking the open page of my diary from my forehead. I look around for the source of the voice before feeling a tap on my shoulder. “Boo.”

I turn and my blood goes cold. Tara stands in front of me, lips and chin stained with a disgusting blue, leafing through my copy of Moby Dick. She grins, and her teeth are bloody. “Surprised to see me?”

“What the actual fuck,” I say. “How are you here?”

That makes her laugh. “It’s your guilty conscience, Y/N. But I’m glad for the reprieve. The afterlife is so boring.”

“Tara,” I begin, “I am so, so sorry. I had no idea–”

She waves me off, taking a seat on my bed. “Save it. There is literally nothing you can say to make this,” she gestures to her face, “okay. Let’s move on.”

My eyes well with tears. I know this can’t be real, but even then, it feels so good to see her again, to hear her voice.

“You haven’t called Anika,” she says, after a moment.

My heart clenches. “Fuck, I know. It’s just all been so crazy. And I’ve been with Ethan…”

She rolls her eyes and stands, crossing her arms. “Not that she’d be able to pick up the phone, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was on the news, Y/N. She stepped into the freeway holding a suicide note. A real one.”

My blood goes cold. “Oh my god, Tara, is she dead?”

She doesn’t look at me. “Just some broken bones. The car wasn’t going fast enough. Trying to imitate me, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s not fucking funny.” I’m crying now, face hot and heart thumping.

“Sorry, you’re right. What’s funny is you're still listening to your psycho boyfriend even after he killed me.”

“What happened to moving on?” I choke out.

She sighs. “Sorry, you’re right. That’s one of the things I’m supposed to be working on, up in heaven, you know.”

I sink back into my desk chair. “Everything is so fucking wrong.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I have no clue. Ethan is psycho but I can’t get rid of him. If I go to the cops I’d have to admit my involvement in the whole thing. Plus, he’d probably find a way to pin it on me. He’s so persuasive. Every time I’m with him I get confused.”

“Well, see if you can hold strong this time.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

She points to the window. “Knock, knock.”

I go over and peer through the blinds. Climbing up my tree is Ethan, eyes wild and pistol between his teeth. I gasp and stumble back from the window. What the fuck do I do?

“Yo, girl, fucking keep it together,” Tara says, and she’s right. I have to stay calm. What would Nancy Drew do? Or Wendy Torrance?

Or better yet– what would Ethan do?

I hear a solid thump as he lands on the roof of our porch, right underneath my room. I run into the closet, barely locking it behind me as I hear him climb through the window. 

“Hi, Y/N. Sorry for barging in through the window– dreadful etiquette, I know, But I thought your parents wouldn’t let me in.”

“Get out of my house,” I say, voice hoarse. “We’re done.”

“Come on,” he whines, “I thought all was forgiven. You and I, we’re like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You’re sick.”

“You like that,” he hisses, and I can tell he’s right up against the door. “Seriously, Y/N, what happened to ‘I love you?’”

I don’t respond. Instead, I reach for an old belt and footstool tucked away in a corner. His fist slams against the door. “What, you’re not going to say anything?”

Using the footstool to reach, I tie the tail end of the belt to a beam on the ceiling. Carefully, I loop the other end around itself, sure to actually slide the buckle through the tightest hole, snug around my chin. God, I hope this works.

I hear Ethan step away from the door. “Y/N, I’m going to count to three. Come out of there.”

He pauses for a second, and when I don’t respond, he scoffs. “Fine. One… two… fuck it.”

He slams his whole body against the door, and I close my eyes, kicking the stool out from under me.

I hear him gasp, and the sound of his knees hitting the carpet. “Oh my god– Y/N–” he chokes out.

I feel him grasp my leg, and it takes everything in me not to flinch away. “Why would you do this?” he sobs. “You were the only person I had left… we almost…”

After a moment, he lets go and rises to his feet, and I hear the rustle of his jacket as he wipes away his tears. “I wasn’t going to go through with it. But if I can’t have your love, he’s right. Everyone has to suffer.”

Who is? I think, but I hear Ethan’s footsteps retreat back to the window. I wait until I hear the sound of his tire treads screeching against the asphalt to open my eyes and grab the shelves on the side of my closet to steady myself, pulling my head out of the loop I'd made.

“Clever,” Tara quips. I’d forgotten she was there. “I guess through the tears he didn’t realize you weren’t actually choking. He’s a little melodramatic, huh?”

“I have to stop him. No one else can do it, not the FBI, not the CIA, not the PTA. I don’t know what he’s planning, but someone is going to get hurt.”

“Well, don’t forget that.” I look to where she’s pointing at the bottom of my closet, where Ethan’s gun lies, forgotten in the heat of the moment. 

“Shit,” I say. 

“He finally slipped up.”

Tara and I look at each other. I give her a half-hearted smile. “You know, I might be seeing you soon if this doesn’t work out.”

“Don’t say that, Y/N. Go fucking get him. For Mindy, and Chad, and Anika, and me.”

She grabs my hand, and my eyes well up again, but when I blink them away, she’s gone, and I’m standing alone in my room, hand outstretched to the air.

I sigh. “One more dance, Ethan.”

dm or reply to be added to my taglist

[vaultedoverthehorse]

CherryCola fic inspired by @damthosefandoms ‘s post!!! this is my first time ever writing a fic, so any advice is appreciated!!

Cherry Valance was sitting and watching the sunset from the perch by her window. Her gaze lingered on the way the leaves seemed to look gold as the beams of light hit them. Ponyboy Curtis would have loved this if he was here. In her opinion, this was the best spot to see the sunset in the entirety of Tulsa.

She liked to sit up here and think. She usually does so when she’s overwhelmed, but recently this has been her only solace. With the war overseas, she feels as if all the peace in her life has been uprooted. Boys from her city were being sent over there to…she doesn’t like to think about it. She’s seen the families morning lost brothers and sons. It makes her feel sick.

A soft tap at her door snapped her out of her thoughts. Cherry turned as the door opened, revealing her mother. There was a package in her hands.

“Darling, someone sent this to you. Someone named Sodapop..?” Her mother said, her voice light and cautious, yet slightly judgmental.

Cherry felt her breath catch as she heard his name. Why was he writing to her? She remembered briefly overhearing that he was drafted, but she never expected him to send her of all people a package. Why wouldn’t this go to his brothers? Her heart started racing uncontrollably. That was a feeling she hasn’t felt since her sophomore year of high school.

“Sherry, do you know him?” Her mother asks. There’s a slight tone of distaste in her voice - which makes sense for her, as she disliked the idea of her daughter being with a greaser.

“Oh, sort of. I mean, he was a classmate.” Cherry brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “I never really talked to him much.” She dreaded the way her mother spoke, and the way she looked at her. The disapproval was evident.

Her mother looked at her with a suspicious glint in her eyes. “Alright, well…I’ll just leave this here.” Her mother placed the small box on Cherry’s dresser and sent her daughter another look before leaving. Cherry understood why she wouldn’t believe her - she hardly believed it herself. Why would he want to send her something?

She just sat for a moment. She wasn’t upset like she should be - why is a greaser writing to a soc girl? - instead, she felt more confused and…longing, almost. Finally she gathered the courage to stand up.

She carefully crossed the room and took the package into her hands. It was slightly heavier than she expected. What could be in here? She sat on her bed, keeping it on her lap for a long moment. She just stared at it, a million thoughts racing through her brain. Almost too many to decipher.

Finally, with the dying light cascading through her window, she opened the box. Inside was a folded piece of paper and a small Bible. The sunlight caused the gilded pages of the book to shine. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she questioned again why she wouldn’t believe be sent this. She pulled out the piece of paper, carefully unfolding it. She scanned the words quickly, taking in the shaky handwriting - which made her smile, as she recognized it immediately as his - before she started to read.

Cherry,

Hey, how ya been?. I bet youre shocked. Im shocked too. I said id never write to someone again, at least till I knew I was heading home. But I saw something out here that reminded me of you. I put it in the Bible to keep it safe so you could see it. It really kept me going out here when it was really bad. I get why ya dont like fights now. Theres no point to all this. It’s just pain and hurt for no reason. Back in Tulsa things were simpler and fights didnt mean much. Now its just plain bad. I miss being a kid. I miss first grade before all this mattered because I knew you. I miss you Cherry. Ive missed you for a while, not just while Im here. I miss you helping me with school and me drawing you horses. I just wanted that again. I found myself looking for traces of you everywhere. Even in Tulsa girls. Theres a nurse here who reminds me of you. Shes the nicest one.

Dont tell my brothers or anyone I wrote to you. I havent been able to send them anything for a while because I dont wanna give them hope. I love them too much for that, ya know? And I wouldnt put you through this either but you get it. You know it dont mean im okay. I just wanted you know how much youve helped me since i met ya. I dont know you well these days but you mean a lot to me. I hope if I come back I can see you again.

Sodapop Curtis

Cherry felt a lump in her throat as she held the letter in her hands. Soda…he may not know how to write correctly, but he sure did know how to express what he wanted to. She reread the letter, wiping her eyes while she did so. The paper felt comforting in her hands. Like she was holding a piece of him.

Gently folding the letter back up, she placed to the side so she could grab the small Bible. Holding it carefully, as if it were a baby, she flipped through until she saw what he sent her. Between its pages was a small, pressed cherry blossom.

Seeing that, she couldn’t help it any longer. She sobbed into her hands, mourning a boy who wasn’t even dead yet. She remembered their childhood. He was the first boy she’s ever liked. Even when she was dating other boys, she left a space in her heart for him. Now he’s so far away, he’s scared, and he’s alone. Cherry just wants to bring him home, but she can’t. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t reach across the sea and carry him back to his brothers. To her. She feels helpless. She ran her hands along the page of the Bible, scared to touch the flower in fear of hurting it.

Cherry wishes she would have told him how she felt. Told him that she’d have run away with him had he asked, that he’s not crazy, that he used to brighten her day. Her parents would disown her, but she doesn’t care anymore. She could’ve told him that day in the lot before the rumble, but she talked herself out of it. And now it may be too late. Why could’ve she have just been brave?

Drying her eyes with her sleeve, Cherry gathered up the gifts from Soda and walked over to her dresser. She pushed through the socks in one of her draws until she could see the bottom. She placed the Bible and the letter right next to a small drawing of a horse that she’s had since she was six. Nobody else knows who it’s from. Her friends assume it’s something Bob gifted her when they were younger, and she hasn’t corrected them.

Cherry closed the draw after making sure the items were hidden. She sent one last look out her window, catching the final moments of the sunset. That’s when she made up her mind. She’d write him tomorrow. If he could send her a present in the midst of him fighting a war, she could send him something from her peaceful little home in Oklahoma. She could remind him of home.

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter 1 - Snare

Not sure if I’m going to cross post here as well, but I’ll post the first chapter… in case I only continue it on AO3, this is the link

Chapter II

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is fictional. Please take care, read the warnings and avoid if you think this content may be triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, Stalking, Kidnapping, Obssessive Love, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Drugging, Breaking and entering (Chrollo out here committing all the felonies)

Word Count: 5k

The rain had seeped into the cracks of the cobbled alleyway, rendering the stone slippery, dampening the aged brick walls caging the narrow passage, darkening the view even more. Straining eyes could only make out bulbous orange glows of faraway street lights, legs numbed from the cold autumnal air and unrelenting rainfall toiling to keep a rapid pace and avoid slipping on the damp stones.

Slowing down was not an option. Neither was turning back and choosing a different path. Over the sound of the roaring rain, soft footsteps could be heard, not too far away. Growing closer. Or perhaps it was a mere figment of an imagination much too vivid and active, and the danger was only the product of a life of warnings and cautionary tales. Like a monster under the bed.

Thirty steps. Thirty steps to the safety of the main street. Breath puffing in clouds of haze, raindrops adorning lashes, hair sticking to the skin, knees weak and unsteady.

Twenty.

It was closer now. Almost real.

Ten.

Almost tangible, close enough that the alleyway seemed to lengthen, dilating, making the main road impossible to reach. One slip on the damp cobblestones could spell demise.

Five.

The light was closer. People could be seen walking through the street, carrying umbrellas or hurrying through the rain. Safety.

One.

You inhaled sharply, your heart thundering in your ribcage, the sounds of the bustling street filling your ears, enveloping your heaving chest in relief. People walked by you, and you blended with the crowd, heading to the station. You had walked that alleyway a thousand times, and you’d never felt that dread, that feeling of being hunted. Targeted. Your bones had turned into ice in your body.

You had never been particularly impressionable, but in the last couple of weeks, you’d felt watched. But when you turned towards the alleyway, your eyes wandering around the street behind you, there was no one. You shook off the horrible feeling in your gut that told you to run and hide, and sought refuge in the warm underground station, tapping your phone at the gates and descending the stairs. No one was behind you. No one was out to get you. You were safe. You were going to go home and make yourself a cup of tea before you went to bed early.

You got on the train, sitting in a fairly crowded carriage, taking out Pride and Prejudice from your bag and resuming from where you had left off that morning. It was one of your favourite books, and you had read it dozens of times, but you still got some nostalgia for it from time to time.

The minutes passed, and you forgot all about your gut feeling in the alleyway, your mind immersed in the world of Elizabeth Bennett and her witty quips that always made you smile. She almost made you lose track of the stops, but luckily, you heard the announcement and stood up, hastily putting the bookmark at the page you had reached and hurrying to the platform.

Luckily, you lived a mere two minutes from the station, in the outskirts of the city, where trains could be heard even with the windows shut and the curtains drawn, but at least, you could afford your own place. It wasn’t all that bad, truly. It was a small house, reminiscent of a cottage with its brick walls and small rooms, and its low ceilings. It was cosy, covered with plants and books, it even had a small fireplace that was your pride and joy. You’d filled it with pillows, blankets and trinkets that had caught your eye in thrift shops and fair markets. You locked the door behind you, taking off your drenched coat and your damp boots, hating the feeling of wet socks clinging to your feet. You took them off too, deciding to have a hot shower before bed.

You had finished late at work, to the point where your boss had offered to get you some dinner, and you had gladly accepted, blinking your tired eyes at the computer screen to stay awake.

You were overworked and underpaid, but you needed that job desperately, and therefore, you made it a habit to gamble more unpaid hours for a more stable future. With the hope that one day, your hard work would pay off, and you’d get a promotion. So far, you’d been unsuccessful.

However, the week was now done, and you prepared yourself for a free day of peace. Saturdays were your favourite days. You usually tried to get up before nine, so that you could make the most of them. You made pancakes, went for a walk to the park next to your house, bought lunch at the quaint brunch stall by the lake and on good days, you ate under the weeping willow on the shore, basking in the sight of the tree branches swaying on the surface of the water, the water lilies crowding the shore and the sunlight reflecting on the lake. After that, you headed to the library in the city centre, where you would have spent all day if you could. You usually visited the market before you went home, and then, you would watch a film and head to bed later than usual. Sundays were your cleaning days usually, unless you wanted to meet up with a friend or needed to run errands.

You had no idea that Saturday would be the last chance for you to experience all those things.

The library was quiet that day, even though the rain had continued to pour down the city since Friday morning and people usually flocked there or to the museums and cinemas when it was gloomy outside. In your opinion, it was the best time to be at the library: the big, arched windows of the upper floor offered a scenic view of the storm brewing outside, and the warmth of the orange lights and the mahogany bookshelves of the antique library made you feel cosy. You were sitting on a plush green armchair, your favourite spot in the corner of the upper floor, right by the window and the classics section. Something about the smell of the old books that were gathered there offered you comfort.

‘Excuse me, miss’ you heard a soft, masculine voice say, timbre smooth and rich. You lifted your eyes from your book, looking at the man in front of you. Your stomach dropped for a second, and you swallowed, trying not to stare. He was around your age, perhaps a few years older, and the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life. His lean, tall build was highlighted by smart black trousers, a simple maroon jumper and a long, black coat. Round, slightly upturned grey eyes sat in a face of sharp cheekbones, angular jaw, delicate and yet masculine nose and well-defined lips stretched into a slight smile. He was wearing an odd bandana of sorts on his forehead, but it did nothing to dampen his looks. Shoulder-length black hair fell in unruly strands around his neck and shorter bangs that covered parts of his forehead, and round turquoise earrings shone on his ears, the bright hues contrasting against the beautiful dark hair.

‘Uhm- yes?’ you murmured, righting your posture a little under his gaze.

‘I was wondering if you dropped this bracelet by any chance’ he said, lifting a hand, your gold bracelet dangling from his tapered, willowy fingers. You glanced at your wrist, clearing your throat.

‘Yeah- yes, thank you, that’s mine’ you said, holding the book with one hand and lifting yourself up, extending your hand. Instead of giving it to you, he held your hand and wrapped it around your wrist, clasping it and giving you a smile. Your breath threatened to falter, and you were almost hypnotised by him as he gave one last stroke to the back of your hand before he let it go.

‘There. Should be safe from slipping now’ he said, and you noticed he was holding a book in his hand. The Picture of Dorian Gray, one of your favourite books. So not only was he handsome, he also had good taste.

‘Thank you’ you said again, smiling at him. He nodded.

‘I’m Chrollo’ he said, extending a hand. You shook it, giving him your name in return, and he said it himself, as though he was weighing it on his tongue. It sounded good in his voice. Soft, like a gentle caress on your spine. It made shivers run down your spine.

‘I’ve never seen you here before’ you said conversationally, hoping your social skills hadn’t been too hindered by your nervousness around someone so attractive and charming speaking to you.

‘This is my first time visiting this library, actually. I have only recently moved here, and I happened to walk by and see this building, and I had to visit it. It is truly beautiful here. A very pleasant place to read in peace’ he said, and you nodded along. He was so like you, you thought the same of this library. It was your special place in this city.

‘I feel the same way. I come here every Saturday, just to escape the daily life for a while. How are you finding the city? Are you here for work?’ you asked, finding yourself drawn to that stranger for some reason. There was something fascinating about him, something enigmatic. Or perhaps it was just the way his grey eyes seemed so intense, as though he could read your mind. He was like a lead character in a book.

‘I am. The city centre is quite beautiful architecturally, but I haven’t had the chance to partake in much sightseeing’ he said, ‘and you? Why are you here? Work, or is this the city you grew up in?’

‘No, I grew up in a very small town you probably never heard of. A boring place. I came here to find some work a couple of years ago’ you said, hoping that before the conversation ended, you could get his number. You hadn’t been in the dating scene for a while, and though you were busy, this stranger was just too intriguing. He seemed so intelligent, soft-spoken and genuinely interested in you.

‘I see. I’m afraid I must take my leave now. Allow me to buy you a coffee before that’ he said, putting down the book in a basket by the banister. Your stomach felt warm, and you chuckled nervously, finding it hard to keep eye contact when he was staring at you so intently.

‘Oh, no, you’ve already found my bracelet, I wouldn’t want to keep you. Besides, the prices here are outrageous’ you stammered. Did he like you? Was he truly... flirting with you? This was more like a scene out of a romance book rather than real life.

‘Please, I insist’ he smiled, and you could not say no.

‘Oh, well... thank you. That’s really kind of you’ you said, following him towards the stairs. Chrollo’s eyes softened, and he shook his head.

‘It’s my pleasure’ he only said, smoothly, nonchalantly, as he started to descend the stairs, with you following close.

The cafeteria was placed near the entrance, and you had always deemed it too expensive as a treat. But Chrollo did not even have a change in expression as his eyes followed the menu on the chalkboard on the wall.

‘What would you like?’ he asked, and you eyed the drinks and the corresponding prices, gaze trailing to seek the cheapest one.

‘Uhm... just a coffee would be fine, thank you’ you said hesitantly. He let out a soft sigh.

‘I would not offer it to you if I could not afford it. What would you really like?’ he asked, a sly smirk on his face. Your cheeks felt hot, and you smoothed the front of your jumper in an attempt to calm the embarrassment of him calling you out.

‘A chai latte, please’ you murmured, and he nodded, seemingly pleased as he made his way to the till and took out a black leather wallet from the pocket of his coat. When he came back, he was holding your drink along with his. From the smell, it was black coffee. Quite in tune with his gothic appearance.

‘Thank you, Chrollo’ you smiled at him, holding the cup with both hands when he handed it to you, warming your cold fingers.

‘It was a pleasure to talk to you. I hope to see you again soon’ he said, standing closer to you, his fingers reaching to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t realise you were holding your breath until he stepped away.

‘Me too’ you murmured, earning another slight smile from him as he walked away, sipping his coffee and disappearing behind the corner that led to the exit.

You smiled, fingertips reaching to your cheek, the skin feeling warm where he had touched you.

You found you could not wait until the next Saturday, hoping he would remember that you’d said you’d be there and visit the library again.

Your Sunday was spent running errands, getting a haircut, visiting your friend who was in the hospital following a fall from the stairs that had resulted in two broken legs and a concussion. He was quite optimistic despite saying that he had had no idea how he’d fallen, that he’d just felt pain on his nape and then he had lost consciousness. When he’d woken up, his legs were horribly broken and bent as he had fallen from a flight of stairs.

You’d just seen him the day of the accident in the morning, and he had seemed fine, not dizzy or anything. Although he’d been reminiscing about a crush he’d had on you years ago, which to you was odd, as you had had no idea he had ever liked you.

Nevertheless, the doctors had said he’d been lucky to survive because his head trauma was nothing short of dangerous. You were just glad he was in good spirits and looking forward to getting better.

You smiled slightly, turning the keys to your door and stepping in, holding the letters you hadn’t yet opened as you walked into the living room.

The first one was your electricity bill, the second one a useless letter of invite to a neighbourhood church meeting-

‘Hello, darling’

You let out a scream, your heart skipping a beat as you spun around, the letters falling to the ground, and your terrified eyes set on the man who was lounging on your sofa, sipping a cup of tea from your favourite mug.

Chrollo.

It was Chrollo. The guy whom you’d met the day before. The kind, handsome man who’d found your bracelet and offered to buy you a coffee.

‘W-what are you doing here? How do you know where I live? How did you get in?’ you stuttered, taking a trembling step back. He took another sip, setting your mug down.

‘I came to visit you. You have a very flimsy lock, it’s very unsafe’ he said calmly, as though his words were not completely insane. He’d broken into your house? Was he- a stalker? The presence you’d felt in the alleyway… was that him?

You felt nausea coil in your gut, making your head spin with fear and horror.

Another step back. His eyes were on you. Calm, unfazed. He was smiling slightly, as though amused. But he was sitting, and you were less than ten feet away from the door. But it was locked. You needed time. At least a few seconds of advantage.

Your phone. You would call the police whilst you talked to him. But your phone was in the hallway. Not with you.

‘Chrollo- please go away’ you tried pleadingly, hoping it would make him spare you. It did not.

‘There is no need to worry. I won’t hurt you, darling’ he said, voice soft and sweet. You shivered, and when you saw he was taking another sip of his coffee, you bolted to the door.

Your fingers had barely managed to graze the keys when he appeared in front of you, blocking the door, clucking his tongue against his teeth. How had he managed to get there so quickly? What was he going to do to you?

The kitchen. You needed to get to the back door. Maybe grab a knife and stab him.

‘Now, now, this would be much easier if you just listened’ he said, but you did not wait for him to grab you. You made a beeline for the kitchen, and you had almost reached the handle when he once again appeared in front of you. You flinched, stumbling back, spinning to the counter and grabbing a large knife. Chrollo let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. I admire your efforts, but that won’t help you. Put it down’ he said easily, one hand in his pocket as he approached you. You swallowed heavily, cold sweat clinging to your spine as your fingers tightened around the handle until you thought you could feel welts stinging your skin.

You could hear the hammering of your heart in your ears, the heavy sound of your panting.

When he took another step, you swung at his stomach. Your wrist was caught in an iron grip, and you hissed in pain, your fingers loosening instinctively until the knife clattered to the ground.

Your eyes burnt with tears, and you tried to punch him, which only resulted in your other hand being caught. Thrashing wildly, like a caged animal, you kicked and pulled to no avail.

Chrollo was too strong. Inhumanly so. He was like a brick wall, completely unfazed by your attempts at escaping or hitting him.

‘Let me go! Let me go!’ you screamed your lungs out, until one of his hands lifted to cover your mouth and he pushed you against the wall, trapping you against it.

‘Shh, shh. You are being such a brat, my love. This is all futile, can’t you see? Where’s the sweet girl I met yesterday? The one who could not stop blushing and smiling at me?’ he asked against your ear, pushing his body more into you. Your eyes widened as you felt a hard bulge against your backside.

No. No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not to you. Not here. This was your safe haven. Your home.

You screamed, sounds muffled by his hand, and he let out a sigh.

‘You have nothing to fear. I don’t plan on acting on my desires as of yet. However, your defiance is starting to irritate me. I’m going to have to take more drastic measures’ he said, and you felt his hand leave your mouth briefly and return pushing a cloth to your mouth and nose. Your heartbeat shot up as panic gripped your stomach, and you held your breath, kicking and thrashing, unable to get him off you until you had to breathe in that sweet-smelling scent. He held it there for a few seconds, and your head immediately started spinning, your ears starting to ring.

‘I’m truly sorry to have to do this, darling. If you’d been compliant, I wouldn’t have had to knock you unconscious’ he said, and your legs wobbled when he pulled it away, to the point where they could not hold your weight and you slumped to the ground. He caught you, holding you against him, and even though you tried to fight back, to push him away, your body was limp and it would not do what you wanted it to.

‘What… did you give me?’ you breathed, vision blurry, your body completely numb. He pushed away the strands of hair from your face, stroking your cheek.

‘Shh. Just an incapacitating agent. This will make you sleep for a few hours. Close your eyes, my love. You must be so tired after all that screaming and thrashing. You can rest now, I’ll watch over you’ he said gently, and you blinked slowly, trying to see him through the dark splotches in your field of view, trying to curse him, to beg him to leave, but your mouth would not move anymore. Soon, the darkness pulled you in and made you its prisoner.

Chrollo smiled, stroking your soft hair, tracing the skin of your jaw and lips. He hadn’t been able to hold himself any longer after having made contact with you. He’d first seen you a month earlier, in that picturesque library where you were curled on a green armchair, completely spellbound as you read Pride and Prejudice in front of an arched window. He had been entranced from the first moment he’d seen you. It wasn’t just your appearance, though he was convinced there was no woman more beautiful than you were, but your mannerisms, your soft smiles as you read specific lines, the way your eyebrows furrowed when you were concentrating, the natural innocence that radiated from you, that had been what had truly ensnared him. That moment, he’d decided that he needed to know everything about you, from your hobbies to your favourite colour to your life story.

He had never fallen in love, but the feeling that had bloomed in his cold heart must have been love: it was desperate, all-consuming, and yet so gentle and calming. It burnt and soothed his soul at the same time. Images of you plagued his every second, and he could think of nothing but to have you all to himself. Why should the world be allowed to benefit from your presence? Why should people be allowed to leer at you, desire you, want you for themselves? He wanted all of you to be consumed by him just as every part of him was consumed by you. He did not want to share your affection with anyone else.

He had followed you home many times, making sure you were safe. After all, you didn’t even know how to use Nen. You were so delicate, like turquoise and amber gemstones. So beautiful, yet so easily broken. With his new love for you came a heart-wrenching fear of losing you: in a world like that, you could never protect yourself. Only he could offer you enough safety.

Despite being a normal civilian, your intuition and gut feeling was impressive. Sometimes, he had to rely on Zetsu in order to avoid being sensed by you. You had a keen sense of danger. Not that it would help you.

Your house was little, much too inadequate and meagre for someone who deserved the most beautiful things the world had to offer. But you would not have to live in this dingy neighbourhood, with the train tracks so close to your windows, for much longer. Despite the grimy neighbourhood, your cottage was cosy. Decorated with everything that made up your lovely personality, Chrollo had felt his chest swell with warmth as he walked silently around the living room the first time he’d broken in, examining your collection of books, seeing which ones were more tattered, lines on the spines of cheap copies. You deserved the feel of an antique book in your hands, not one of those second-rate editions. He could tell from the décor how much you loved this place. He would make sure you had plants, a fireplace, paintings and books and whatever else your heart desired.

All the treasures in the world had been made for you, he’d decided. And he’d steal them all. Then, he had wandered to the small bedroom connected to the living room. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, he could see your sleeping form curled under the blankets, lips parted and breath steady and heavy. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful. He had the urge to slip the blanket off you, hold you to him, bury his face in your hair. But he didn’t. Not when he could not see your reaction. He wanted you to be awake, wanted you to want him to do all those things.

Temptation had taken him as far as stroking your hair, bending his head to press his lips against the top of your head. The scent of it, so sweet and reminiscent of a spring meadow, had almost made him groan.

He had visited you at night more often, and every time, he would dream of you afterwards, always waking up burning with desire. He needed you. Needed you all to himself. And so he resorted to doing what he did best: steal you.

He knew your patterns well after a few weeks: you worked a contemptible job undeserving of you Monday to Friday, and often stayed late, to the point where you would have to walk back to the station in the dark through dingy alleyways. It was completely and utterly unacceptable. On Saturdays, you walked through the park near your house and then went to the library in the city centre. On Sundays, you stayed home. Before he stole you, though, he wanted to speak to you.

The Sunday he had planned to meet you as you went about your errands, he had seen you visit a man you seemed friendly with. You had gone for lunch with him, laughed at his inane jokes, smiled at him. Chrollo had gotten closer to overhear the conversation, finding out that the swine was infatuated with you. Jealousy he had never felt in his life had burnt hot and bitter in the pit of his stomach, and he had barely been able to restrain the urge to kill him there and then.

But he couldn’t, not in front of you. You were too precious and sweet to bear such a sight. And he would need to make it painful, as punishment for the crime committed. He also did not like the idea of you shedding tears for that moron. No, he would have to kill him after he stole you. It would not do for you to weep for him, be consumed with thoughts about him, when Chrollo wanted him to disappear from the face of the Earth. It did not mean he couldn’t inflict pain on him in the meantime, though.

So that was what he had done. It was a meagre consolation, mere crumbs of reprieve for his resentment, but at the very least, he had had the pleasure of seeing him fall on his legs in the worst way. The worst possible fractures would be there, possibly incredibly painful and inoperable. He hoped the hit to his head had not made him a vegetable. He wanted him cognisant and receptive when he returned to visit him.

Because of the little mishap, he hadn’t been able to steal you on that Sunday and had had to wait one more week, which had only fuelled his bitterness for your acquaintance. However, it had also given him the possibility of meeting you at the library on the following Saturday. And God, you were truly delightful. Sweet and shy, kind and trusting. He had had to leave, or he would have stolen you right there and then. He could see you liked him, his touch. You had been keen to have more. And he would be delighted to grant your wishes.

Which was why he had chosen the next day to wait for you at your house. And now, he finally had you in his arms, though you had been a little recalcitrant. It had saddened him to have to render you unconscious, and the fact that you had seemed so frightened despite him reassuring you he had no intention of harming you was deeply displeasing. Still, he would be a liar if he denied that your fervour and defiance hadn’t tempted him, too. You had just been thrashing in his arms, rubbing against his body in the most sinful ways, and he had only wanted to have you at that very moment. But it would not do. You had been too scared and taken aback to enjoy the encounter, and he planned to make it unforgettable for the both of you.

So he had merely resorted to knocking you unconscious so you would stop causing a commotion.

He picked you up gently, lowering you on the sofa whilst he went to see if there was anything he needed to take with him. He could get you more clothes, ones that would look perfect on you. But he still got you a few handpicked garments for the time being, including your prettiest lingerie, which was utterly ravishing. He could hardly wait to see it on you and tear it off your body.

Your perfume was on the dresser, and he happened to have developed quite a liking for it. It wasn’t as expensive as something he could have gotten for you, but he could find a substitute for it that resembled its scent in the future. For now, he put it in the bag he’d taken with him. None of your books were of any significance, he had memorised the ones you liked the most and planned to get you antiques of those. Jewellery was also not an issue. He could get you so much better. Rubies or emeralds would look stunning on you, he thought. He got your passport, wallet and phone, just to throw off the police, and closed the bag. He put the knife you’d tried to use on him back in the holder and exited the house, putting the bag in the trunk of his car and going back to get you. You were still unconscious, sprawled on the sofa, and he checked once again that no signs of struggle could be seen before he picked you up, took the keys from the dresser next to the front door and closed the door behind him.

He lowered you on the backseat, closing the door and letting out a sigh as he walked to the front and locked the doors before he drove away. You were finally his.

Chapter II