#and the whirlwind in the tree

[hellaverseapocalypse]

@heyjay177art has done it again! I asked them to do Blitz from me and @eyecandyeoz hellaverse story, And The Whirlwind is in the Tree. I wanted Blitz on a throne and in Wrath, since he basically became the leader of their little apocalypse group.

If you can't tell, his right horn is broken. The story explains why.

[flunky-robots]

Another set of Skylander stickers WOOOOO Plus GIANT Tree Rex YEAHHEH Get 'em here!

[twodiamondhoes]

If I don't collapse from pain or exhaustion tomorrow I will consider myself God's luckiest scholar and spend as much of Friday as humanly possible writing

[m4gp13]

[yourlocaltoad]

Artwork of the cards from Skylanders: Battlecast (Skylanders: Battlecast, 2016) (pt31)

[iwanderthroughthesenights]

This week in Swiftdom without context:

[petervintonjr]

Started on this piece during Plastic City Comic Con; finished it this evening while listening to Johnny Cash and trying to process the events of a truly tumultuous week. Y'know, I wouldn't mind living in precedented times, once in a while...

[nezuscribe]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

part two of the arrangement

summary: life was going well. better than you could have ever imagined. the whirlwind marriage between you and gojo satoru that started as an arrangement blossomed into something sweeter and more tender after you both fell in love. but that storybook life you've been living soon shatters when you're told that a bitter king wants you two to separate so gojo could marry his daughter. either that, or he promises a war to follow. you live between selfishness and sacrifice as the fate of the kingdoms rests in your, and your husband's hands.

warnings: 18+ mdni, angst with no comfort for a while, near-death experiences, gojo sometimes struggling to be reasonable, small panic attack, heavy making out, heavy smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, (reader's first time), creampie, (happy ending)

word count: 38k+ (sorry again)

note: act two is finally done! (nearly lost my fingers writing it) art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

One year ago you were told about an arrangement. The arrangement. 

It offered you a chance of freedom, a lick of life. You didn’t have time to question why the most sought-after bachelor of the six kingdoms was asking for you to be his bride, and only a daft, bumbling idiot would seek out the answer when time was given. Gojo Satoru was the man you soon called husband, but the true act of having an actual husband didn’t come around till months later. 

At first, the dinners you spent alone were now spent together. Albeit in silence, but sometimes you’d catch his stare from the other side of the long, mahogany table, and the two of you would quickly look away. On other days you’d walk around the estate only to catch him when he was training with his men, his loud voice booming around the walls as he commanded them. You’d watch them from the balcony, leaning over the railing as you rested your chin in your palm. Sometimes he’d look up and see you, not doing anything to hide his surprised expression, other times he tried puffing his chest out so he’d seem even bigger.

All of the unspoken feelings, lingering touches, and longing glances morphed into the two of you spurring out your thoughts to one another, elated and relieved to find that the other felt the same.

Months would pass and a part of you wondered if perhaps what he felt was only momentary. But those worries quickly seemed to pass the more you surveyed him. Because the most esteemed man, the most worshiped warrior destined to lead his lands to greatness, could not seem to survive apart from you for longer than five minutes. 

“Love, we have to go.” 

It’s your fifth time telling your husband about the urgency of getting out of bed, and the fifth time he’s tugged your squirming body closer to his bare chest to get you to stay in bed. His arms, which are the size of tree trunks, prove to work more than your pathetic flails, chuckling when you let out a deafening, annoyed whine. 

Months ago you never entertained the idea of the two of you sharing a bed, let alone the man you married turning into such a leech. Seeing how you were first sleeping on separate sides of the estate, you always assumed you had ended up in one of those marriages in which the only time you two ever saw each other was during meal time (if that) and at gatherings. 

But things took a turn, and after a while, that turn never stopped. And you found yourself here. With no complaints, of course. 

The days when the two of you weren’t burdened with the life of being the Lord and Lady of the North, Gojo would whisk you away to wherever you pleased. Sometimes you settled to bake some sweets in the kitchen, other times you requested to go into town and look through the bustling markets. He would always oblige, taking you down to the epicenter of Northern life, watching as you carded your fingers through the fabrics and stocked up on your spices. And though you enjoyed prancing around with your husband attached to your side, most days, these were the moments you loved the most. 

Other days you’d find yourself with newly made friends, women you had slowly gotten closer to the more you socialized. It took a while for you to move away from the quietness you had been accustomed to for so long, but you preferred walking around the town or the estate with them, arm in arm as you laughed about something minuscule. 

Nights were spent with each other, skin to skin, sharing the warmth. Mornings like this would come and he’d awake before you, pulling you closer to his chest as he nudged his nose against your ears. He’d whisper how much he loved you, how pretty you were when you slept. It proved to be a nice and easy way to wake up, but on the days where you were particularly stubborn and wanted to sleep more, he’d bite your ear, chuckling when you would let out a fake whine. Afterward, you’d grumble about it, like now, but other times you’d laugh softly when you’d turn and see his blushing face. 

“People might gossip if they hear you,” your husband muttered against your head, his lips pulled back into a large grin, “They might say I’m torturing you, leaving you unsatisfied.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his implications and you wrangle a hand out of his hold to slap at his torso, rolling your eyes as you give up, going slack in his arms as you relax against him. You might’ve put up a tougher fight if this wasn’t a daily occurrence and your overall zest to equal the strongest man ever known was decreasing.

“You’re so lude,” you comment, and he just shrugs in response, knowing that you weren’t lying. If anything, this was him being more than tame. Sometimes he’d corner you in a hallway that had heavy foot traffic and kiss you senseless, his plush lips growing into a sly grin when somebody caught the two of you.

“You make me lude,” Gojo remarks and you sigh, pretending to find him annoying instead of endearing as you look away. In reality, you loved your mornings together. With how busy the two of you got throughout the day, these little blips of being alone together were heavily enjoyed.

You rub at your eyes, yawning a little bit as you stretch your legs out. You find yourself sleeping better than you ever have in this bed, and whether it be the fact that your husband was asleep next to you or that the bed was constructed of goose feathers, you didn’t care much to question it. 

“We should go into town today,” Gojo says suddenly, and you turn your neck slightly over to him as you raise a brow. He mirrors your expression as if he isn’t riddled with duties that need to be taken care of.

“A ride into town alone takes an hour,” you argue, bringing his hand closer to yours so that you can fidget with his slender fingers. 

“I’m well aware,” he says, “But you were saying last night that you need more cinnamon sticks and that your honeycomb stash is nearly gone.” 

You try to hide your smile, try not to let him know how pleased you are that he remembers the little things you mention to him on a whim.

When you don’t say anything in excitement to his plan, he pours slightly, nudging at your shoulder with his nose. 

“Have you grown tired of me?” His voice is slightly muffled against your skin and you laugh a little bit, the sound making him smile slightly, hiding it against your collarbones, “Do you wish to cast me aside and take on a different lover?”

Your mouth drops open in a loud laugh, shoving your shoulder upwards so that his chin would fall off and you look at him in shock. 

But there’s a teasing grin on his face, one that truly just wanted to see you smile. 

“I’m just trying to be sensible,” you say with a pout, craning your neck as you glance up at him, your legs sprawling out on his, “You have that meeting with your advisors and I have to pretend I’m not listening to your meeting with your advisors.” 

Gojo’s eyes crinkle upwards, soft and gentle as he looks at you like you raised the moon, and pinches your arm slightly. 

“I’ve told you if you want to join us you’re welcome to,” he says against the skin of your neck, his lips moving fast and you try to hide your bursts of giggles at the ticklish feeling, “I’d much prefer having you inside with me than standing alone outside.” You also try to hide the way you burn up wherever his fingers are, which at the moment are gripping at your hips.

“But it’s more fun when it feels like I’m learning state secrets,” you murmur teasingly, turning around a bit so that the two of you are face to face. So close that you could count the amount of eyelashes he had and the little dust of barely visible freckles on his cheeks. He was training more than usual now, spending more time in the sun. His pink lips pull into a wide smile when he finally sees you, all of you, and runs a hand under your calf and up to your thigh to hike it up over his waist. 

Gojo’s eyes trail over your features for a silent second, admiring your appearance early in the morning, disheveled from a good night's rest. You feel like hiding, but admire the endless attention you receive from him at the same time. You feel foolish when you note how his features soften, his smile genuine and bright when his thumb traces over the hairs of your eyebrow.

A part of you never thought you would have a husband who looked at you the way he does. When you were younger you always assumed you’d end up a spinster or married off to an old man in need of an heir. This is why you so eagerly accepted the Gojo family’s initial proposal, but you never expected much to come from it. Never in your dreams did you envision the Gojo Satoru holding you close to him with such tender care, or that he’d gingerly run his fingers across the slope of your nose just to memorize your bone structure.

Never this.

Gojo Satoru was somebody who you had grown up with but observed from a distance. You always assumed that he and his family would prefer for him to marry a girl with a more…favorable background than you, but by a force of fate, you were the lucky girl they picked. You found yourself immensely lucky seeing that it was either him or evil incarnate himself, but some mornings you wake up and expect to blink yourself out of this dream. That you’ll turn around to find some other man than him, somebody with an oily smile and evil eyes. But just like this morning you woke up to fluttering kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder and slender fingers trailing up your arm. 

“You have that look,” Gojo murmurs gently, his eyes tracing the way your lips part, the way they do when you’re in your world, “The one where you’re deep in thought,” he says, his voice a little softer as your gaze settles back onto him.

You think a little longer, eyes squinting as you smile. 

It’s been a while since the two of you have had a decent amount of time alone together. Mornings together, dinners, and then nights climbing into bed seemed to be the only blips of time when he wasn’t riddled with counsels and you with overseeing and trying to take care of problems the people of the neighboring towns were dealing with (last week you had to carefully settle a dispute with two farmers arguing over a goat, claiming it was their own.)

“I'm thinking….” you chew on your bottom lip a little bit, “I’m thinking I want to go away,” you say with a sigh, resting your back upon the headboard behind you as Gojo leans upwards, resting his weight on his arms. 

His white brow cocks up, not confused, just curious. 

“Where to?” He asks, and you know he could’ve asked something more extensive, but he’s gotten to know you and your strange requests, knowing you preferred simple questions instead. 

You hum, crossing your legs across the bed as you bring his hand back to yours and play with the wedding ring on his finger. He lets you do it, his fingers curling a bit so that they can hold onto yours, limiting your movements just a little bit. 

“Your summer home,” you say, tilting your head towards him, a gleam in your eyes, “The one near the ocean. Do you remember? The one where we all used to go when we were younger?”

Gojo nods a little bit, his pink lips and pink cheeks pulling upwards in a little grin. This was something he would very much be willing to fulfill. 

“I think that’s doable,” he says and your smile widens, “We can invite-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head, eyes flitting to his momentarily before they dropped back down to his large hands, which were freckles slightly as well, “Just us.”

Gojo nods a little bit, swaying his head from side to side as he thinks about how quickly he can put all of this together. Maybe if it were any other man he’d be taken aback by the strange and unexpected request, but he was your husband and was used to your nature by now. 

“I’ll tell my men, I’m sure we’ll be able to pull some strings and be there by next week,” Gojo tells you after a minute of thinking and you grin, going to say something but get interrupted by a steady knock on the door.

“My lady?” One of the girls, Alina, calls out, and you look back at Gojo with a smile, knowing the slight angry pout that’s going to be taking over his face. 

“Coming!” you respond after a beat, pressing a soft kiss to your husband's forehead as you brush the white strands of hair away from his face before pushing the blanket off of both you and your husband as you swivel your legs around the bed, sitting up as you stretch your arms above your head and yawn. 

You hear the bed squeak as Gojo does the same, the wooden floor creaking as he stands up, walking over to your side as he leans his back on one of the pillars of the bed, waiting for you to stand. 

When you finally do he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, knowing how much you were averse to his breath in the morning, and another one to the tip of your nose. His hand rests at the back of your head, gentle and soft.

“I’ll bring up the trip to my advisors today,” he starts, and your eyes twinkle, “And I’ll see you at dinner,” he tells you, and you nod, running your hand up and down his sturdy arm. You pinch at the muscles and he yelps a little bit, looking down to where your fingers are and you can’t help but laugh, soothing over the spot.

“I’ll see you then,” you say with a smile. There’s a little silent beat before he speaks.

“I love you,” Gojo’s voice lowers slightly, knowing that the women outside can’t hear him, but still wanting his words to only grace your ears. 

You giggle, your cheeks pulling upwards as you smile brightly, your hands trailing upwards to tangle in the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“I love you more,” you reply giddily. 

---

Once your maids came in and got you ready for the day, you bid farewell to Gojo, knowing that with how long his meetings with the advisors and counselors went you most likely weren’t going to be seeing him till later in the night. 

You don’t miss the way the younger girls blush when they see him kiss you farewell on the side of your forehead or the way they stare longingly at his musculature figure as he leaves the room, but you don’t care much. They can stare as much as they’d like. You’ll stare at them. You know you’re the only one he looks at anyway. Especially when you catch the wink he sends your way before closing the door shut. 

The five girls come bustling in as usual, helping you out of your sleeping garments, although you’ve told them countless times that you don’t need help to undress yourself. They help lace you up in your corset and bodice, helping you with your chosen outfit of the day. As usual, you find yourself in the plush chair as they dote over your appearance, swiping honey over your lips and dusting powder over your cheeks.

It was a routine you had slowly gotten used to. A far cry from your old life where you’d turn out of bed, get dressed in your sister's old clothes, and walk through the pantry and into the kitchens to find something to eat. But this was better, far better than that.  

But despite those younger girls and their bubbly personalities, there was something off with the way your usual maids were acting. Alina, who usually was the most talkative out of the group, only met your eyes in the mirror a couple of times, her lips pressed into a thin line as she quickly looked away. 

Two of the other girls, Maryam and Lilly, seemed to be whispering together in hushed tones. It was ineligible from where you were sitting, and you tried to make yourself seem as discreet as possible as you slightly angled your head towards them, but to no avail. Sometimes, when you could look up for them to clasp the gold necklace around your neck, courtesy of Gojo, you saw the way they glanced at each other and then down to you with pursed lips and downcast eyes. 

When Alina went to dot some lavender oil on your wrists you saw how her hands were slightly shaking, her fingers cold and clammy. 

“Alina?” You said with a little laugh, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “Are you alright?” You pressed the backs of your fingers to her cheek and then her forehead. A couple of months ago she would’ve pulled away in shock, telling you how unorderly it was for a lady to get this close to her maid, but she’s gotten used to it, and she only pulled away after a few seconds.

The other girls around you pause as you speak, but you don’t notice how they seem to mirror Alina’s expression. 

You watch as she swallows thickly, nodding her head down low as she places the glass bottle of oil down on the vanity. Her brown curls bounce a little bit with her movements, her large brown eyes wavering, as if she couldn’t bear to look at you. 

A look of perplexity takes over your face. Had you said something?

“Is something wrong?” You press again, turning around in your chair as you look at the other girls who have now fallen silent. None of them seem to be looking at you. 

You let out a curt laugh, arms resting on the back of the chair as your head tilts slightly. 

“Alina?” You ask one more time, your voice dropping a bit out of genuine worry. But you can only watch as she takes a deep, shuddering breath, her head still facing downwards as if there was a weight on her shoulders. 

You go to stand up but she quickly ushers for you to sit back down, though you see the way she brings her palms up to her eyes, trying to wipe something away. 

Was she crying? 

“What…?” You reach your hands out, trying to see what is wrong, but she looks up quickly and you’re taken slightly aback by the way her eyes seem bloodshot and wet cheeks, stained with tears. 

She shakes her head again, lips trembling as she quickly bows her head to you.

“I’m s-sorry my lady,” she says in a choked voice, “We’re done. I’ll see you tonight.” And before you can ask what was going on, to see if she was okay, you watch as she almost runs out of the room, leaving your other maids standing in a heavy, awkward silence. You look around to see what the other maids are looking like, surely as startled as you were, but if anything, they seemed to be struggling as equally as Alina was. 

“What’s….what’s wrong? Do you know-” “We have to leave, my lady,” Maryam quickly says, cutting you off unintentionally as the other girls mirror her movements and bow their heads down in respect, “I apologize.”

You sputter, trying to find something to say, but fall silent as you watch them file out in your room in the same hurry as Alina. 

You stand still, staring at the large wooden door.

What was that? 

—-

You try going about your day like normal. 

You asked around, trying to see if anybody had seen where Alina or the rest of your maids had run off to, but nobody seemed to find an answer. 

Not only that, but it seemed like the girl's strange behavior was reciprocated around the entire estate. Wherever you went, people would look at you for a second longer. You try not to make it obvious, and after years of being surveyed, you’ve gotten rather good at discretely listening in on what others are doing and saying. 

Walking around the halls alone, you keep your head down and ears open. You don’t miss the way some of the servants murmur things to each other behind their hands, their stares never leaving your frame. You’re grateful that today was one of the days Shoko, who you had become good friends with, wasn’t able to join you. With her rapid talking you doubt you would be able to hear any of the gossip even if it was shouted in your left ear.

You felt like you had been transported back to your old home, with your father's wife and your sisters. The constant whispers wherever you went, the eyes trained on your back. It was benign and odd, something that had never, ever happened until today. 

Something was wrong, and nobody was telling you what it was.

You had initially wanted to eavesdrop on the meeting Gojo was having with his advisors, but with the pit in your stomach and the dizzying feeling you were having everywhere you went, you decided to hide the rest of the day in the library, finding a little alcove where you could nestle away from everybody else. 

Truth be told, you had known something was wrong for the past week. Although today was the first physical evidence of this hunch you’ve had, there’s been something off in the air and you didn’t have the heart to voice this insanity to your husband. You tried brushing it off after the first couple of days. 

As somebody who grew up around maids and servants, cooks and cleaners, you were aware of how they were often the first to learn of any news. Words traveled fast with those who worked, and it didn’t take long to settle. You had been the subject of whispers and subjected others to being the victim of it, but either way, you saw firsthand how quickly gossip would and could spread. Especially when it was good. Even more so when it was bad. 

You could only wonder what it was that was plaguing the mouths of everybody around you. Has somebody passed? Somebody you knew? Your palm grew sweaty at the thought. There were only so many people you were close to and one of them you saw alive this morning. It couldn’t have been your father, they wouldn’t drag it out like this. You chew your lips raw, thinking. If it wasn’t a death, then it must be regarding the social circle sphere that you’ve recently found yourself a part of. 

You stare at the walls lined with books, blankly blinking as you rake your mind. 

It had to be serious and it had to be important. But as much as you tried to think, you kept drawing blanks. 

And so, as much as you tried telling yourself it was nothing, you knew deep down it was something. Today you had seen the people around you exhibit what you were more fearful of, but this past week you could pick up on hushed and worried voices. You could barely even read the first page of the book you had blindly selected from one of the many shelves, and when the sun set in the large window behind you, you had to remind yourself that there was still dinner to be had. 

You begrudgingly made your way to the dining hall, knowing you could barely stomach a block of cheese let alone a full meal. You had spent the last couple of hours letting your mind run over all the horrible things that could be coming your way, and having to mull over all those horrible things over food might cause you to become sick.

The guards open the large double doors for you as you begin to enter, and you feel a part of you deflate seeing that Gojo isn’t already there. 

You slowly make your way to your seat, moving in a trance as you pull your chair in, looking around to get a sense of the mood in the room. Heavy, from what you could tell. Perfect, you think to yourself.

The servants bring in different assortments of food prepared tonight, and had you had a better appetite you might’ve finished them the second they had arrived. But it felt like there was cotton shoved in your ears, barely hearing anything they were telling you. 

You swallow your bile down, your head ringing as you look up from your plate and to the man in front of you, your forehead dotted with sweat. You like your chapped lips, fidgeting with the ring on your finger. 

“Where,” your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, “Where is my husband?” 

The servant blinks once, then twice. 

He rubs the back of his head apprehensively, looking behind him to the closed doors, and then back to you. You could feel the way he was taking in your sick appearance, the way you seemed to be swaying side to side in your set as a means to help your queasy self. 

“Lord Gojo won’t be joining dinner tonight, my lady.” The man tells you. You know his name and have seen him countless times, but you can’t think about what the first letter of his name even starts with. 

“Did he say why?” You think your hands are shaking, and you grip the fabric of your dress to calm them down. 

In all honesty, you don’t know exactly why you’re freaking out the way you are. It could be something simple that’s happened and Gojo’s only stalling to tell you because he doesn’t find it to be important. But in all the time you’ve lived at this estate, have become the Lady of the North, you’ve seen things going right and things going wrong. You’ve observed the way the maids and servants act with one another and how they act with you when things aren’t going well. They’ve taken a deep liking to you, and respect you and your title. They care about you, which you still have trouble accepting given your past life, but they do things out of the goodness of their hearts. So if they were talking behind your back, it couldn’t be because they no longer care about you. It’s worse, and you can’t fathom what it must be.

“No…my lady, I apologize.”

You glance up at the man again and nod slowly. 

“Thank you,” you chew on the inside of your cheek, “That, that’s all.” 

He bows down, giving you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and exits. 

You look down at your plate and heave out a breath.

—-

Dinner was spent in total silence, but that was a given seeing that Gojo never showed up. 

You don’t know how long it took for you to walk up the stairs that led to your shared bedroom, but you know it took longer than usual with the way it seemed like your legs were weighing you down.

When you entered the room, all you were reminded of was this morning with Alina and the other maids, and it only worsened your already raving heart. You tried to sit at the edge of your bed and calm your breathing, but slowly you realized that you needed to be moving. Sitting was only going to worsen your condition.  

You paced around the expansive room, fidgeting with your ring, moving it up and down your finger as you tried to busy yourself with taking off your other pieces of jewelry. 

You had also requested for the girls to not come in tonight. You needed to be alone, not knowing what you’d do if you were to see their pale, fear-stricken faces again. 

With shaky hands and multiple efforts, you were finally able to unclamp your necklace and take off your earrings. You tried to wet some cloth and drag it across your face, hoping the cool water would help. It didn’t. 

A part of you tried to force yourself to think that you were simply overreacting. There was nothing to worry about. But deep inside, you knew that that was a lie. You felt this same way when you were a little girl and your father's men raided you and your mother's little home to take you away from here. This was the same feeling you had when you were informed of your marriage with Naoya Zenin. It was the same, deafening and nauseating feeling whenever you’d walk into a room and know that everybody there knew your secrets before you even knew them. 

There was a moment in which you thought perhaps that part of your life was left behind, but it seemed like with every creeping shadow, it was still following you around. 

Still, you did what you could to distract yourself. You were able to unlace the back of your bodice and corset, pulling your shaky legs out of your petticoat and skirt. You ringed around your wardrobe and found a shift that was suitable for the summer breeze. 

There seemed to be only a few seconds where you wouldn’t look at the door, but you couldn’t help yourself. You’d glance at the old grandfather clock in the corner, feeling your blood roar in your ears as the hands ticked away later into the night. It was unusual for a meeting to take this long. And if it did, Gojo would’ve warned you ahead of time so that you wouldn’t worry the way you’re doing now. 

It took nearly another two hours of your frantic effort to stay awake when your bedroom door creaked open and Gojo walked in. His white hair was messy, eyes sunken in. When he saw that you were awake his glare softened slightly. 

You could only blink when you saw him, your nails digging into your palm, surely leaving little crescent moons indented into your skin. 

There was an unwelcome silence that followed afterward. You watched as he shut the door, rubbing his tired eyes, and looked back up at you through furrowed brows. 

“You’re not asleep?” He groggily asked as he began to take off his boots, his back rippling with muscles from under his tunic as you gnawed on your lips and he stood up from his position on the floor.  

“I couldn’t,” you simply said, moving forward a couple of steps and slowly leaning into his outstretched arms as he pulled you into his chest, planting a tender, heavy kiss on the side of your head. One of his hands pressed tightly against your back, not moving.  

There was another moment of silence, one heavy and unknown as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat. 

“Is everything alright?” Your voice was muffled, but still audible, as you finally asked the question that was searing into your head. 

There was another beat of silence, but this one was uncomfortable. Gojo hadn’t let go of you yet.

“Yes,” he finally said, but you had heard better lies from your sisters after they ate your pastures and said they didn’t than this. 

Your brows furrowed as you looked up to him. 

“What took so long?” You pressed, pulling away slightly as his lips formed into a thin line, and he dragged a hand down his face. 

“Just…state affairs,” he turned away from you, against eye contact as he ran another hand through his hair. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest. You thought that he had at least begun to trust you enough not to lie this blatantly. 

“Have one of the states suddenly terminated their subject's existence?” You tried to tease, but your voice was flat and you couldn’t hide the curiosity and hurt behind it. Gojo didn’t laugh, which hurt even more. You leaned back on one of the pillars of your bed and watched as he stood with his back to you, contemplating something in utter silence. 

How you loathed silence. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask again, your tone heavy, not leaving any room for him to stay quiet. 

Your brows furrowed even more, arms tighter around your middle as he heaved a heavy breath, and when he finally turned you wished he would’ve just stayed hidden from you. Because there were spots of red in the whites of his shimmering eyes, and that was more fearful than the quiet. 

You tilt your head, not knowing what to do, and see his breath in shakily. The only time you had seen him break was that night he confessed to you in the field. Never again. Not until now. 

You take a tentative step forward, eyes searching his but he can’t bear to look at you. 

“I know there’s something wrong,” you say shakily, taking a deep breath as you pinch the bridge of your nose, “Alina nearly broke down in front of me today and everyone around the house seems to be walking on glass. So…so please just tell me what it is.” You’re pleading with him at this point, and you don’t care if you’re losing a shred of dignity. 

Gojo takes a deep breath, his hand searching for yours as you oblige. It’s warm, comforting. His thumb rubs up and down your wrist apologetically. 

His nose picks up on the smell of lavender oil, one he’s come to associate with you. It’s calming, a gentle reminder of his home, the one thing he fights for. When he looks at you and sees the worried crease of your brow, it only tugs on his heart more. 

“You’re…aware of how there’s been some conflict with the South for a while, right?” Gojo finally asks, though it seems like speaking is physically hurting him, “And how tensions worsened when my father stepped down?”

You nod slowly, knowing of this. After all, you might’ve been kept in the shadows in your old life, but you weren’t daft. You tried to keep up with the relations of the state as much as possible. Your father also did what he could to inform you of the North’s relations with the other tribes and nations before your wedding. Given its sudden nature, there were some things you weren’t able to fully learn until you got here, but it was common knowledge that the north and south were always teetering on an edge. 

It was centuries of conflicts that dated well before your time. Bloody disputes over land, women, and coin often seemed to be the root cause of all the troubles, and however petty they might seem, they’ve mended themselves deep in the current rulers of the country. Gojo’s father, the previous Lord of the North, was a peaceful man, but there were tensions even he couldn’t solve. The Southern King often ruled with an ironclad fist that only grew more spiteful when the old lord stepped down and Gojo took his place. 

You remember your father sitting in front of you with an ancient book spread out in your old home's library, a candle flickering in the background as he told you all this. And the final thing that you couldn’t forget he said regarding the current relations between the north and south were embedded in your mind. 

“I know the king isn’t happy with this arrangement at all,” your father had said as you flipped through the crinkly pages, smoothing over the wrinkles on his forehead as you glanced upwards. 

“Because of the Princess?” You asked, looking down briefly to read a passage on one of the northern wars that happened nearly three centuries ago. 

“Partially because of that,” your father agreed, his eyes glancing over your features. 

In the candlelight, when it was dim and nobody was around, he was allowed to look at you and see his daughter, not a bastard child everybody swore you were. Sometimes when you looked at him, he saw your mother. And when that happened, he had to look away. 

“But because of you. Because of who you are. Never forget the blood that runs in your veins is the blood that old lords and kings fought over.”

Your eyes narrowed, trying to think back to your sister's history lessons you listened to behind closed doors. 

“Me?” You parrot, confused. Your father nodded, his fingers scratching at the slight stubble on his chin. 

“There are greater enemies than ones gained from lost land, and the South would never forget those who allied with the North to get them where they are now.”

So you knew that it certainly didn’t help that Gojo married a daughter of the Western ruler, a union that in its nature was egregious to the South. 

“And before I married you, my,” he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply, “My father had agreed for me to marry the Southern princess to mend our relationship.” 

You knew of the women Gojo had lined up, some in his favor and some not. The Southern princess was one of them. You had seen her a handful of times at the old gatherings you were forced to go to when you were younger. There was always a circle of girls circling around her, their voices chirpy and pitched like canaries, and whenever she said something, loud laughter (faux) would fall comedically from their lips. Your sisters always tried to befriend her, but you knew it wasn’t your place. You’d observe them from afar, taking note of the ridiculous amount of jewels and stones that decorated her bodice, her neck, her wrists, her hair. The boys would stare at her from a distance, talking to each other, trying to decide who should approach her first. The princess was indeed a true beauty, perhaps the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, but that was the last bit of knowledge you had regarding her.

Much like you who was initially supposed to marry another man, Gojo was close to accepting the South’s proposal to marry him off with their only daughter. But something happened, and the former Lady of the North proposed for you to marry her son instead. 

“So?” You shake your head in confusion, your stomach churning, “You’re married to me now,” you state the obvious, but you see the way he smiles softly at that, nodding. 

“The Southern King wasn’t fond of our marriage,” you watch as he twirls his ring around, “They’ve been holding off on trade with the North and anybody who’s pledged allegiance to us. They’ve formed naval blockades around parts of our ocean that stop us from reaching our traders across the sea.” Gojo jams his palms into his eyes. For a moment he doesn’t look like the ruler he is or the warrior he’s always been but a scared boy who doesn’t know what to do. 

You take another step forward, leaning into him as he deflates into you, one hand protectively going around your shoulders and the other around your waist. 

“Well, surely there are ways to figure this out,” you say as confidently as you can, “We’ll ask for a smaller cut of their exports than usual….or offer another northerner of higher ranking for their princess,” you offer, looking up at him only to see his eyes wavering, the tip of his nose pink. 

He swallows thickly. 

“We did,” he mutters, “We did all of those things. All of those things and more. but…”

He trails off and you shake your head, eyes wide. 

“But what?” You press and he rubs at his eyes, at his stray tears. 

He goes to open his mouth but he can’t. You’ve never seen him like this. 

“The Southern King, he-” your husband's voice cracks and you pull away in shock, in fear, in terror as he tries to control a sob. The most feared man of all the land fighting down a sob, and all you could do was watch in fear. 

“He’s promised war if we don’t abide by his terms.”

Your tears have stung in your eyes, maybe because you were terrified of the response because a part of you knew that something good like this could only last for so long. That your moments of bliss were only to be cherished at an arm’s length, good, but not eternal. Perhaps you should’ve known from the start, should have braced yourself for something as terminal as this. 

But war? You never could have prepared yourself for this. It had been years since the land had seen war of any kind. Minor battles and conflicts were impossible to avoid, but a declaration of war from a king was beyond what you could have comprehended. 

Your eyes blink rapidly, your fingers twitching as they reach upwards to cover your mouth. There were only so many routes Gojo could decide to go down on. Depending on the conditions of the statement the king had set forth, there might be a way to avoid any senseless bloodshed. But you knew your husband, knew how much he cared for his land, for his people, for you, and if any one of those things were at stake…

“And,” your lips tremble, and how Gojo longs to kiss it away, if only his hands weren’t shaking and heart pounding, “And what are his terms?”

A grim look takes over his face, one that looks like a knife has been dug into his stomach and has begun to twist. He opens his mouth once, twice, and fails. He can’t speak. He can’t say the wretched words out loud. 

“That,” Gojo’s voice is wavering, and it’s a strange, unnerving thing to hear, “That I uphold by the initial promise. That I marry his daughter. That I separate from…” he blinks slowly, his mouth closing and then opening, a little gasp of horror leaving your lips as you piece together what he was saying.

You’re shaking your head, lips trembling, moving away from him as you walk around the room until you’re standing near your vanity, your chest shaking with quivering breaths as you try desperately to keep your stinging tears at bay.

You can hear him shuffling, but with your back to him, you can only feel his presence come up from behind you as his hands try to grasp at your elbows, trying to move your hands away from your face. But it’s no use. It’s as if you’ve been petrified, turned into a stone statue. The only sign of movement was the way your chest heaved up and down with each gulp of air you were taking.

He’s calling your name, but you feel like a fish underwater. You can’t hear anything correctly, can only hear the pounding, shuddering beat of your dying heart. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold on to the cries that are threatening to spill from your lips. You realize now what it was that the maids were talking about, why Alina was crying. It was no surprise to you that they were able to get word of them before you did. And you were no longer confused by their sullen responses.

Because there truly was no answer. No good answer, at least. 

You couldn’t justify a war over a marriage that didn’t work out. You couldn’t find it in yourself to allow Gojo to go through with it, despite knowing that was most likely what he was planning to do. An image of marching men, heading straight through a firey unknown, swords raised, and arrows drawn. You think of bloodstained letters finding their way home, wives crumbling upon finding the news of their husbands dead. Children left abandoned by their fathers and siblings. All of it in the name of a marriage. One marriage to survive while others withered away. Your eyes widened at the horrifying thought, trying to humor the other one. 

The one that included your separation.

Separating from the only man you’ve ever loved, who you consider to be your other half seemed…barbaric. You couldn’t imagine a life where you wouldn’t wake up next to him, couldn’t think of a day where he wouldn’t sneak through hallways and corridors just to surprise you with some flowers he had picked from the garden. Your mind flashed, thinking of what separation truly meant. Banishment, for you. Your old life wouldn’t accept you, his new wife wouldn’t want you near. There was nowhere you could go that you had any familiarity with.

You felt your knees give out from beneath you, falling to the floor as you hunch over, cradling your thighs to your chest. You feel stupid, knowing how childish you must’ve looked to him. But you felt like you had been plagued by every sort of emotion, and it was tethering you downwards, down where you felt more safe. 

Somewhere in the midst of this you could feel his guiding hands sprawl on your back, one slowly circling your shoulders. Gojo must’ve come down to meet you where you were, and you felt like a shell of a person as he gingerly pulled you toward his chest. 

One of his hands moved upwards to cradle the side of your head, his thumb rubbing up and down your forehead, as he shakily tried to wipe your watery tears away. If only you knew how much it pained him to see you cry. He wished you knew that he’d rather be shot with a thousand arrows than see you cry tears of sorrow.

He was talking, you knew he was because you could hear muffeled noises from above you that mirrored his tone and voice. But you couldn’t hear anything, trying your best to focus on the pieces of woven threads of the carpet beneath you.

“...alright,” you think he says, making out some words, “...will figure…out…alright?”

You can only nod. 

Alright?

—-

Nothing was alright. 

You’ve barely slept ever since you got the news. 

The people around you seem to have pieced together why you’re acting the way you are, and thankfully, they don’t push it. Alina doesn’t ask why you’ve suddenly grown so silent, none of your other maids jest stupidly when they feel you’re especially down, and even the younger girls don’t pretend to fawn over Gojo, gently applying rose water to your hair as they give you soft smiles. 

Everybody in the estate knows what’s happening, and nobody dares to bring it up. Wherever you go there seems to be a darkness that follows you. People go quiet when you walk past them, and looks of pity and solemness are clear on their faces. You feel like a ghost that’s wading through the halls with nowhere to go. You feel like a dead body roaming the land of the living. 

There were several of these meetings you went to, knowing that these ones should not be heard behind a closed door. You were told to come to more of them, but you slowly realized that the more you heard, the more sick you felt. 

A part of you was screaming at yourself, begging to see what was truly at stake. A simple marriage was not worth the countless lives at stake. No matter how long this feud was going on between the North and South, you knew that using your marriage was just another scheme to worsen it. 

The more you allowed yourself to think about the situation at hand, the more you felt yourself going mad. You knew that war wasn’t the right answer, and it wasn’t the one you wanted. You couldn't even begin to think about the piles of bodies, the smoke rising into the ashen sky as they were set on fire in Northern tradition. You think with a shudder about the homes raided, the women assaulted, just how much men turn to animals when war turns lawless. You think about the years to come, when there’s nothing left of you but bones. How you’d be remembered in the stories, as the selfish whore wife that wouldn’t separate from her husband and would rather watch lands be torn apart instead. So no, war wasn’t the option. 

But separating from your husband? How on earth was the better choice?

Perhaps a while ago you wouldn’t have wanted to separate from him because you refused to go back to your old life. You didn’t want to go back to your old room that could only be accessed through the dingy pantry and a dimly lit corridor.

You didn’t want the constant reminder of your untrue blood, how much of a bastard reminder you were to your fathers life. Months ago you would’ve tied yourself to a tree and let a bear feast off of you then become the social outcast again because you had lived through it once and would rather wind up dead. 

But now, you’d chain yourself to that tree because leaving Gojo might be the other thing that would tear you apart. 

You never thought it would be possible to be loved by another person who you love just as much. You had forced yourself into believing that tender care and pure adoration wasn’t something you would ever receive in this lifetime. In all honesty, you didn’t expect to receive it from Gojo Satoru either. But you did, and living a life without it would be more than empty. You knew you could never have him the way you do now, casted aside as another woman takes your place. And perhaps he might come to love her just as much, even more. But another part of you, the part that’s been trying to claw its way out ever since you were a little girl is screeching. Screeching that you deserved that shot of happiness, of joy, that those moments you shared with your husband should’ve only been shared by you two alone. 

A part of you wilts when you even begin trying to think of mornings without him. Without him pulling you into his chest, murmuring words of nonsense into your ear as you pretend to sleep. Your heart burns when you begin to think of him kissing another girl the way he kisses you, bringing her to parties and balls tied around his elbow. You know the ton would appreciate a princess with the lord of the north far more than you, and you can’t begin to imagine what would happen if Gojo began to prefer another union. One that benefited him more than it benefited his partner. 

You weren’t a jealous person by any means. Sometimes you got snippy, and sometimes you glared when women looked too long at your husband. But this was more than simple jealousy. It was biting away at you, taking away from the brightness that once bloomed across your entire body. 

Maybe deep down you thought you deserved that chance of a better life, and maybe that part of you was just too optimistic knowing the hand you’ve been dealt with up until now. 

But gods would sooner fall out of the sky than you tell all this to Gojo. Not the latter, at least. But regardless, it seemed to brew more and more arguments between the two of you as of late. 

“I don’t understand why this is something that still needs to be discussed,” Gojo bit out one night as he was undressing to sleep, taking off his uniform as he angrily hung it up. 

You had one hand wrapped around the bedpost, fidgeting with your necklace, the singular pearl moving back and forth as you shook your head. 

You knew it was a bad idea bringing up the war plans right now. It was one of the first nights where Gojo was actually free from his meetings, earlier than what had become the norm. But it was also the first time you had properly seen him in almost a week, and your mind was nothing if not still. 

“I’m not saying we terminate the marriage,” you pause when he snaps his neck over to you, his eyes darkening with a glare, “But surely we can’t be thinking of war. ‘Toru there has-”

“There is no other way,” his voice is deep, his back to you as he takes off his bottoms, kicking his heavy boots off as the thud against the wall, “I’ve told you this countless times I’m not separating from our marriage.”

Your chest is heavy, your heart churning, and he can’t tell. You know there are thousands of other things that are riddling his mind right now, but you wish he could see what you’re begging him to see. If there was one thing you’ve grown to know about Gojo is that his stubborn nature was unbridled and steady. 

You wanted him to take a second and understand, or perhaps he did understand but chose to see this as a black and white matter, the gravity of what he was suggesting. It had been years since an actual war had been fought. Years since men were sent in blind with only their swords and their wits to keep them alive. None of you had seen the true calamity of war, the sheer destruction that followed from it. Gojo was thinking as the cold hearted warrior he had been trained to be, but not like the man you had fallen in love with.

“What if you…gods,” you groan, exasperated and tired, “What if you take the princess on as another wife?” The suggestion itself tastes like poison, bitter poison on your tongue, and maybe it soothes you just a little bit when Gojo lets out a bitter chuckle, his hands gripping the table as his knuckles turn white. 

“Do you want me to do that? Truly?” He spits it out and you let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shrug helplessly. 

“No, fuck. No, I don't want you to do that! But what else can-”

He raises his hand upwards, something he does when he wants to interrupt you, and you clamp your mouth shut. 

“We’ve declared war today,” he glances at you from over his shoulder and your eyes widen, “It’s final.”

You crumble against the wooden pole, fingers curling into the bed sheets as you choke on air. Final? Your fingers are trembling, your lips quivering as it feels like you’re struggling to breathe. No, you know you are. You feel lightheaded, the little bits of dinner you had surging upwards, bile filling your mouth.

He hadn’t told you about any of this, had silently refused to tell you the status of this situation because he knew how loudly and adamantly you would protest it. But it was done now. There was nothing else you could do. 

Gojo looked over at you, his face that was once cold and unmoving shifting to one of worry. Moving away from the warrior he was forced to be this past month and back to your husband. 

He moves to where you were, but you shake your head, not bearing to look him in the eyes as you shakily make your way over to your side of the bed, climb in without a word and watch as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. 

His mouth opens and closes. He shuts his eyes, jamming his palms into his eyes as he clenches his fists. 

“I love you,” he whispers finally, and the words seem to carry slowly between your two bodies that to him seem oceans apart, “So much,” he feels like he’s choking on your silence, it’s thick and settles deep in his throat. He’s been punched, hit, kicked, beat and thrown before, but none of them have knocked the air from his lungs much like you staying utterly quiet. 

“I’m doing this for us,” his voice is wavering, why can’t you understand that he wants to yell, but won’t, he’d never raise his voice at you, “When this is all over we’ll go to the house near the ocean,” your heart cracks, “Remember how you wanted to go?”

Gojo watches as your shoulders stop shaking, the only sound in the room becoming your labored breaths. 

“Please, darling, please say something. Anything.”

You’re the only person Gojo would beg to. The only human who could hear his desperate pleas, the way his commanding voice would crack and crumble and shatter all at your mercy. You sniffle quietly, pulling the blanket closer to your chest. You love him, gods above you love him. You don't know yourself how much you love him. Sometimes it frightens you how much you do.

But in this moment, the man behind you was the Lord of the North and not your husband, and so you stayed quiet, letting the only sound that he heard of you be your cries.

—-

You can’t seem to find reasons to leave bed most of these days. 

Every time you look in the mirror, you feel like you’re staring back at a stranger. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, your lips chapped and cracking. Your cheeks have fallen, sullen and flat. Smiling has become a chore, laughing a rare occurrence. As the North was beginning to prepare and brace for the oncoming war, your home was starting to look more like housing quarters for troops rather than the place you used to adore.

You haven’t seen Gojo in a while, and each day it seems like he’s pulling away from you. At night, you barely see each other. He comes to sleep far later than you do and wakes up earlier and earlier with each passing day. Sometimes you’re awoken to the bed dipping when he climbs in, other times you pretend to be asleep even when he presses a lingering kiss to the side of your forehead, your fists balling up when he whispers a quiet I love you in your ear before he sleeps.

It’s not that you don’t love him. And you don’t fear him, you never have. Sometimes you curse yourself when you don’t mutter the words back, but you’re suddenly and crudely reminded that outside your bedroom walls, there were people actively preparing for a war being fought in your names, and it stills you from moving. 

It was becoming rare sharing a meal with your husband, even rarer to see him anywhere but the counseling chambers, and it no longer felt like it did months ago. Every time you walked past him, you two were so busy and wrapped in your own minds that you didn’t even acknowledge each other until it was too late, your neck twisting as he walked on by, and his body turning when you rounded the corner to another hallway. 

You wonder if this was truly the love that was fated to emerge from this marriage ever since the beginning. That the feelings you felt were mirrored in an act that Gojo was putting up with until this point, if this war was bound to happen and using the arrangement between you and Gojo as a catalyst for the chaos that was to follow. 

The idea that was slowly planted in your head began to flower, and it caused you to see things for what they weren’t. Eventually leading to looking blankly at the wall when he walked into your bedroom one night, hours earlier than when he usually comes, and you don’t even spare a glance to him.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

Your head slowly turns to where he was standing at the door, eyes gradually making their way upwards to his face, lips parted. You were leaning on the headrest behind you, twisting and turning the ring around your finger. 

In this moment, you allow yourself to look at Gojo. You take in his disheveled appearance, the white stubble that was dotting across his jaw. A couple months ago you might’ve felt your cheeks heat up at the sight, never expecting for him to look so ruggedly handsome looking like this, but now, all you’re able to think about was how much this cursed war was taking away from time he cherished being able to shave himself clean. He looks worn down, aged, no longer the youthful and cheerful man you remembered. How was this happening? How was any of this real?

You blink, shaking your head a bit as you come back to reality, biting your tongue for a few seconds before you speak. 

“Leaving?” You finally ask, watching ashe nods, nearing where you were sitting on the bed, leaning down the untie the straps and leather clasps of his boots, letting out a sigh of finally being able to relax as he shrugs his coat off, running a hand through his white strands that seemed to be longer than from the last time you saw him. 

He nods dimly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looks you over, his eyes falling when he takes notice of your crestfallen state, the way the light that was in your eyes has seemed to die out. 

“I have to go rally more allies across the West,” he explains, slowly making his way over to the bed as he drops down on the corner of it, his hand reaching out for yours but you don’t move, “Your father has promised us his troops but there are smaller cities scattered across that still need some convincing.”

Your fingers curl around your blanket, eyes pulled together in a furrow. 

“Let me come,” you tell him but he stares at you for a few seconds, trying to see if you were joking. 

When he realizes you're being serious he shakes his head, his blue eyes a dark color as he looks away for a second to stare at the wall. 

“It’s dangerous-“”

“But I know the cities!” You cry out, the first time you’ve heard your voice be this loud in a while, and it takes him by surprise as well, “I can help! I’ve been sitting here feeling like a duck waiting to be shot! I…” you stop for a second, the stupid tears that have seemed to become a common occurrence burning your eyes. 

You look away, biting your lip to keep it from shivering, hoping he doesn’t come near you. 

“This is my fault,” you whisper, “Everything that’s to come, it’s all my fault. If only I didn’t…” your voice cracks, your chin falling to your chest as your eyes wring shut, wanting to keep everything and everyone away. 

But Gojo, like always does, is drawn to you like a moth to a flame. You hear the sheets rustle as he moves across the bed and settles in beside you, his tall and lean frame shadowing over your body as you refuse to look at him, not wanting him to see how weak you’ve become. 

You feel one of his hands reach for your jaw, his fingers curling around your ear and holding the back of your head as he gently turns you to face him.  

You try desperately to keep your eyes somewhere else, focusing on his knees rather than him, but when you feel a tear escape and roll down your cheek, being wiped away by his thumb, you break, barreling yourself into his chest as you cry. 

His hands circle your body, caging you to him as you feel your chest shake. It’s painful and it burns, but you can’t seem to stop. You can feel his heartbeat ratting against his chest, a faint smell of smoke clinging to his skin. 

“None of this is your fault,” he murmurs against your head, “You’re not to blame for anything.” 

“Satoru, I,” your hands curl as they rest on your thigh, a tear catching on the tip of your nose, “I’m s-scared,” you choke, the words slurring on your tongue, “I’m so terrified all the time. This…this war, these plans, the strategies e-everyone keeps talking about,” your hand curls against his tunic, gripping into the fabric as if it was tethering you to the earth. 

Gojo takes in a deep breath, and you feel his lips pressing to the crown of your head, soft and warm. Oh, how you missed his lips. 

“There’s nothing to be scared about,” his voice is slightly muffled, but it’s steady and sure, “Everything will be alright.”

But you shake your head, a fresh wave of tears sprouting. 

“How do you know?” you’ve been asking yourself the same question over and over, “None of us have even lived through a war, l-let alone fight in one.”

“I,” Gojo sighs, and you imagine the pensive look on his face, “I don’t know. I have no idea how any of this is going to go. And,” he pauses, thinking briefly, “I’m scared too. I’m scared that all of our plans will go to shit and we’ll encounter a force we never expected. Everyday I examine different escape routes we should go through, creating different maps that might save us. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time,” he admitted with a solemn laugh, “But…but no matter what, I’ll still come back to you when all of this is over.”

Your breathing shudders, and you raise your head to look at him. You’re sure you look like an absolute mess, with tears staining your face, you’re constant sniffles to keep your nose under control, the reds of your eyes. But Gojo still smiles, his hands moving to either side of your face, his thumb moving back and forth across your cheeks. 

“There’s my girl,” his voice is barely above a whisper, but he sounds proud, his blue eyes lightening up a little bit. You let out a little cry when you see his tender smile, the way he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

“P-promise, promise you’ll come back to me,” you say through broken sobs, wiping messily at your cheeks, your palm rubbing harshly against your chin so that the tears don’t fall against the sheets, “Promise me that you will come here again.”  

He nods, his own eyes wavering when he understands just how much this has been tearing you apart. One of his hands moves to cradle your head, bring you closer to his and he rests his forehead against yours with a quiet thump. 

His nose nudges yours, and his lips inches away from your trembling ones. Your eyes close shut, hands refusing to move away from his sturdy chest. 

“I, Gojo Satoru, will come back to you,” his voice is clear but heavy as if he intended for his words to travel across the world and through different lifetimes to end up back here, “I promise this to you. As your husband, as your friend,” his voice slightly cracks, “And as the man who loves you most ardently.”

You don’t give him another second before you pull him a little bit closer by the collar of his tunic to slam your lips against his. You hear him groan instantly from underneath you, but you don’t care. Your teeth move cruising against each other, your tears mixing with your spit. 

It’s messy but needed, an anchor that you’ve so desperately been craving. 

Gojo’s large hands move from your back to under your ass, cupping the flesh as he grips your thighs, pulling you into his lap as his finger trails upwards to your waist, his favorite spot. His slight stubble scratches against your skin, but you’re surprised to find that you like the feel, like the way he feels. 

He bites your bottom lip, slipping his tongue past yours when your mouth opens slightly and you moan against him, fingers curling tightly in his white strands of hair, tugging them harshly. It earns a deep groan from him, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady. 

Your back arches closer, nails raking his scalp as you tilt his head back upwards for your lips to capture his. He moves at your will, slotting himself against you, working in tandem as your chests rise and fall at the same pace. 

You feel starved, needing to taste him, to feel him. You can’t remember the last time you’ve kissed him this feverishly, as if you’d die within moments if you didn’t have your skin melting against his. 

The seconds seem to blur together, and before you know it, there was a loud knock at the door. You squeal, almost shoving yourself off of him as the two of you look back to see what it was. 

“My, my lord?” The voice behind the door squeaks, most likely a younger soldier, “There’s been a slight shift in tomorrow's plans. The general wants to speak to you.” He clears his throat, most likely having heard your moans and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

You look back to Gojo, and see the way his head falls and his hands curl into fists on his thighs. 

Your hand traces the hot skin of his jaw, your thumb hooking underneath his chin to bring him back up to you. 

“Go,” you say quietly, a small smile on your face. You try to hide your disappointment, knowing this is more important.  

There’s a storm happening behind his eyes, swirls of blue and gray mixing together as his chest slightly heaves, his cheeks dusted with pink. One of his hands grips your waist, pulling you forward with no force as he kisses you once, twice more. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing your cheeks softly, “I’ll come back tonight and I’ll wake you before I leave tomorrow.”

You nod, hoping he knows that you’ll be okay, and shift away slightly from his lap so that he can go. 

“I love you,” he mutters against the side of your head, looking deep into your eyes before he presses his last kiss against your forehead, “Sleep well, love.”

Your smile cracks slightly, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you cross out a measly love you most and watch silently as he puts his boats and coat back on and leaves within seconds. 

You stare at the messed up sheets and then to the door, accepting the fact that this would be your life from now on. 

—-

Gojo left the next morning, before the sun was in the sky. 

“It’ll only be three weeks at most,” Gojo assures you, and you look up to see his men preparing their horses, throwing saddles across them as they prepare their satchels of food and gear, “Two if I flatter my way through the cities.” 

You giggle a little bit, rolling your eyes, the most you could muster yourself to do and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your body. 

“I’ll miss you,” you mutter, hoping nobody could hear the way your voice was barely surviving it’s need to break, “Come back as soon as you can.” 

Gojo sprawls a hand across your back, tipping you up by the chin to meet his lips in another kiss. A while ago you might have felt shameful and scandalous for kissing your husband like this out in the open, but everybody was so distracted with their own tasks that they wouldn't bother to look at you right now.

You pull away slightly, cheeks heating when his pupils grow slightly, and place a hand across his sternum, rubbing up and down the vigil of the North that was pinned to his coat. 

“I will,” he says, pulling you in for a tight embrace as you hug him with as much strength as you have, your cheeks pressed against his shoulder as his chin rests on the top of your head, “I’ll be back before you even realize I was gone.” 

That was a few days ago, but with how little you already saw him before he left, it felt a little bit true to his words. You were so busy trying to help the war efforts around the estate that missing your husband happened in the quiet moments when you were allowed to have some silence to yourself, or in the late hours of the night when you hugged his pillow close to your chest. 

When nights would come and you had had your dinner and were making your efforts to sleep, you requested to only have Alina help you get undressed and ready. She was the one you felt closest too, and the only one who never seemed to bombard you with sympathy. And after a grueling day, that was all you needed.

“Would you like some lavender oil?” 

You look up from the counter, putting your necklace back in its case as your eyes meet her brown ones in the mirror. 

“Not tonight, Alina, thank you,” you say and she nods, setting the glass bottle back down as she picks up some of the rose water, native to the North, and begins doting it across your neck, head and wrists.

There was a slight breeze that was wafting in through your open window. Fall was quickly approaching, but you were trying to hold on to the last bits of the cool summer air before the biting winds staked their spot until the next spring. 

“Would you like me to close the window?” Alina glanced over to the rustling curtains, flowing freely, and you shrugged, taking off your earrings as you placed them down gently on the little plate Gojo had given you as a gift a while ago. 

“I prefer the breeze,” you reply, wiping your face with a damp cloth, “Thank you, though,” you offer her a small smile, one that she reciprocates. 

Alina finishes up some things, and the two of you work in comfortable silence. She knows just how much you need these little things to help keep you sane, and as much as she’s been trained to help out her lady in any means possible, as your friend, she lets you do some things alone.

After a few more minutes pass Alina clasps her hands on her hips, and you let out a small giggle, knowing she was done. 

“I don’t see why you need me here,” she grumbles, pushing some hair away from her face and you snort, standing up from your chair as you flick her shoulder gently. 

“You’re good company,” you simply say, moving around your room as you go to the little corner where you keep some of your books. 

Alina pushes the chair back in and makes her way to the door, bidding you a good night before she pauses, looking back at the window. 

“My lady?” She says, and you look up from the shelf, glancing over to her. You raise a brow, waiting for her to continue. 

“I know it’s not my place, but my mother always told me to sleep with the windows closed. You never know how cold the night might get and I don’t want to see you waking up with a fever.”

You look back to the window and the rustling curtains and grin, nodding. 

“I’ll close them in a bit,” you tell her and note how her shoulders ease and a smile makes its way onto her face. 

“Goodnight my lady,” she tells you, and you say the same thing, making sure she’s all gone before you let the smile drop, your cheeks hurting, and look back to the bookshelf. 

You’ve seen how worried she’s gotten as of late regarding your nature, so you’ve tried being a little more cheerful around her even if it pains your soul to act like nothings wrong. 

Your fingers card through different books, reading the spines as you try to find something that might help put you to sleep. Finally you find a title of a book you’ve read before, maybe a few years ago, and pull it out, examining the cover. 

You move around to your bed and place it near your pillow. You fill the glass on your stand with some water from your pitcher, setting down as you go to the vanity to blow out the candles that were lit. 

There were only a few left, and you just wanted to save the one next to your bed so you could read. You move past the window, going to the corner of the room, blowing the third remaining candle out. 

You feel the hair on your arm prick up from the sudden rush of cold air, goosebumps trailing in their wake, and you walk back to the window, pushing aside the long drapes as you reach your arms out to find the knobs that would pull them in towards you. 

Until a sudden force knocks you down to the ground. 

It takes you half a second to realize that you hadn’t tripped on something, and that the reason why your head didn’t hit the floor causing a thud to be heard was because something, somebody, was on top of you. 

A man. There’s a man lying on top of you. 

This can’t be happening. 

You go to scream, but a hand flies to cover your mouth, pinning your legs and wrists down by a heavy leg and their other hand, effectively holding your writhing body still. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you try to move, biting the hand that’s over your mouth but it doesn’t budge. You feel your heartbeat as fast as it ever has against your ribcage, your fingers trying to grab something, anything, that could help you. 

“If you make any noise I’ll cut your tongue straight from your mouth, you hear me?”

Your eyes slam open, looking straight at the face hovering above yours. 

A brute of a man is looking down at you. You yell again, but he presses his hand down even harder, his rough skin meeting your teeth as your voice becomes muffled. 

He’s gigantic, looking more like an ogre than a man. His hooked nose and sly lips are pulled into a sleazy smile as he looks down at you, his greasy black hair pulled back behind his ears. His arms are the size of boulders, his legs looking like they were strong enough to push boulders. His teeth are yellow and crooked, and he lets you see them when he talks. 

You feel something sharp press to your side, and in your frantic state you’re able to wiggle a little bit to tilt your head down to see what it is. Your eyes widen when you see the glimmering dagger, its edge serrated. Its tip was so sharp that you could feel it cutting into your skin and you knew he wasn’t pressing as hard as he possibly could. 

“Stay. Still.” The man grunts again, licking his teeth as you shake, shaking your head as your hands open and unopened, not knowing what else to do. 

“I’m going to move my hands from your mouth,” he says next, slowly and quietly, “There’s a couple things I need you to do for me. But I swear that if you make a single squeak, any fucking noise, I’ll gut you like a fish, hm?” 

Your eyes are shaking, brows pulled taut as you try to move around but to no avail. The knee that was pressing down onto your thigh digs in deeper, his bone searing into your flesh as you whine in pain. 

“Do you understand?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin. The knife is still pointed at your hip, and he presses it just a bit deeper, and you’re sure if he goes any more he’ll draw blood. 

You look at the man, at the deep set scars that run all across his face. You take in the glint that shimmer in his eyes, the pure evil that drips from his grin. You can smell the blood drying on his clothes, and can almost taste iron the closer he gets to you. 

You want to fight back, but you can’t. 

Your mind races back to those days when you had asked Gojo to let you spar with him, wanting to know how to defend yourself. There were some moments when you felt like you could take him down, but he’d always find a weak spot of yours and bring you tum biking to the ground. But he would always help you up with a gentle smile, apologizing profusely as he kissed your cheeks. This man was far bigger than Gojo, and his smile wasn’t kind the way he was. You knew you couldn’t overpower him, not in the slightest. 

So you slowly nod, your tears falling freely from the corners of your eyes, rolling back onto the floors as the man grunts. 

Slowly and surely, he moves his hand away from your face, still keeping the rest of his body pinning yours. Your lips are trembling, your body almost convulsing as you wait for him to speak. 

He gives it a second, making sure you weren’t going to pull anything before he decides you’re compliant enough, or rather not willing to die, to listen to his orders. 

“Good job,” he mutters, his voice pricking at your skin like a thousand needles, his greasy smile making you want to hurl, “There’s three things I need you to do. Nod if you understand.”

You look back at him. He presses the knife into your hip, and your teeth dig into your lip, knowing that he for sure broke skin. 

Your eyes squeeze shut in pain as you slowly nod. 

“First, from here on out, be as quiet,” his voice is low, “Don’t let anybody outside think anything.”

He pushes himself slightly off of you, trying to get a feel of how loud the floorboards creaked. When he was satisfied that they wouldn’t make a sound, he moved his hulking body away from yours, carefully standing up. 

You feel your heart lurch when you see him at his true size, nearly three heads taller than Gojo, and even more packed with muscles. 

“Stand up,” he motions for you to do the same, not until he warns, “Slowly.” 

You’re frozen in place, your arms and legs losing all function. The man looks down at you through his dark stare, seeing that it’s taking you too long, and bends down to loop a hand around your elbow. 

He drags up upwards like you weigh nothing, your lungs refusing to work as you gasp for air. 

When you're on your feet, you feel like throwing up, your head dizzy, nose wrinkling at his strong odor that reeks of onions and ale. 

“Walk over to that table,” he nudges his chin over to the desk that is littered with Gojo’s maps and scrolls and your books, “And sit down at the chair.”

You can only stare at him, biting your tongue, hoping this was all a nightmare. 

But the man just stares back at you, waiting. He flashes you the dagger again, it’s too stained with your blood, and your legs, however weak, seem to work faster than your mind. You feel like a newborn lamb learning how to walk as you somehow make your way over to the table, his presence never leaving from behind your back. 

Your legs shake as you set yourself down on the wooden chair, tears biting at your cheeks as you wait for his next instructions. 

Behind you, you hear something rustle. You don’t want to look to see what he’s doing, but you’re able to pick out a bag being opened carefully, some papers scratching against each other. 

It takes a few more seconds but the sounds stop, and suddenly a piece of parchment falls down next to you. 

“Write down on a piece of sheet that repeats what is written there,” he tells you, and your eyes dart down to the parchment, tears blurring your vision. 

“W…” your words are slurring together, and you can’t hear your own voice, “What?”

You’re quiet, but the man hears you. 

He just shoves the parchment closer to your face, saying nothing. 

Your eyes fall down to the words scattered across the price, black ink staining its yellow color, and you blink your eyes a couple of times to read what it says. The handwriting is foreign to you, something you can’t recognize. You don’t know how, with everything your mind was going through, you were able to read properly, but you felt your stomach drop when your eyes scanned through the first couple of sentences. 

My love, with a heavy heart I write to you, but there is no other way to break my thoughts to you. I can no longer sit and watch what you plan to do in my name…your eyes skim a further but down, the blood you’re willing to spill is unlike what I thought you to be capable of. You’ve become cruel and inhuman, and I refuse to have myself tied to a man that desires death the way you do…

Your mouth drops a little, your jaw slacking when you realize what the note was saying. This was a goodbye letter. 

I have to leave. I could never, under any gods’ sky, pretend to keep loving a man as barbarous as you.

Your heart stops. 

“Write that down girl,” the man’s gruff voice interrupts, “Here.”

He scavenged through the piles of discarded plans and strategies, finding a clean sheet of parchment that was untouched by ink. 

You shake your head, looking over your shoulder as your tears drop from your chin. 

“I,” you swallow thickly, trying to force down the vomit that was at the back of your throat, “I can’t…write…”

The man snorts, his arms crossing over his large chest as he shrugs. 

“If you don’t write, I’ll gut that girl that you favor so much,” he twists the daggers handle in his large palm, “The only with the curls. Gods, it’d be a shame though. I might have a taste of her before…”

You tune him out, ears filling with water as you realize he’s talking about Alina, your fingers trembling against the wood of the table as you look down at the pre-written note and the blank parchment he had set in front of you. 

Your mind was blanking as you try to ration what’s happening. 

You look a little bit to your left at the pot of ink and the quill Gojo was always scratching away with. Before you can think any other thought, you feel cool metal pressing against your neck. 

The man is right behind your chair, his daggers blade a breath away from your skin. He’s holding your jaw in place, forcing your head down at the table. 

His fingers are rough and calloused, stained with blood and dirt, and you gasp slightly, eyes blurring once again as you turn still. 

“Write.” He whispers thickly in your ear. 

You don’t move, and the dagger presses down, your lips falling open in a silent cry as you feel it cut through some skin, blood beginning to stain your nightdress. 

Mindlessly, your hand moves to the ink and quill. You feel like you've left your body as your fingers grasp the quill, dipping it into the little pot, and set it down to the paper. 

You feel like you’ve left your own self as you look back to the note, chewing your lips raw as you write down the first word. The dagger is still against your throat, unrelenting as you begin to write. You don’t know how none of your tears have yet to stain the paper, but you don’t what the stranger would do if that were to happen. 

A part of you blacks out when you write, your eyes open but not understanding anything in front of you no matter how hard you try.

Your quill suddenly stops, and you feel the man leaning in behind your shoulder, the dagger loosening away from you as he lifts the two pieces of parchment up. 

You don’t know when you finished, or what you write, but in the silence that it takes for him to read yours through, you get the grasp that you must’ve done something correctly because he seems satisfied, setting your version down on the table. 

He steps away from you, and you watch from the corner of your eyes as he takes the original piece to one of your candles, holding it over the flames as it catches fire. He watches as it burns, the ashes falling into his other hand. When it’s all burnt up, he scatters it out the window, the wind doing its job as it takes any remains of what it was away from here. 

He looks back at you with a smile. 

“Last thing,”

Your head sways. 

“Fill this bag,” he holds up an empty satchel, “Fill it with things you’d take if you were to run away.”

You blink slowly at him, your mouth going dry. 

You can’t speak, but he can tell you’re confused. 

“We need to make it seem like, well,” he shrugs, his lips pursed together, “That you wrote that note and ran away. Pick out some clothes, jewelry, and coins. Make the room messy.”

Your heart beats slowly in your chest when you start to understand what it was he was asking you to do. 

He holds up his weapon, its edges shining red with your blood, and he points it to the door. 

“I know you’d hate to hear her scream,” he says, and you dimly nod. 

You set the quill down gently on the table, moving carefully from your chair as you walk towards his outstretched hand. Your fingers tremble as you take it from him, walking slowly towards your dresser. 

He’s right behind you, the knife pointed at your waist so that you don’t think of doing anything, and you quietly open the door, grabbing some hoods, slips, common clothes, nightwear and undergarments. You shoved it in until the bag was nearly full. 

You did as you were told, taking the rest of your clothes and scattered it across the ground, throwing some things onto your bed. 

He grunted behind you, most likely a little surprised with how compliant you were. 

You drift to your vanity, shoving some necklaces and earrings in the satchel, not wanting to take all because it was actively killing you to do this. 

“That’s good,” the man says after a couple minutes and you pause, your back still to him. 

You set the satchel down and turn slowly around, hoping this would be enough. That your night was done and that he would let you go. 

“Oh, and,” his eyes drop down to your empty hands, pouting the tip of the blade to your finger, “Leave the ring.”

Your eyesight goes blurry.

You feel lightheaded, gripping into the edge of the table as you heave for air. Leave the ring? Leave? Leave?

“We don’t have all night,” he explains, making that his reasoning for why he so suddenly takes your hand, his large fingers circling around yours as he roughly yanks off the piece of jewelry, throwing it next to some other pieces you had lying on the table. 

You can only stare blankly at it as he moves around, stare as the gold glimmers in the soft candlelight. It looks the same way it did the first time you saw it, when Gojo had placed it on your finger when he was saying your vows. It was a simple ring, a gold band that didn’t have any stones on it. Gojo later explained that while he had told you earlier it was usual something he had picked out, his mother had gifted it to him. 

You feel a force hit the back of your head and suddenly, everything goes black. 

—-

Waking up hurt. 

You blink once, twice and then for a final time before you feel like you can see accurately again. Your head was throbbing, a dull pain at the back of your skull. You go to rub it, but notice that your hands are bound together by rope. 

Coming to your senses you realize that the rope wasn’t the only problem. The wobbling motion you first had wasn’t from your stomach ache, but because you were rocking back and forth on a horse. 

You sit up a little bit in shock, but the motion causes you to wince, your body sore and aching. 

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.” 

That voice. 

So it wasn’t a nightmare. 

The wall that you felt behind your back wasn’t a wall, but was in fact the same man who had forced his way into your room at night, made you write that letter, packed your things and leave…

Leave home. 

All around you was a sprawling field, no sign of life from as far as you could tell. You had no idea how long you were unconscious, or how long you had been on horseback, but the North usually didn’t get grass to grow this tall seeing how the cold winters usually killed them. There was a breeze, but it wasn’t as biting as it should be. 

You were glad to see that your mouth was wrapped shut, but that also put a strike of fear through you. If the man wasn’t afraid of you screaming, then there surely wouldn’t be anybody around to save you. 

You were alone. 

A part of you was on the verge of breaking down, screaming until you coughed up blood and your throat became raw. But you knew that if you wanted to stay alive, if you wanted to go come, you had to keep onto your wits. It was either that or you froze, not moving, becoming a shell of a human, the same way you were that night when this all happened. And you had seen what it could do, had seen how your own body would betray you, and you vowed to never let that happen again. 

“How long has it been?” 

Your own voice shocks you. Your throat is dry, seeing how you haven’t opened it in a while, and the sentence comes out like a croak. You swallow some spit, hoping it would help with the scratchiness you were feeling. The horse moved slowly through the pasture, the sun shining but not beating down on your face in an unforgivable way. 

The man clicked his tongue against his teeth, his hands holding onto the reins. 

“Nearly six days,” he says gruffly, and your eyes widen, not expecting for it to have been almost a week that you’d been out, “Thought I’d killed you.” 

Five days? 

You try to do the math in your head. It had been almost six days since Gojo had left when the man came into your room, and with these five days, it would be almost a week since Gojo was gone from home. If the travel West took as long as it did for you, then he’d be almost there by now. But you didn’t know how mail would travel, or how long it would take till he’d come back home to figure out what the problem was. 

Depending on which direction the man was going, it could take weeks until they found you. Fields like this weren’t uncommon in the North, but the weather wasn’t. It reminded you a bit of home, but Western nature was dry and glaringly hot. Even in the fall, you’d still break a sweat after being in the sun. 

And given how prepared this man was, he surely wouldn't be heading there, most likely knowing that Gojo was there as well. You had seen enough maps and heard enough talk around the counsel to know that it would take almost two weeks to travel Westward, but almost three weeks to arrive in the Eastern nations. 

Judging by the landscape you had seen on paper and that you’re surveying now, this man was taking you somewhere East. 

“Did the king send you?” You ask, your head dipping downwards so that you could angle your ears to hear him better. 

He pauses, and you wonder if you’d asked the wrong question, if he was going to make you suffer in some way for crossing the line. You still couldn't work out his motive. If he was truly sent by the king, then why wouldn’t he have killed you in your room? Why go through the hassle of making you seem like you had run away?

Killing you and showing the North your body would send a greater message than whatever this was. Taking you without making it seem like an abduction was strange, even for the South, and so you desperately wanted to know what it was that had put you in this situation.

“A friend of his did,” the man finally says, and when he falls quiet, you realize that this was all he was going to say. 

So he was from the South. And he didn’t seem like he’d be a lying man, he’d have no reason for it. The more you thought about it, it made more sense that the king didn’t send direct orders to abduct you. But that made you furrow your brows in confusion. If the king was ready to wage war, why would an abduction be something he wanted hidden? 

“Why didn’t you kill me?” you ask after a beat of silence, your body swaying in tandem with the horse. You could feel your dried tears crusting near your eyes, your lips battered, iron coating your tongue the more you spoke, causing the wound to open up.

“I will, but not here.” 

You bite your cheek, your hands shaking. 

“Will you take me up to your king to make a spectacle out of me?” You try to keep your voice from wavering, from showing him any signs of fear. 

The man chuckles, spitting to the road. 

“I’ll kill you somewhere where there’s a lot of trees, hide your body so that nobody can find it,” he explains, and you feel your heartbeat in the palms of your hands, “Make it seem like you ran away.” 

You try not to let your lips tremble, instead, you try to piece the clues he was giving you together. If the king truly wanted to make it seem like you were running away, then it means that he would want your spot as Lady of the North to appear vacant. He would want Gojo to think that you didn’t care for him anymore, and that you wanted out of this marriage, which would make room for… 

His daughter. 

But if the king wanted his daughter to marry into the Gojo family, you wonder why he didn’t do this whole abduction in the first place. You sigh deeply through your nose, looking down at your hands, your fingers moving around slightly but to no avail. While you’re trying to see if there was any wiggle room, a thought runs through your head.

The king wasn’t expecting this…

You wonder if perhaps the king promised war in a way of bluffing, or hoping that Gojo would terminate the marriage and take on the princess to avoid any trouble. This wasn’t his first plan, you decide, but him trying to save the skin of his teeth. He wasn’t expecting the North to retaliate, to declare a war of their own. He didn’t see Gojo carrying this much for his arranged bride, and didn't think that the young lord would rather die than marry another woman. But the king underestimated Gojo, and sent this man to answer for his mistake. 

If it seemed like you found Gojo repulsive, that you no longer loved him, then he could search all he wanted to, but if he never found you, or your body, then he would come to the eventual conclusion that you had run away. Either way, this would make it so that he would call off the war. Maybe in attempts to fix the now shattered relationship between the two nations, a marriage between Gojo and the princess might actually take place.

Your hopes deflate, knowing the letter you were forced to write might also be more realistic than some Southern scribes realized. With the way you had argued countless times with Gojo over the chance of ending the possibilities of war, he might read it as an actual goodbye. 

The thought makes you sick. 

So, you decide to busy yourself with trying to find an escape option. 

Your wrists were chafing with how tightly the rope was tied, but the knot around it was tied in a way that seems to have shifted in the days you had been riding. The man behind you is tall, but sitting down, he can only see above your head, and he’d have to force himself up to peer down at your lap. 

Slowly, over the span of a few minutes, you’re able to position the rope closer to the bottom of your palm, your thumb and pointer finger reaching for the knot. A small smile graces your face when you're able to pinch it between the two fingers. 

You stop your movements, not wanting to make anything obvious, and then start back up after a couple minutes of silence passed. 

With the knot now closer to your finger, you begin picking at it with your nail. You know your nail is dull and cut through it, but you think that if you nudge at it enough, you might be able to create a small opening that would allow you to slip your pointer finger through it and unravel it. 

“I think it would be fair to share your name,” you say, not wanting the man to think anything of your silence, and you begin to execute your plan, fiddling away with the rope with your finger as you raise your head up, not wanting to keep your stare directed at your lap, looking ahead at the field. 

Wind blows through your body, ruffling the nightdress that you were still wearing. The man at least had some decency to put a cloak over you, hiding your body from being entirely bare. The more you looked at the field, the more it reminded you of the one that surrounded the Gojo estate. You blink and see him sitting there, his back on the grass, an arm resting behind his head, his white hair sprawled out as he held you close to his chest, telling you stories from his childhood. You blink again and see nightfall, see him with his tunic off, telling you about the scar on his torso. You see him professing his feelings, telling you how much he loved you. You blink again and see the field, your nose twitching slightly.

“My name?” The man repeats with a slight chuckle, most likely shaking his head in disbelief. Out of all the people he’s taken, out of all of the people he’s been sent out to kill, you’ve been the weirdest behaving out of all of them.

You nod, your finger working away at the knot, and you cough to cover up the noise when you make a particularly loud scratch. 

“My name changes based on the man who hires me,” he says after a minute, and you almost want to look back at him in confusion.

“What was the name you gave to the employer who sent you out to find me?” You ask, trying to wiggle some fingers around, bracing your thighs around the horse, trying to keep yourself balanced and upright. 

The man breathes deeply through his nose, as if he was contemplating telling you. There’s no reason not to tell you, if his plan is to kill you anyways. But you plan to escape, and you want to know the name of the man who put you through this hell.

“Toji,” he finally says, and you commit it to memory, your mouth falling in the shape of the name, “But I’ll change it for my next employer.” 

You go to say something else, but almost let your disguise slip when you feel your finger make its way through the knot. You move it in circles, moving it across, and slowly you feel the knot begin to unravel. You keep your hands pressed tightly together, but in a few seconds the rope has become undone. 

You stare at it in shock, not expecting for it to take so little time to unravel, but you look ahead again, shifting a little bit as you begin to think about what to do next. 

You can feel the sheath of his dagger digging into your back. You remember how it looked when you first saw it, and can confidently say that this was the thing that was there. It was large, but given how large his weapon was, you weren’t surprised to find it had an even larger cover. 

You didn’t know how fast you could move, nor how fast he could. You didn’t know if there was a latch or specific way to take the weapon out, but as far as you could remember, that was the only weapon he seemed to operate with. If you were able to harm him in some way and get him off of the horse, you might have a chance of escaping.

Though there was the obvious challenge, he knew how to fight far better than you. What’s to say that you get the dagger but he doesn’t get it out of your hands even faster? And if you did manage to wield it, how fast would it take for him to understand what had happened, how fast his reflexes were? If he’s had multiple employers before, then he must be skilled in his trade, putting you at an immense disadvantage. 

But you knew that if you didn’t try, you’d die at his hands. You knew you’d rather die fighting and on your own accord than at the merciless dagger of a stranger who was paid to kill you.

You let the silence grow, wanting the man to think that you had fallen asleep. You let your head hang down, your chin to your chest, and you slowly, quietly and gently begin the snake one hand out from the ropes. 

The man grumbles to himself from time to time, spitting to the side every now and then, but from what you can tell, is still unsuspecting. 

You know it’s a matter of seconds that gives you the advantage, and that any slight fumble or mistake will be catastrophic. You tell yourself that you have to twist your back quickly, pull the weapon out with your right hand, and strike him through the chest. You don’t know if one strike would be enough to take him down, but it would be enough to have you force him off the horse and take the animal for yourself.

You breathe deeply through your nose, calming your nerves. 

And then, you turn. 

You’re met with his face, your hand reaching for the weapon, and see the way his eyes slowly fall down to your fingers, and then to you, but you’ve calculated his brutish daftness enough to know that a moment of surprise would be his doom.

It doesn’t take much effort to get the dagger, but his hand quickly shoots for your throat, his fingers wrapping around your skin as he squeezes tight, restricting your airways. You choke, trying to cough, but with the way he’s seated on the horse you know you can’t falter. Your hold on the weapon weakens, but you still drive it forward, and are met with the satisfying sound of his groan. 

His hand around your throat falls, and you pull out the dagger only to drive it further up his chest, into his ribs.

The man, Toji, grips the handle, but you push with as much force as you can muster at his shoulders. You wonder if he’s ever had people fight back, if he’s ever dealt with somebody striking him hard enough to draw blood. 

With the way you’re positioned; your dress and robe still underneath him, he takes you down with him. You fall to the ground with a hard thud, wincing at the pain that shoots again through your head. Your vision has gone blurry again, but you can make out the man stumbling on the ground, grasping at his chest in shock. 

You place your hands on the ground, forcing yourself up. Your head is spinning, swaying up and down, but you know you have to get back up on that horse. 

He’s shouting at you, saying something but you stand up, almost falling back down with how your legs are shaking, but you hold yourself upright by the horse's saddle. You’re shocked that it hasn’t been spooked away, but don’t find time to question why. 

You’ve ridden enough times before to know how to haul yourself up, but it’s a trying effort that takes a couple swings. The man is still on the ground, clutching at his wounds, and you can’t revel in your victory just yet. 

When you’re up on the horse you feel your vision start to clear up a bit and your ears stop ringing. 

You look down to the man, trying to make out what it was he was saying. 

“...can’t go back,” he spits, blood coating his lips, staining them red as he coughs out more, “they’d never take you back.”

You stare at him, dazed. 

“You committed treason,” his voice is hoarse, and he tries to grab at your foot but you kick it away, “That letter? Don’t you remember?” he smiles darkly, and his teeth as red, “And if you go back, the king,” he chokes, spitting out some blood, but he chuckles, a mad look in his eyes, “The king would kill every single person you care about. He’ll rip the throats from your maids, send an army of unkillable men to kill y-your dear lord.” 

You look down, his words slowly making their way into your brain. 

The letter. 

You remember now. It wasn’t just a goodbye, but a confession of even further betrayal. You had denounced the North and its power, had said that the Lord of the North was an enemy of every state. 

And even if you did go back to prove that you were forced to write it, what’s to say that his words weren’t correct? If he was able to spy on you long enough to know your schedule, your maids, when to attack, then the South was truly capable of sending in more assassins. And Gojo might be able to take them, but what about Alina? What if the king decided to target Gojo’s parents, your friends, people you’ve come to care deeply about? 

The man grins cruelly when he sees the way you begin to understand his words, the threat behind them. 

The man wasn’t standing up not because he was weakened, but because he knew that even if he didn’t kill you, you’d wind up dead anyways. He knew you’d give up and let him go through with his initial plan. Because in that case, only you’d be dead. But you returned back to the Gojo estate and would have you killed, alongside everyone else you loved. 

But…but if you ran, ran away to somewhere hidden, it might be avoided. The war, the bloodshed, everything. You could actually be doing something good. 

He laughs, blood falling from  his lips, staining the floor when he sees the tears fall down your cheeks. You go to wipe them away, but it doesn’t matter anymore. In that moment you’ve made up your mind, have seen that there was no other way. 

You’d be leaving behind the man you loved in return for saving his life, as well as everyone else's. 

You think about his smile, the way his lips felt against your skin when he kissed you goodbye. You think about the way he laughs, a hearty sound that makes you laugh in turn. You think about the warmth you felt when wrapped in his embrace, the way he smelled like cinnamon after spending time with you in the kitchens. Your heart churns when you think about the love you hold for him, just how much it drived your everyday life. How you’d do anything to save him, even if it wasn’t a lot. You think about Gojo, and how for a little moment in time, you truly had the world in your hands. How he would do the same if the roles were reversed, knowing that the way you feel for him is just as intense as how much he feels for you.

And you finally think about how leaving might preserve those little things, even if not for your experience. If you were to disappear, this might all be forgiven. And that was a price you decided there that you had to pay. 

You turn away from him, and maybe under different circumstances you might have gloated at the confusion that takes over his face, not knowing why you weren’t stepping down. 

With shaking fingers and a shattering heart you look ahead, kicking the side of the horse as you send it running. You could hear his yells from behind you, calling for you to come back, but you kept repeating in your head that this was the only way.

Your eyes were blurring with tears from just how fast the wind was hitting your face, your cheeks and nose growing cold. You leaned forward, holding onto the reins with all the strength you had. 

Please forgive me Satoru, your mind begged, please forgive me.

—

“Miss?” 

You dream of a sound, a soft, gentle sound. It circles around you like a mothers tender care, making the coldest parts of your soul warm slightly. You smile a little bit when you imagine it again.

“Miss?”

A shower of icy water, colder than anything you’ve ever felt, washes over you, and your eyes sprout wide open, your mouth open in a loud gasp as you sit up as fast as you can, your chest heaving up and down with labored breaths. Your fingers jump to your face, trying to wipe off the freezing feeling away, and blink rapidly, trying to get a grasp of where you were. 

“Miss?” 

Your head swivels to the voice, and you feel your eyes burning. The voice is overshadowed with the burning sun behind them, but they crouch down over you, shoving you with a little force. You blink again, trying to make the spots go away. 

A woman, you think. Not Gojo. 

The last thing you remember was going to sleep, your stomach empty after multiple days of night finding any food, shivering your soul away as you curled up. The horse that you had stolen was set free a couple days ago after you felt bad for not being able to provide anything for it to eat or drink. Knowing that it had left somewhere for itself puts you in a better state of mind. 

You couldn’t remember how many days it had been since you had run away. You lost track after the twentieth night. You had no map to guide you, nobody you trusted to tell you where to go. You walked around with a hood over your head, looking through different towns and villages, scrapping around for their garbage.  You were running both from the man that had been sent to kill you, but your old life as well. You didn’t know if Gojo believed the letter, if he had sent people out to look for you. You knew you just had to get as far away from the North as possible, even if it meant you die trying.

After a few days of doing this, your feet had given out, marked with blisters and scraps, and you fell in your spot, sleeping near a tree as you let the exhaustion finally settle deep in your bones. You remember closing your eyes, thinking of the time when Gojo woke you up with sweets from the bakery you adored. You could smell the sugar beneath your nose, your fingers itching to grab one, your mind not able to tell what was imagination and reality anymore. You would wager that hunger was making you do this, but you couldn’t care anymore.

You can only look at her, forgetting the words needed to form a proper sentence. 

“Are ‘ye alright?” She asks you finally, and you can slowly begin to make out the crease in her face and the color of her eyes. You can see the wrinkles that adorn her forehead and cheeks, all scrunched up together in worry as she looks down at you.

Your hands pat themselves across your body, trying to make sure you weren’t dead. It had been a while since you had spoken to someone, especially when they weren’t throwing sticks at your head to get you to stop looking through their discarded piles of vegetables. 

You swallow thickly.

“Can ‘ye hear me?” She asks louder, bending down a little closer to you as she rests her hand on your forehead. 

She doesn’t seem too old, most likely a few years older than your father, but you feel stricken by her appearance. A part of you wonders if you truly have died and this was the afterlife; an old lady taking care of you. 

But with how hard she’s jamming her finger into your ribs it makes you think otherwise. 

“Are ‘ye hungry darling?” She continues to talk, her gray brows pinching together as she glances over your frail appearance, “Would ‘ye like something to eat?”

Your eyes widen slightly and she takes note of it. 

A small smile makes its way onto her face as she eases back upwards. 

“My husband and I own a small tavern,” she says, and with the sun framing her head she looks like a divine power, “I’ll take ‘ye there.”

You stare at her outstretched hand, look at her fingers, at the way they’re reaching out to you. You can’t remember the last time somebody offered you help, or looked at you like you were more than a common thief. You’d cry if there was any water left in your system. 

But slowly you raise your hand, holding hers as she heaves you up. You show her your feet, and she tells you not to worry. She sits you on the back of her donkey, telling you that the animal looks stronger than you’d think. 

You don’t have any will to argue, letting the old woman, who told you to call her Miss Murray, guide you and the donkey through a dirt road. You sway in and out of consciousness, blinking to find the scenery changed from what you last remembered. 

Miss Murray talks to you, but you don't have any energy to respond. She checks behind her shoulder sometimes to make sure you were still alive, and would only look back to the road when she was satisfied you were. 

It takes nearly another thirty minutes before you start seeing little homes begin to appear from over the hill. There’s a town in the distance, one that you see is bordering a vast blue ground. 

The ocean?

You blink to make sure you were hallucinating. 

You were only aware of larger cities that bordered the ocean, but this was a small little town at most. The roads were dirt and unpaved, the homes made of wood and layers of hay. The cities you were aware of were far richer, their structures made of sturdy stone and glass. And you knew that despite your delirious travels, you hadn’t rerouted and gone back up North, the only other place you knew that had cities near the water. 

“Home,” Miss Murray says with a content sigh and you look at her, your eyes slightly squinted in confusion. 

You swallow some spit, trying to wet your mouth. 

“Where,” your voice sounds foreign to you, and even the woman looks back in surprise when she hears you trying to speak. Your fingers are at your throat, wanting to have your voice sound normal. 

“Where a-are we?” You finally get out, and the woman smiles gently at you. 

“As far east as ‘ye can get,” she replies and you look back to the ocean. The water is shining off of the sun, the cold air that’s biting at your skin is a reminder of the winter that’s about to come. 

The color reminds you of a pair of eyes, the same eyes you often thought about before you went to sleep, not knowing if you’d wake up. 

“I’d wager yer a far way from home dear, no?”

Your body sways with the donkey's gentle movements, and your mind is slow. You know you need food and water, but her question isn’t one that reminds you of this. It’s a cut that runs deep through your aching soul, one that hurts to admit. 

So you only give her a little nod, one that she seems to understand quickly. 

“D‘ye plan to stay here?” Her gray curls frame her face in a nice way, her plump cheeks pink and soft.

You look to the water and then to the town. It’s a far distance from the North, and hidden enough that nobody would recognize you or find you. It’s surrounded by a forest, a densely thick mass of trees that stretches as far as the eye can see. The town is quaint, at most a few hundred people inhabiting it. Even if the news of your runaway had heard their ears, it was doubtful that they’d recognize you. Especially now, that even without a proper mirror you’re sure your appearance has changed drastically.

“Yes,” you mutter, your throat raw and unused. 

She hums, pulling you carefully down the grassy hill and closer towards the busting town. People were walking and shouting to one another, carrying trays of breads and pastries, flowers and fabrics from one place to the next. 

“I’ll fix ‘ye up something to eat when we get to the tavern,” she promises, having surely heard your eager stomach, but you shake your head slowly in a form of protest. 

“No, no coin,” you tell her, your eyes falling down in embarrassment, “I don’t have…any coin,” you say slowly, your tongue heavy in your mouth. 

Miss Murray looks at you for a second before throwing her head back and laughing. 

“Dear, I’m sure ‘ye need that food more than I need that coin.”

Your heart beats a little faster, your eyes glimmering slightly. 

You want to tell her why you’re like this, that you weren’t this way a few months ago. That you had a husband who you cared very deeply for, people who you loved helping. You want to tell her that you would give her all the coins you and your name if you could, but you bite your tongue from doing so. 

You no longer were the Lady of the North. You were married to Gojo Satoru, and you had no title, no coin, no amount to your name. But you still had respect and dignity, knowing you couldn’t lose every shred of yourself while trying to stay alive. 

“I’d like t-to…pay you back,” you stammer out, “I want to pay you back, please,”

You watch as Miss Murray pauses, the donkey halting its movements as your body lurches forward slightly. 

You watch silently as she observes your face, looks at the cracks in your skin, the stained clothes you were wearing, and your lack of proper hygiene. She feels something when looking at you, something that wasn’t right. There’s a certain stubbornness, a fight in your eyes, one that somebody only gets after surviving for so long. 

She knows you won’t back down, especially after you’ve had something proper to eat. 

“‘Ye need a job, no? Some coin?” She finally asks, and you look down at your torn up clothes and your bones fingers. 

You look back up to her and nod. 

She thinks for another moment before starting her walk again. 

“‘Ye can pay me back by working for the tavern,” her fingers curl around the donkey's rein as she controls it through a winding road, “Aye, we’re in constant need of firewood. It will make us even for this meal, and every day after that I’ll pay ‘ye for yer help. Deal?”

You feel a little light shine down, maybe from the gods as she turns her head to look at you, raising a brow as she waits for your answer. 

For the first time in a while, you feel your lips quirk upwards, a small, miniscule grin on your face. Miss Murray smiles at the sight. 

You nod slightly before you murmur a quiet, “deal.”

——

Miss Murray took you to her tavern and fixed you a large meal, something even your old self would gawk at if served at the estate. 

And she introduced you to her husband, the other keeper. She told him that she found you and knew you were willing to work, to which he took one look at you and decided she wasn’t going to budge on her decision. 

The old man showed you after a week of rest what it was you had to do. He demonstrated how to use an axe, how to cut up the logs in a way that would fit into the tavern's fireplace. He showed you which trees would be easiest for you to cut down, and which ones to avoid. 

The old man told you that his previous lumberjack had left town in search of a new life, and with how strenuous the job was, he couldn’t find anybody to do it eagerly in the short amount of time he needed. His son, who you slowly became familiar with, would do a majority of the workload, meaning you’d just have to bring in the smaller branches and twigs that kept the fire going throughout the night.

Miss Murray also showed you an old shack they had been using to store some equipment, saying that you could stay here for as long as you liked as long as you cleaned it out yourself. It was a little way away from the tavern, but still close enough that you wouldn’t have to drag the logs for a great distance. You were near trees and a few homes scattered around you as well so that you weren’t isolated. She told you she would’ve given you someplace nicer, but this was all she had. 

It takes a while for this strange new routine to become normal for you, but you quickly decide that chopping wood and lugging it around beats the hunger and cold you felt for weeks before you found this little town. That the motions almost became therapeutic, and offered you a peace of mind, letting yourself try to forget about your previous life, your husband, Gojo, and focus on getting your job done. 

You get the old shack as clean as you can, pleasantly surprised to find that underneath all the rubble and blankets there was a fireplace with a chimney still intact. You set a little bed up for yourself in the corner on the floor, made out of multiple sheets all piled on top of each other (all borrowed from Miss Murray) and a pillow that she had given you. 

You never told Miss Murray of where you were running from, who you were running from. You didn’t tell her that you were married or that you were from the North. Though she asked about why you ran, you never gave her a clear answer. It hurt thinking about him, let alone voicing the fact that you had left a loving husband in hopes of sparing thousands of people their lives. Some days, the pain was so numbing that you didn’t know how to move. You would hear his voice in your thoughts, could see his smile when you closed your eyes. In these moments you wondered if he misses you as much as you missed him. If he still slept in the same bed, or had his room completely changed. Did he get rid of your books, your oils, your clothing? A part of you hopes he did, hoping that he didn’t have to be cursed with the memory of you after what you had done. The more time passed, you wondered if he had decided to forget about you, if the thought of you was something he decided was better hidden rather than called upon.

Slowly, you began to turn the shack into your home, delivering the firewood as your daily routine, and made the town that bordered the ocean somewhere that you considered safe. 

But each night that passed and you went to sleep you dreamt of your old home, your old bed, the strong arms that wrapped around you, and you woke up, pretending the tears that had drenched your pillow weren’t there. 

Though you knew that after a while, when the talks of the Northern soldiers died down, that you had to move on. And when Miss Murray excitedly knocked on your door, a month later, telling you that the war had been called off, you offered her a gentle smile, knowing that you had done the right thing. She showed you the papers that were making their way across the kingdoms, the ones that said the North had agreed to pull their forces out from near the Southern border, releasing their final statement of neutrality. You skimmed the page, your heart hammering when you read that The North credits their Lord for the sudden decision, claiming that after months of searching for his missing wife with no luck, he agreed that continuing war efforts were barbarous and unnecessary.

Your vision goes blurry for a moment. 

He had been searching for you? For nearly six months?

It had been almost half a year, if you had done the math correctly, since you were first informed that a war would be happening. Six months of hardship, pain, tears, blood and half of your soul to end it all. Nobody in your little town knew of what you did, and you knew to keep it that way. Hiding your true nature was safe, no matter how much it stung when you realized that the North had most likely decided to forget you. That night you stayed in your little cabin while everybody was in the square celebrating and crying, not knowing what else to do. They were partially tears of joy, but mainly an accumulation of guilt and longing, wondering why your absence was what was needed to end a war.

Slowly, that pain began to seep into your bones, but you knew that you must go on with your life if you ever wanted to make it worth it. The days and nights turned into weeks, which then turned into months, and after some time, you no longer considered yourself the old Lady of the North. You melted into this life, and pretended that this was what you were destined to live from the start. You cut wood, collected pieces of dry bush and twigs to help keep the fire going at Miss Murray’s tavern. On the days when they didn’t need any fire wood, you helped her and her husband out with food and serving drinks. When she wasn’t busy, you found yourself listening to her talk, filling your silent moments with the gentle-hearted lady.

When a year had passed since you came to this town, you let yourself forget about everything. Everything your mind began to tuck away, all but for the lingering ache that longed for the man you loved so many moons ago.

—

Winters in a town near the ocean was something you never experienced until last year, and this year you knew how to prepare yourself.

The North was notoriously known for its freezing winters, but this town could rival it, you’d wager coin on this fact. The lakes in the woods nearby would freeze, snow piling on the ground, reaching a little bit below your knees in some areas. The ground was sometimes slick with ice, and if you didn’t have a careful eye to catch it you’d often come tumbling down, your cheeks heating in embarrassment when people nearby would laugh.

Last winter you had barely gotten on your own two feet before it had hit, but Miss Murray helped you out as much as she could. She spared some meat cakes from the tavern, bringing you what was left of their bread when the night was over. She lended you some of her old winter clothes, ones that she had outgrown, and you took it appreciatively. There were some nights you were sure you’d freeze to death, and other mornings when you weren’t sure you weren’t going to wake up. But you reminded yourself of all that you had been through, everything that you had survived, and pushed to open your eyes. So, in these past months, much like others in the town did, you prepared for this icy season, knowing this year you had to learn on your own. 

You stocked up on breads and pastries in a corner of your home which was always keen on never staying warm. You kept jars of jams, pickled vegetables and potatoes near the breads, somewhere dark and away from the morning sun. You learned from other townspeople how to prepare for when the cold settled in your home, how to fight it off late into the night. You watched the baker as he explained how to keep your bread from going bad, and how to store it properly. When you were content with the amount of food you had accumulated over the summer and fall months, you then prepared your clothing.

You had learned over trial and error to begin with wrapping your hands up once with some gauze (this would also prove to help once you were using the axe and looking through the shrubbery for things that could easily burn, seeing that it provided a buffer zone) and a thick pair of gloves that Miss Murray knit for you. You always had a fire running in your own fireplace, tending to it from the moment you woke up till late in the night when you went to sleep. The tavern needed its delivery each night, so until then, when you weren’t chopping, you either bundled up with a couple blankets or walked through the town, looking through the bakery and small bookshop (those two stores always were toastier than the rest).

If you had some spare change you’d buy a couple of loaves of bread and see if there were any old books the bookkeeper was going to throw out, and in between your free time, this seemed to be the best way to go about the freezing months instead of wasting away in your little cabin.

When night came, you hauled the wood, leaves and twigs into the wheelbarrow Miss Murray had lended to you and headed for the tavern, making sure your scarf was tied around your neck multiple times before you left the warm retrieve of your home.

It was only a ten minute walk from where you were to the inn, and if you hurried enough you could finish it in almost eight minutes. The colder it got, the slower your joints would work, but you also reminded yourself that the faster you got there, the faster you’d be met with the tavern's overwhelming and comforting warmth. You had the hood of your cloak around your head, keeping your ears from freezing and your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. It was hard pushing the handcart through the snow, but you had learned where to go over the past weeks, which roads were more forgiving.

It had become clockwork as you neared the oak doors, the windows lit orange from the amount of candles inside. You could smell the meat roasting and see the smoke from the brick chimney as you neared it. You were already hearing the loud boisterous laughter from inside, some from town natives, some from travelers making a stop at the place for the night. You knew to walk around back, follow the track that led to the stables and ultimately the smaller door that would lead inside the kitchen, open it with the key Miss Murray had given you. You make a note of a couple of men standing near the horses, the usually empty rooms now filled with the animal. They were most likely tending to them, trying to keep them warm.   You’re greeted with the familiar sound of the bustling kitchen; the cooks yelling at the other cooks about what to get ready, the loud roar of the fire, the sounds of knives chopping away their vegetables and meats. You can smell the usual pies and stews they made nearly every night. This night seems to be their specialty of chicken pie with potato gravy soup. If there was a moment you could slip away and taste some, you reminded yourself to do so.

Glancing around the large room you take in the sight of the visitors of the night. There are a few wooden beams that restrict your vision, but you don’t need eyes to know just how packed it is. The sounds inside are even louder than the ones you heard walking near the place, and you’d wager that there are far more people staying here than usual. You’d guess that with the recent and abundant snowfall, some travelers were forced to re-route, and by the looks of it, you see far more strangers than familiar faces.

But you don’t let that distract you, walking over to the fireplace as you crouch down, making sure your cloak and skirt weren’t bunched up under your boots. You set the cart down near the fireplace, taking your gloves off as you held it near the heat for a few seconds. The gloves did a great job with keeping the cold from your hands, but they limited your mobility, and when you had to unload the logs, the branches, twigs, and everything in between, you wanted to do it as quickly as possible. You place them all into the large basket, observing the flickering flames. It’s still going strong, but there are some embers of coal that seem to be dying out, and so you tug carefully the door of the fireplace open as you place some wood inside, fanning it so that it would grow a little more.

You brush your hands against your legs, getting rid of the spare bits of bark and wood, and hold it back up to the fire as you feel the tension in your fingers and wrists begin to melt away. 

“We don’t pay ‘ye to keep up our space, y’know,” 

You turn your head around to the voice, smiling when you see Miss Murray standing behind you with her hands on her hips, her apron stained with spilled ale and some food splatters. Her gray curls are pulled underneath her cap, her full cheeks red and rosy, her lips pulled into a slight frown.

She tries to look serious, but her act slips away instantly when she sees you, moving closer as she wraps her around around you from behind, her arms reaching your shoulders, just barely, as you crouch a little to pull her in for a hug. 

It’s only been a night since she sees you, but this is always how Miss Murray greets you. 

“Are ‘ye warm?” She asks, her eyes worried as she looks at your hands and your slightly runny nose. 

You chuckle, nodding your head so that she doesn’t fret. 

“I’m warming up,” you tease your brow slightly raised, holding your fingers up to her cheeks to show that they were no longer cold, wiping your elbow across your nose as you go back to holding your hands over the fire, “And dare I say it’s my right seeing how it’s my wood that’s burning?” 

Miss Murray chuckles, pinching you softly on the side as you yelp, moving a little bit away from her as you giggle.

She stands next to you, looking over the crowd as she takes in who needs more beer and food, making a mental tally in her head. Once your entire body has finally thawed, you stand up straighter, turning around to look at the busy crowd, not a single chair going unused. 

“It’s busier than usual, no?” You ask, crossing your arms across your chest as you look to Miss Murray, tucking your hands into your elbows to keep the warmth. 

She nods, her eyes turning to yours slightly before she goes back to assessing each table. 

“Aye,” her voice is slightly lowered, not wanting others to hear, “The storm caught many travelers by surprise. There’s a group of young men coming in from Lolygrad,” a Western town, you note, a name you remember from ages ago, “Said they wanted to go up ‘nor but their horses cannae walk through the snow.” 

You chew on your lips, looking at the large group of men gathered near a corner, their beards and shaggy hair covering up most of their faces. Most of them had their backs to you, and the ones facing outwards were hunched, their shoulders sagging as they leaned their ears in to hear clearly what was being said. The rest of their features were pinched together as they let out howls of laughter, swinging their mugs of beer around as they listened to one of their members tell an animated story. 

You slightly smiled at the hearty sound, against your own will.

“Oh, dear, before I forget,” Miss Murray suddenly turned around, gently holding your hands as you look a little bit down, “Ewan,” her son, another worker at the tavern, the poor fellow who was tasked with almost every job, including getting the hefty tree trunks cut into bits, “Said he saw ‘ye heaving that barrow through the snow-” you began to shake your head, knowing what she was going to say but she raised a hand midway to stop you. 

“He told me to tell ‘ye to leave it near the stables. When the snow has settled and thaws a bit, he’ll bring it to ‘ye.” 

Your brows furrow, lips parting slightly as you go to protest. 

“But what about the firewood? I can’t lug it up on my own,” you joke a little bit, your lips quivering as Mis Murray smiles, patting your arm as she shakes her head. 

“Ye’ve brought us enough wood to supply a week, maybe even more,” she says, and you look behind your shoulder at the overflowing bin, knowing there were at least three more filled with logs waiting out back, “Give yerself a rest dear.” Her kind face looks at you in such a way that you can’t argue, sighing deeply through your nose as you debate it. You have enough coins to last you for a while, and seeing that you already have some bread and food prepared, it shouldn’t be much of an issue. So you nod.

You move to get your gloves, pulling them on as you head back out through the kitchen. You brace yourself for the cold, wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck and throwing your hood over your head as you open the door, quickly leaving and shutting it, knowing how much he cooks bickered when you let the air in.

You keep your head down, nose scrunching as your boots crunch as you walk through the snow, nearing the corner of the tavern, the one that rounds into the road that leads you back home before a yell catches your attention. 

It comes from behind you, the sound slightly muffled with the hood and scarf slightly covering your ears, but you glance over your shoulder to see what it was. 

In the distance, one of the men is waving over to you, his body illuminated slightly from behind from one of the lit torches that hang on the wall of the stables. Your eyes squint, moving a few steps closer as you try to make out what he was saying.

“...glove,” is all you make out, the wind roaring around you not helping. But he waves a red glove around, and you look to your hands to see that your right glove was missing. It had been so cold that you didn’t notice it had been blown away, the only thing covering your hand being your bandages. 

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at the thought, and slightly jog back, bringing your hand to your lips as you blow some hot air on it. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire with how freezing it is, the tip of your nose about to fall off, but you’re able to muster up a thankful smile as you near the man. 

“Thank you!” you call out, laughing a little bit at the absurdity of it all, boots scrunching and sounding like ice being shaved as you run a little bit closer to him, the man taking a few steps himself so that you wouldn’t have to go the full distance, and you squint your eyes more, trying to make out his blurry appearance that’s slightly coming to as he nears another torch, “It’s so cold that I didn’t even notice…” 

You stop. 

It seems like time has stopped. 

The snow seems to have frozen in mid-air, not falling as it stops around you. The wind no longer howls, but has fallen silent. The snow on the ground doesn't glisten, the torches lit with fire slowing down.

Your lungs don’t work. You can’t feel any air coming in through your nose. It might be because your nose refused to inhale. You can’t feel your heart, can’t feel a singular beat to keep you alive. Your pulse has fallen silent, your ears hearing every sound but no sound at all.

Gojo seems to have stopped breathing as well. 

His hand is still reaching out, your glove held tightly in his fingers as he stares, 

And you stare back. 

Your chest heaves out a single puff of air.

You blink once before everything suddenly goes black. 

—

“...is it really…?” 

“...never found a…thought she had…there must be…” 

“..last time I saw him look like that…”

There are multiple voices that blend together, and you can’t tell what’s happening aside from the fact that you can’t feel your limbs and your eyes feel like they’ve been turned to lead. You can’t open them, can’t move, can’t do anything but try to figure out what is happening around you.

“...doubt he knew,” a voice, louder and more clear than the rest fills your ears, sounding a little less like it was coming from underwater, “...searched for months…looks like her…” 

Her? 

The conversations around you continue, and you feel your fingers slightly twitching, a good sign that you weren’t completely incapable of moving. You feel your lashes flutter, lips parting a little bit. 

You try to listen more to the voices, but suddenly a loud slam happens from somewhere in the room. You nearly flinch, eyes moving back and forth between your lids and you will yourself to sit up, to do something.

The voices suddenly all fall silent, and your ears are becoming more in tune because you can pick up on the heavy thud that rings around the walls, loud but quiet at the same time, heavy and deep.

The sound nears your ears before it completely stops. 

You feel a touch, light, barely there, but you feel it. It’s the grace of a feather upon your body, a fingertip that slightly moves across skin. Your pointer finger moves a little bit, but it’s so miniscule that you doubt the touch noticed. 

It’s familiar, you think to yourself, you’ve felt this touch before. It wasn’t Miss Murray, for her fingers were more round and rough. It wasn’t foreign, because sometimes you still got off put by a stranger's touch. This was something you knew once, had carded somewhere in your mind when your skin felt raw and barren.

“Nothing?” 

The voice, it’s even more familiar. You hear it not only settle deep into your eardrums, but it rattles around your head, flowing down into your blood, seeping into your bones. Your brows scrunch a little bit, and you feel like a little bit of life is flooding back into you. Your toes curl in your boots, fingers itching against the wooden surface you feel yourself lying back upon. 

“Nothing at all?” 

That voice. The touch. The feel of those fingers against your skin, the way the voice breathes. 

Gojo.  

Your eyes suddenly snap open, your chest concaving in as you take in a big gasp of air. You shoot upwards, your hands resting on either side of you as they balance you on the table, your chest moving up and down with big movements as you look around wildly. 

The men that surrounded the table were the same men you saw earlier that night. But you know them all. Samson, Ren, Kenji, Declan, Koji. You remember now, how they all challenged each other to grow the longest hair and beard in the winter months, the winner taking the head of a hog they had hunted. Malcolm, Oisín, Shiro, Genji. 

They all stared back at you, their faces clammy and pale, as if they were staring at a ghost. 

Your body is shaking, your neck turning when you look to your side. 

Gojo. 

There’s a hitch in your breathing, your lips trembling when your eyes take in his face. 

Those eyes, the same eyes that stared back at you the day you married him. A foggy storm, oceans clashing upon each other, dark and messy. His hair was as white as the falling snow right outside the window, slightly longer than what you remembered, but still the same shape. 

His lips, red as the blood that stained the bandages around your hands. You take in the shape of his nose, the lashes upon his lids. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight twitch of his eyes. You take in the lifeless appearance of his skin, his cheeks lacking their usual pink hue. His figure looks even sturdier, more pronounced muscles around his shoulders and chest, the fabric around his arms tight. He looks exactly like you imagine him each night. 

You had forgotten some little things over time; like the scar near his left ear or the mole above his brow. You don’t remember how there was a slight crook in his nose from when he had broken it as a child from falling down a tree, but it’s still him. It’s Gojo.

Your fingers itch to touch his face. Your nails dig into the wood. 

You look at him. Look at the way his chest rises with each breath. This wasn’t a dream. This was him. He was real and staring back at you. 

You had to get out. 

It feels like a force pushes your body forward. You don’t know what strength it was that allowed you to swing your legs over the table, what power it was that allowed you to lurch yourself away and fall into him. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t falter, but you hear the others around you exclaiming some things in surprise at your sudden movements. 

You don’t stay on him for too long, forcing your feet that feel like iron ore to take one step at a time. You limp and stumble your way through, blindly grabbing for things as you pick up your pace, not looking over your shoulders as your hand reaches for the door. 

“Come back.” 

It’s his voice. You feel yourself shiver at the sound. 

But you don’t know what to do except escape, your palm touching the door knob. 

“Come. Back.” His voice is steady, biting, warning, and he doesn’t say anything else because this itself is the extent of what he’s willing to say. 

You pause, not looking behind you, your knees shaking as you support yourself upright on the door, one hand sprawled out on it as you heave. You feel like throwing up, feel like your head is about to burst. 

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. 

You feel your body shaking, your arms quivering, your legs wobbling. Your shoulders are moving up and down as you struggle to breathe again, and you feel your legs slowly give out beneath you, and you crumble down onto the floor, your hand still on the door as the other one covers your mouth, trying to keep your broken soul contained.

“My lord, should we-” 

“Get out,” Gojo says, barely above a whisper, but perhaps the most forward and heavy command you’ve ever heard him give. 

There’s a confused silence that follows, his men faltering with the sudden order. 

“But-” 

“Out!” He roars, and you don’t make a move from the door, can’t find a bone in your body that has the ability to pull yourself away. 

Thankfully, you think this is one of the more advanced rooms of the tavern, and when you hear the patter of footsteps and a door latch open from another side of the room, one that most likely leads to an office that has another door out to the hallways. It takes a minute, but the footsteps begin to slow and finally they cease, the door quickly clicking shut as the last man closes it behind him. 

But there’s still one person remaining, and you could distinguish who it was by the sound of his breathing alone.

Your back is still facing him, your hands moving to hold your head as you fall sideways to the wall next to you, your hands moving down to hide your sweaty and clammy face from the one person you had convinced yourself you’d never see again.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. 

You curl your legs up to your chest in an effort to hide as much as yourself away from him as possible. It feels like your heart isn’t working correctly. It rattles around at an odd pace in the limited space of your rib cage, bouncing around erratically, trying to warn you that something was wrong. Your hands grasp at your chest, fingers digging into the skin as you try to calm it down. 

But you soon realize that that’s not your only problem. Your head was spinning in a way that made you see twos of everything, your forehead beading with sweat. It feels like you’ve lost control over any of your movements, your body working as one, your mind as a totally separate entity. You wondered if this was you dying, if your body had suddenly given up.

“Slow your breathing down.” 

You falter, eyes looking above your direct line of sight which was staring at the wall adjacent to you, traveling upwards when you slowly looked up and saw muddy boots, then a familiar pair of black trousers, upwards till you landed on his chest and then his chin. You see his face, looking down at your form, his eyes dark but focused on your face, his lips pulled into a thin line. You hadn’t heard him come near you, but you also doubt you’d hear a canon go off in this state. 

Gojo.

You shake your head, looking instantly away from him as your lips tremble, snot falling from your nose as you look anywhere else. It seems difficult to breathe, the simple but tiring task bordering on impossible.

You can’t see him, but hear a small thump sound a few seconds later. You glance from above your lashes to see that he’s taken a seat, resting his back on the wall that’s facing yours. His legs are sprawled out, long things that you used to tease him about, and the tip of his boots almost reach your knees. 

“Reach your hand out,” he says after a beat of silence. 

You almost scoff at the insanity of it. 

But you look at him, truly look him in the eyes this time, and see that he’s being serious. 

You look back down to your shaking hands, cold and still bandaged up, and then back to him. It feels unreal. You feel your hands shake even more when your mind computes again that it’s Gojo that’s two feet in front of you. 

“One hand at a time,” Gojo says, his voice lowered, and he demonstrates by sitting up a little bit, leaning a breathe closer, still feet away from you as he lifts his hand up from where it was resting on his thigh, holding it up in the air, fingers sprawled from each other, “Like this.”

Your mind tells you to move, just a little bit, and your fingers twitch against your knees that were sitting close to your chest. It takes a few seconds but you will raise your hands upwards, slowly, gently, just like he did. It’s shaking, he isn’t, but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

His eyes look over the bandages on your hand. Some spots are dotted with red blood from your most recent cuts. He looks at your fingers, the dirt beneath your nails and the way they’re cut at odd angles. He finally focuses on your fourth finger, lingering on its bareness, and you don’t realize in that moment just how much he was mourning the absence of your wedding ring. 

“Bring it away from your body,” his voice is barely a whisper, thick with unspoken emotions that have plagued him for the past year and a half, his own eyes glossing over slightly when he takes you in, just as you were doing to him.

You find that in these last moments your erratic breathing has slowed down a bit, so you go the distance, gingerly stretching your arm out so that your hand is straight in front of you, still trembling just a bit. 

“I’m going to hold your hand with mine. It helps, I promise.” 

I promise. 

Your teeth clatter against each other, your tongue laying flat and like a stone in your mouth. You can’t speak yet, but there’s a sharp look in his eyes. The same one that happened whenever he made his promises to you. Ones he’d never break. 

So you slowly tilt your head down in a small nod. 

He watches this, observing your behavior. He shows you his hand, never putting it down, just carefully outstretching his arm like you did, and he moves a little bit away from the wall to get a little closer to you.

You never blink as you watch his hand stretch out towards yours, fingers straight, and in a few seconds they hover above yours. He’s not wearing his ring, you note, but put your focus on the fact that in another moment his skin is touching your skin, his fingers curling slowly over yours. In another moment, his hand moves, gently holding yours in his. That touch, the same touch you feel like a lingering ache at night.

The two of you don’t say anything, looking at where your hands meet with bated breath.

The touch was grounding. You feel his fingers against your palm, long and steady, unlike your own. His skin is warm, comforting, inviting. It’s not soft, but it never was. Years of yielding swords, bows, spears, using his fists as means of destruction caused that. But when he held you, it never felt like the hands of a warrior, just of a man. Your own fingers stretch outwards, your tips gracing his large hand, slightly above his wrist, where his pulse point is. You try to forget that the last time you touched him was so long ago 

“Better?” He asks simply, taking in how your chest had slowed its movements, the sweat on your forehead stopping. Your eyes are still glossy, but he knows it’s more than just an episode that’s causing that. 

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands and not to him as you nod again.

There’s a silence that follows, the only sound being the small exhale that you would give, and his slight inhale. 

You’re the first to move, your hand going slack in his as you begin to pull away. His own finger twitches, not wanting to let go for a minute, but he falters and lets you move away, resting your back up against the wall as you cradle the hand close to your chest, as if it was searing. 

Gojo moves back too, his shoulders square as his hands go to rest on his thighs again, letting out a large puff of air through his lips. After another moment his head dips, fists clenched as he pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut as if he too can’t believe any of this. He runs a hand through his white hair, pushing it back, before he allows himself to open his eyes again and stare at you. 

“I’ve looked for you for sixteen months.” 

You look at him blankly, but inside something cracks. 

“I thought you were dead after the first eight,” Gojo says, “So I've just been searching for your body.”

You look away from him, the sight of him here and speaking to you too much to bear. 

He waits for you to say something, anything, a flash of anger crossing his face, his nose flaring and lips stretching thin as he tries to control himself. He had convinced himself for a while now that you were dead. He wondered what he’d do if he found you somewhere, not knowing how to prepare himself for the sight. 

But in the beginning, when he was sure that he’d find you, Gojo wondered about what he might say to you if he ever saw you again. He told himself that he’d yell, he’d beg you to tell him why you ran away, why you never wrote back, but his anger faded and dissipated the minute he saw you. The anger, the frustration, the pain, hurt, breaking, everything that he feels now is from seeing you alive, knowing that you were alive this whole time and never once said anything. The tears and the bite in his throat he has to fight back being from the sole reason of how much he missed you. 

He sees you here, alive, your chest moving with each breath. He sees the flutter of your lashes against your cheek, the plump of your lips. He sees your eyes, more tired and filled with unknown sorrow, but still that burning color he loved so much. He watches the way your arms wrap around yourself, the curve of your jaw and the way you try to blink away your tears. Gojo sees you and though there are small changes to your appearance, still remembers you being as beautiful as the day he last saw you.

His wife, Gojo thinks, his wife was alive after all this time.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he thinks his voice comes out breathy, almost like he was trying to stop himself from cracking in front of you, “Why didn’t you send a letter? Or…or a sign?”

You bite down on your lip, your head turned away from him so that he couldn’t see your face. You feel yourself choking as he speaks, your eyes stinging with tears again. You can’t do this, you can’t.

You blindly walk back into the other part of the room, where he and his men originally were. You hear him move instantly behind you, as if he was fearful you’d try to make a run for it again, but you’re searching for a pitcher, your throat dry and aching.

You stumble around, wiping away at your wet cheeks, hands stiff as you turn desperately to find anything, something to just wash away the biting and choking feeling you had that was settling deep in your chest. 

Your eyes almost light up when you see a pitcher, making your way through it as your fingers grasp the handle, finding a cup next to it as you bring it up. It’s heavy, filled with water, and although you’ve gotten stronger these past months lifting and carrying wood, you can’t seem to properly pour. 

It must be from how your hands are still shaking. Water pours messily from the sprout, getting everywhere but the cup. You let out a frustrated cry, wiping the tears away from the corners of your eyes with your elbow as you try again. 

Something stops you. You look over your shoulder to see Gojo, his hand hovering over your arm that’s holding the pitcher. Silently, he grabs it, fingers curling around the handle as you let go. He reaches for the cup in your hand, which you give him, and sniffles when he calmly pours some water for you, handing it back with the cup full. 

You take it after a beat of quiet, bringing it to your lips as you chug it down. You finish it in seconds, wiping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling his heat radiating off of him from how close he was to you.

“You have to leave.” 

Your voice comes out frail and hoarse, and you're staring at him through tear stricken eyes, your lips pressed firmly into a little frown, one that you do to help you from crying even more. You cross your arms over your chest, wincing slightly when your bandage rubs the wrong way, but you refuse to drop your gaze from his.

“Y-you can’t know I’m here,” you’re shaking your head adamantly, stuttering as you think of everything that has happened and what it means, the repercussions that could come from it, all of your sacrifices amounting to nothing, “None of you can…please, gods, I…” You let out a gasp, hands covering your mouth as you frantically walk away from him, pacing around the vastness of the empty room. 

You run your hands over your face, wringing your fingers, fidgeting with the fabric of your bodice as you shake your head repeatedly. They know you’re here, they know you’re alive. If anybody finds out, if word gets out of where you are and your true identity, gods, what if the king finds out?

You’re muttering words to yourself, tears catching on your cheeks, chin, falling into your lips, and you phase Gojo out. You act like he’s no longer there. It feels like what you’ve done for the past year, pretending like his ghost, the thought of him, wasn’t haunting you when in fact it was at every single second of the day.

“Leave!” You shout, your voice hoarse, “Get out! Leave! Please!” You’re pleading with the gods above to make him listen to you, to cast away his stubbornness and pride and make him listen to your words just this once.

“Leave?” He says with a stutter, a chuckle of disbelief falling from his lips, “What are you sa-” 

“Get out!” You scream, cutting him off, pointing at his chest and to the door, “I don’t want you here! Go!”

He shouts your name, loud and clear, and you instantly stop. 

Your brows are furrowed down the middle, a crease between them, and you feel like your eyes are slightly twitching. You must look mad to him, not the person he once remembered. You hope he feels disgust, wanting to leave as soon as he gets a few words in. That would be ideal. Maybe he despises you so much he doesn’t talk about you ever again, satisfied to see just how poorly you’re doing by yourself

But to be fair, he doesn’t look any better himself. 

There are dark circles under his eyes. His skin seems flushed, but not in a good way. There’s a bead of sweat above his brow bone, his lips moving slightly as if he wants to yell, scream, cry, shout, but can’t figure out which one to do. The more you get a look at him the more you’re able to see the cracks in his usual appearance. The way he hides behind his strength but fails to use that strength to keep himself afloat. 

But oh, how you wish to walk to him, run to him. How you long to collapse in his chest, to feel his heartbeat against our cheek. How you want to feel those sturdy hands wrap themselves around you, give you an embrace you’ve been chasing for so long. You want to feel his skin, taste his tears. You want him, all of him. But you can’t, you remind yourself. He’s not yours to have anymore. 

“That’s it?” He bites out, his tone furious, “You haven’t seen me in over a year and that’s it? I have to leave?” He sputters, a bitter laugh falling from his lips as he rubs a hand across his jaw in disbelief, as if he can’t fathom the person that’s standing in front of himself right now is the person he nearly died trying to find.

You glance out the window, the snow storm still going strong. It’s as dark as ink outside, the only light that’s illuminating your faces coming from the candles lit that scatter across the room. You wish you were in the snow than in here, the freezing winds better than the hot and burning sensation you feel at the moment. 

“You…you don’t understand,” you plead quietly, “This isn’t-”

“What?” Gojo snaps, cutting you off as your mouth clams up, “This isn’t what? Simple? Easy to grasp?” He’s cracking, his demeanor slipping from calm to angry, ”How you ran away without any fucking warning? How you evaded all my guards? How you wound up here? What can I not understand? Because I’ve spent a year and a fucking half coming up with every single theory that could explain this!” His voice bounces off the walls and you wince slightly, face cracking as you sniffle, “So what? What is it? What can I not get that’s so difficult to comprehend?”

A strand of his hair has fallen onto his face and his eyes have gotten as dark blue as they can get. You let out a little sob, covering your mouth as you turn away from him, shaking your head again and again as you try to think, try to will yourself out of this. 

How could you explain any of this? How could you tell him without anything happening as a consequence? There’s no simple way. If you tell him the truth, who’s to say he’d believe you. And on the off chance he does, there’s no way he’d sit still and take it. All your efforts of keeping the two nations from war would break. If Gojo believed that his wife had been abducted due to order from the Southern king, a war was no longer the worst thing that could happen but full fledged destruction. Years of bloodshed and violence and everything you did would be for nothing. 

But if you didn’t tell him? If you lied? You didn’t know what to do or say, not expecting or preparing for a moment like this because you never thought it would happen. You tried to live blissfully unawares, hoping that your past life had eventually faded away. 

“Tell me,” he says again, his voice cracking, and his tone has fallen, it’s not angry, not the facade he was putting up because he could never be angry with you, could never yell at you and immediately regret his actions, “I’m here, I found you, so, so please, just…just tell me why,”

You jam your palms into your eyes, beginning to pace around the room again as you breathe deeply. 

“I, I didn’t know,” you don’t know what to say, how to lie, what to do to make any of this make sense, how to satisfy sixteen months of questions, prayers, hurt, in the little time you had, “I can’t…” you sigh through your nose, looking at him apologetically, cheeks shining in the candlelight as your lips tremble and you shake your head, giving him a small shrug, “I-I can’t tell you.” 

“Was it because I left?” He takes a few steps forward to get closer to you but falters when he sees how you take one back, his eyes confused, full of pain as he stammers, “Were…were you scared? Because I came back,” you let out another cry, hiccuping when you heard the tenderness and hurt in his voice, “I came back like I promised you I would.” And you shake your head to that and he pauses, hand clenching and unclenching as he tries to figure you out with your minimal words and even more limited movements.

“So…so why? Darling, please, just tell me why,” He’s begging you, and Gojo never begs. Not unless he needs to. Not unless it’s without anybody other than you. 

“You don’t - don’t understand,” your voice cracks as you wipe away your falling tears, “It’s n-not that.” How could he think you didn’t believe him? The thought that he even believed that, using it as a hypothesis breaks you even more and your chest shakes, fingers itching to hold him and tell him everything that happened.

Gojo looks like he’s struggling to think, like he doesn’t know what to do as he throws his arms in the air, his eyes pleading with you. You see a slight sheen in them, see the way they quiver, how maybe he too is crying. Maybe from frustration, maybe because he just missed seeing your face. 

“Then what?” He takes another tentative step closer and you don’t move, frozen in place, and he takes one more step to you, until he’s only a foot away, “Was it because of…because of the war? Because of what I did? Were you angry with me?” 

You lick your lips as you pursue them, squeezing your eyes shut as you cry even more. A sound tears from your throat, a sort of wail that you can’t control, and it’s one that you don’t mean to let out. You furiously wipe at your face, your head hanging low as you cross your arms across your stomach. It doesn’t take another second until you hear his boots thump along the floor, bringing himself to you as he pauses. And slowly, before you or Gojo knows what’s happening, you feel one of his arms circle your shoulders. Unknowing, a movement he wasn’t sure of. 

But then you break, falling into his chest as you sob, your arm flying upwards to grasp onto anything you could, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat, into his shoulders, around his waist. You can smell the faint lingering smell of smoke on him, the little hint of leather. You sniffle, fingers moving up towards his hair, wanting to feel it beneath your skin. You wanted to cherish it for a moment longer, like you should have all those months ago. You feel the sturdiness of his chest against yours, feel the buttons that engrave into your cheek. You feel him, all of him that there is to offer. 

You don’t realize how he does the same as you. The anger instantly faded when he felt your body against his, when he wrapped his arms around your frame. He could feel the flesh of your cheeks as he moved his hands across your face, over and down your torso as he grasped onto your waist. He wanted to push you away, force you to feel the pain he had all those months, but he couldn’t. He had you now, and he didn’t know how much longer he was allowed to. His lips are a breath away from your forehead, and he presses them to the crown of your head, his chest shaking as he cries silently, his tears wetting your hair. 

You don’t know why he holds you like he used to, why he comforts you like he still loves you. After all this time you thought that the only way he’d touch was if he were to touch you with a sword, banishing you from the North and from any of their territories if he saw you again. Not this. Never this.

If only you knew how upon feeling you, holding you close to his chest, he first took a breath of air in sixteen months. If only you knew how his heart started to pump, pump, pump, the way it was supposed to, and not the pathetic little beats it did just to simply keep him alive but wasn’t living until now. Because the truth was that he’d already forgiven you for what you did. He’d forgiven everything you had done up until this point and would forgive everything you do later, even if he wouldn’t be there to witness it. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you cry into his chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you chant, your words slurring together in a mixture of apologies, guilt, longing, hurt, and every emotion you’ve bottled up and decided to put away, hoping you’d never have to touch them again. 

It was a culmination of months away from the only man you had ever loved. Months of barely surviving, living through peoples scraps and trash as you tried to run away as far away from the only home you had ever known in a last ditch effort to be of some help to the people you cared about. It was a broken plea for Gojo to hear everything you had suffered in just two repeated words, knowing that he could never truly know what you had done and why you had done it unless you told him yourself. He just hugs you tighter, his arms caging you in as you bring yours close to your chest, your hand lying against his torso as your body shakes with cries. His hand rubs up and down your back, fingers curling into your cloak as he just nods, not trusting his own voice, just holding you with as much strength he could muster without crushing you.

Gojo waited for sixteen months, and he’d be damned if he let go of you now. Not after countless nights of staying awake and days riding across the four nations, through rain and mud, snow and storm, heat and desert, weeks spent without barely a blink of sleep, all in efforts to find you. And now he has. And he isn't letting you go. Not now, not ever again.

“Did you mean what you wrote?” He asks against your head, his lips falling open in a silent cry as his hands shake against your body. You squeeze your hands, balling them into fists against his chest. No, you want to scream, no!

“I have to leave. I could never, under any gods’ sky, pretend to keep loving a man as barbarous as you,” his voice is choked, the sentence falling from his lips at such a heart wrenching rate, and a part of your mind flashes to that fated night when the man put that knife to your throat and forced you to copy down those words, the same ones he’s saying now, the words that he memorized after reading your farewell letter over and over again, the letters searing into his mind, “Did you mean that?” You hear how Gojo’s voice cracks, as if hearing you admit to that would be a fate worse than death, as if he regrets asking the question that’s been plaguing him for months. 

You feel your tears soak through his coat, your teeth biting into your lips as you control yourself, taking every part of your soul that wants to crawl out and scream, from shaking your head. So you just go limp against him, nails digging into your palms.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his hand trailing up from your back, floating over your side as it comes upwards to grab at the side of your head which was hidden away in his chest. You don’t fight him as his fingers latch under the skin of your jaw, or when he cups your face as gently as he possibly could, his touch like a feather as he angles you upwards to look at him.

When you see his face you let out a little shaky exhale, wet and messy as you feel his warmth travel from his fingers to your body, tingling everywhere, a certain type of warmth that you had been missing for a while and only came back because the other half of your soul did. 

“Tell me you meant it, p-please,” his voice travels across the walls of the room, heavy, barely above a whisper but you hear every crack, every single way he breaks down, no longer able to keep himself strong, “That you ran away because you never loved me, and I’ll…I’ll leave,” his thumb rubs up and down your jaw, a movement he doesn’t even realize he’s doing, something that’s second nature to him and a tear falls from the corner of his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tries to blink them away, “I’ll leave and you’ll never have to worry about me ever again.”

No, no no, no this can’t be happening all over again. You feel like you’re going insane, his thumb wiping away your tears as you stare silently at him, your lips chapped as you shake your head slightly, knowing the movement itself just cost you everything.  You see the way a little spark makes its way onto his face and you shake your head even more at that, not wanting him to get any sort of idea. 

“N-no, no, no,” you mutter, gasping for air, his hand falling a little bit but you chase after his touch, your head falling into his palm like it was meant to, “No, I…I didn’t want to, I m-mean I didn’t, I,” you’re stammering, words falling out like vomit and you can’t control them. 

You press your cold fingers to your eyes, shaking your head as if it’s the only thing you can do.

“I,” you sigh, looking up at him with a breaking look, “I d-didn’t but,” he deflates a little bit and it hurts to see the most strongest person you’ve ever seen look so broken, “But I can’t,” you whisper the last word with as much strength as you could, “I can’t go back.” 

Gojo lets out a puff of air, his shoulders rising and falling, his hand pulling away from your face, most likely thinking you didn’t want it there when it was the only thing you wanted, the only thing you longed for when you were alone and slept with one eye open.

He looks lost, confused, not knowing what to say to make any sense of this.

You take a step back.

“Then,” he runs a hand through his hair, something he does when he is stressed, not knowing what else to do with his hands, “Why did you write it? Why…why, why did you leave?”

You look away, your mouth opening slightly before you close it again, knowing your best option was to stay silent.

“Was…was there someone else?” There’s a slight tremor in his voice, no malice, no blaming, just curiosity, “Someone here?” 

You quickly shake your head, hiccuping a little bit as your nose scrunches up, sniffing when you vehemently try to silently tell him no, that the only person you’ve loved and can ever love was him. That you’d rather stab a stake through your heart that makes room in your heart for anybody else but him.

“Y-you didn’t do anything,” you murmur, a tear slipping down your nose as you shudder, “It wasn’t because of you.”

“Then why?” He presses quickly, pleading, his cheeks red and flushes as he begs for you to talk, to say something other than the empty clues you’re giving him, “If, if not because of another person then…then what possible reason did you have for leaving?” Gojo pauses to catch his breath, glancing away from you as he tries to regain composure, “You left without any other reasons telling me why, coming to a random town on the eastern coast with nobody you know here. It’s,” he laughs to himself, shaking his head as he shrugs indifferently, “It’s not like you were forced to leave, so…so why, why darling, why?” 

There’s a hitch in your breathing when he utters the simple words. It’s not like you were forced to. 

Your mind flashes quickly with memories of that night, the man on top of you, the knife pressed to your throat, urging you to write that letter. You remember waking up on his horse, your hands bound, trying to piece together what was happening. You think back to his greasy hair, the oily smile, his cruel eyes. You can still hear his gruff voice in your ear, the way he ordered you around your own room as if you were his dog, doing whatever he asked you to to spare the lives of those outside the door. You remember his hot breath on your skin, the weight of his body on yours, the way his eyes raked over your figure. You remember him lying on the ground, bloodied, calling you names as you ran away with his horse. 

Gojo calls your name, once and then twice when you don’t acknowledge him the first time. 

He stares at your body with furrowed brows, taking in the way your chest heaves, your fingers digging into your sides as you stare blankly out the window.

Gojo takes a few brisk paces to where you were, his hands grabbing your elbows, not tightly, just to force you out of your busy mind, his head shaking in utter confusion at the way you suddenly left, and you slowly blink out of your stupor, looking at him and his questioning eyes. 

There’s a strange look on your face, one he doesn’t recognize. 

His mouth parts a little bit, eyes squinting together as he assesses you. He lets out a small laugh, a disbelieving, questioning one, one that he can’t control because you didn’t react like this to any of his other questions.

“You…” his hand falls from your elbow, hovering over the back of your head, gently holding your nape, and you feel like a magnet, drawn to him, your hands balled by your side to keep you from doing something you’d regret, “You weren’t…forced to leave…right?”

You just stare at him.

You count to five, trying to steady your breaths. You want to shake your head, to disagree with his question even though it was the only correct thing, but your body stops you from doing that. Maybe it was fighting back, begging for you to tell him the truth. You evade eye contact from him, your tongue resting on the roof of your mouth and you swallow thickly, forcing down the bile.

But Gojo knows you, knows how to read your quiet expressions and little ticks. You don’t do anything but stay quiet. Soon, after a few seconds pass and he stares longer at your face, your silence becomes your only answer.

His hand falls away from your head, taking a few steps back as if the air had been punched from his lungs.

It was one of the first things he thought when he was given your letter. Thought you had been abducted, and entertained the idea for as long as he could. But there were just no signs of a forced entry, your bags packed and missing some clothes. He read your letter over and over again, and when they never found you, he began to believe the words you had written down. Different ideas came to him, ones of a different lover, ones that made him believe you truly never loved him, ones that said you had run away on your own free will. 

He covers his mouth with his hand, a tremor in his breath when you glanced at him with a sheen in your eyes.

“But…?” 

There’s no answer, no need for one.

You shrug a little bit, wiping at your cheeks once again as you purse your lips together, sniffing as you try to keep everything at bay.

“I, um,” you swallow your spit back, biting your lip as you think for a second, think before the dam breaks and you realize it useless to keep any of this in anymore because Gojo knows and it’s worthless to keep it a secret, “A man came a few nights after you had left. Through my window.”

You peek over at Gojo and quickly glance away because the look on his face is too much to process. You keep your eyes trained on the corner of a carpet, at the fraying end as you decide to continue. 

“He was huge, ‘Toru, like nothing you’ve ever seen,” you say with a small laugh, one because this entire situation is too much to handle, your hands moving away from your body as you show his width with the space between them, “He told me he’d cut my tongue out if I screamed, so I…I didn’t.” 

You sniffle again, chewing on the inside of your cheek, pausing slightly as your jaw ticks the more you recall that night.

“H-he had this letter in his, uh,” you sigh, trying to control your breathing as you blink rapidly, brows furrowed as you motion to your chest, “In his pocket. He told me to write the same words down b-but in my own handwriting.” 

Gojo feels his knees give out, holding onto one of the pillars of the bed next to him to keep himself upright, his eyes never leaving your lips, his head suddenly feeling like it was about to detach from his body. 

“I was told to pack some b-bags and clothes,” you wave your hands around as if that wasn’t important, “And I think he, uh, hit me in the back of my head,” your hand rises to your head, as if you could still feel the pulsing feeling from when you had woken up days later, “So I was out for five, six? Six days, I think, before I woke up again and was on his horse.”

The words fell from your mouth like silk, things you had been wanting to see forever spilling like water from a pitcher, and you couldn't stop yourself, the only thing your mouth was willing to do was continue.

“He said that somebody had sent him. Some bidding for the king, I guess. I think sometime between his talking I realized he was sent to kill me, dump my body in the woods so you’d think I had left. So I knew I had to leave, fight my way out somehow. And…and I don’t know…how, but,” you chuckle to yourself, shrugging at the thought of you when you broke free from your restraints and overpowered him, the look of surprise in his gnarly face when you dug the knife into his ribs, “But I was able to get away from him. I might’ve killed him, I didn’t check.”

Your blurry eyes blink upwards to Gojo as your head tilts to the side as you give him a small smile, full of unsaid words and melancholy feelings.

“I wanted to go back, back home to you and - and everything but,” your teeth dig into your bottom lip as the two of you stare back at each other through tears and even more tears, “But he said that if I had committed treason of the highest degree, that,” your teeth rattle, “That you’d never take me back. And that if they’d send more people like him. To hurt people l-like you, like Alina, my friends, your parents, e-everyone I cared for, everyone that you care for,” you can’t control the little cry that escape your lips, your hand flying upwards to your throat as you give yourself a second, “And I thought to myself that…that maybe if I ran away, if you thought that I no longer wanted to b-be your wife then,” one shoulder lifts up in a sad shrug, “Then maybe everything would resolve itself. That there’d be no war to fight, no cause to die for.”

You wait for a second, air lodged in your lungs.

“I nearly ended up dead on the side of a trail,” you motion around you, to the tavern, the snow, the town, “A lady found me and took me here. I,” you swallow thickly, tears caught on your lashes, “I’ve been here ever since.”

You look at him but he isn’t looking at you. You want him to look up, just this once, but he doesn't and you allow him his own time to think. You gnaw on your lips, fingers fidgeting with themselves as you tilt your head a little bit.

“I…” Your head tilts down to your chest, your words dying on your tongue, but there’s a sudden warmth that takes over you and you feel your legs being lifted from the ground as strong arms circle around your waist, your body almost flying back with the force and speed you were picked up with. You feel your arm go to circle around your head, holding you close to his face as he hugs you to himself like he never has before.

Your legs wrap around his torso, your cheek pressing against his and you cry, you let yourself let go of the tears, let go of the lost time, let go of all the feelings you told yourself you aren't allowed to feel, and wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders and neck, holding him as close as you could to you.

“I j-just wanted to help,” you murmur wetly, choking as you sob, “I didn’t want anybody else to - to get hurt,” you tell him in broken phrases, “I didn’t want you to get h-hurt…”

He shushes you, lips kissing the side of your face, the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, the crown of your head, your ears, everything he could reach, feverishly. You could taste the saltiness of his own tears on your tongue, could feel his heart beating quickly from the pulse on his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, his eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head over and over again, “I’m so sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry,” his arms grasp onto you tighter, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, gods, I’m sorry, I’m sorry darling, oh gods, I’m sorry,” you laugh weakly at his muttered apologies, at the way it sounds like he’s praying and apologizing at the same time; for your forgiveness, for you to believe that he was more sorry than any man has been and could be in his life.

“I s-should’ve stayed,” he cries out, his lips trembling as he kisses your forehead, between your eyebrows, your lids, “I should never have left,” you shake your head, trying to stop him but you can’t, “I…I shouldn’t have left, shit, gods, it’s m-my fault, I should’ve-”

“It’s not your fault,” you murmur against his ear, kissing his jaw softly, pulling away a little bit so that you could look him in the eyes, shaking your head a firmly as you could, holding onto the side of his face in your shaking hands, “Don’t you ever, e-ever, say that...you couldn’t - you couldn’t have known.” You shake with cries as you try to smile, try to rake your fingers through his hair to calm him down, twirling his hair around like you used to when you’d wake up next to him. You unlatch your legs from his waist, slowly setting them down as you stand up on your own, your hands still tangled with each other in his hair.

“I never stopped loving you,” you whisper, watching the way his face crumbled upon hearing your words, “When…when I was starving and didn’t know if I’d make it through the night, I tried to pretend you were beside me. And,” your shoulders shake again, “And when I didn’t want to wake up I pretended I was in o-our bed, about to wake up next to you. Everything - everything I did was for you, and I…I know you might hate me for it, despise me for running away but…” you trail off, your thumb running across his cheekbones, his brows, his nose, “But I hoped that one day you’d understand why.” 

You finish your words, staring at him as he stares at you, a storm happening behind those irises you loved so much. You deflate, knowing that this must be your final goodbye. That he’d never want to get back with somebody who’d ruin their life so easily, who’d break his heart so quickly and without any remorse. You try to cherish the way he looked, try to engrain the little features you had forgotten in your head for when he eventually pulled away and wasn’t yours again. You open your mouth, wanting to tell him that you understand if he no longer shares the same feelings.

“I’m-” 

His lips slam against yours, his hand behind your head to keep you steady as you stumble a little bit. Your arms go up to hold onto his, surprised and taken aback by the sudden movement. He pulls away almost as quickly as he had moved in, an apologetic look flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters breathlessly, his lips shining with spit, “I-” 

This time it’s you who cuts him off, reaching your hands upwards to tangle back into his hair as your lips slot against and move roughly against his, mixing your tears, spit, love and pain with one another as he eagerly meets you in the middle with another hand sprawled out across your back, pulling you closer to him.

You angle your head upwards, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your lips press harshly against one another. They move in tandem, in perfect synch, as if you hadn’t spent one day away from each other but still with so much passion as if to make up for the months spent without one another.

You moan slightly, your lips opening as the sound escapes you, and he surges forward, his tongue meshing with yours as he licks into your mouth, wanting to taste you, to drink from you as if he hadn’t had a proper sip to satiate his thirst in over sixteen months. His lips are soft and plump, just like you remember, and your eyelashes flutter against your cheek at the feeling of him panting into you like a mad man who was suddenly becoming sane.

The hand that he had resting on your back moves upwards, grabign and kneading at your hips, cupping your waist as you whine at the spark his touch brings, feeling lightheaded when he pulls away slightly just to bite down on your bottom lip with his teeth, his nose nudging against yours as you try to catch your breath. 

“I missed you,” he whispers against your lips, two hands cradling each side of your face, “So, so much. I never stopped looking for you,” you laugh through your tears, your eyebrows quivering as you hold onto him, “I could barely sleep since you’ve been gone and the only reason I did was so that I could dream of you.” 

You pull his neck down to press one, two, three chaste and salty kisses against his trembling lips.

“I would have taken you back even if you had burned the entirety of the North,” Gojo tell you in a low tone, “I would have taken you back even if you carved my heart out,” he kisses the tip of your nose tenderly, “Which you damn near did with that letter.” You laugh softly, his thumbs on either side of your lips as he cradles your face in the palms of his hands.

“I wish I never wrote it,” you say quickly, scrambling, your eyes darting around, “I never…” but he hushes you, shaking his head as he bring your head forward to place a longing and slow kiss on your forehead, one hand at the nape of your neck to force you look him in the eyes. 

“If he,” he pauses, his nose flaring at the mention of the man who tore you away from him, he controls the anger that boils and bubbles at his flesh at the thought of him touching you, threatening you, hurting you, taking you away from him, but he knows it’s not the time for that right now, he’ll deliver chastisement when he gets the chance, “If that man told you to kill me, to kill an entire group of my men so that he wouldn’t hurt you, I’d let you it in a heartbeat,” you feel him wipe a tear away, looking at your features, taking in everything he had been nearly dying without for so long.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling girl,” he says delicately and your eyes well up at his words, never hearing them before and never expecting Gojo to be the one to tell you after everything that you had done, “Going through what you did? Surviving on your own? Gods,” he lets out a little chuckle, dipping his head down so it could rest on your own, smiling at you through his own tears, “That’s what I’d expect from my wife.”

Your mouth parts a little bit and you sniffle, holding onto the back of his arms like he’s your anchor, a tether to reality, to show you that this isn’t a dream and that you’d wake up in your shack but that he’s here.

You feel his arms go lower though, grabbing your thighs from behind your skirts and petticoat, a sign that he wanted you to jump. So you oblige him, knowing he’d catch you regardless, and you silently wrap your legs around him again as his lips find yours once more, your chests moving up and down with labored breaths, but you don't’ need air, you just need him.

“Bed,” you murmur against his feverish lips, in between his dizzying kisses as your fingers slightly pull at his white strands, “P-please,”

Gojo pulls a little bit away, his eyes falling to your lips and then back up, almost in silent questioning. You nod once, needing for him to move, but he gets the gist, a smile, the first one you had seen that night, the first one from him you had seen in over a year, breaks onto his face, and he moves slightly back, nudging you with his nose to kiss him again and you do. 

When his thighs hit the back of the bed you feel like a feather as he twists you around in his arms, your hands never disconnecting from his shoulders he gingerly puts you against the mattress, climbing over your body to resume his movements. 

The two of you work in tandem, and you know when he’s growing restless, when he wants to explore the rest of your body. His lips trail from your lips to your jaw, pressing wet and splotchy kisses against the skin you have there before his lips move downwards, towards your throat. 

You lift your chin a little bit, giving him more access as he sucks your skin into his mouth. You let out a little whimper at the feeling, his teeth grazing your soft skin, and one of your mouth slowly falls open in a little part. 

Gojo feels like he’s finally taken his first breath of air when he sees the way he’s marking up your skin, and he knows that once he’s started, there’s doubt he’d ever stop. There’s sixteen months of his lips and touch and mark absent from your skin, and he wants to make up for that.

His hands are at your waist, but his fingers dig into the fabric covering it, frustrated with the barrier that’s still between the two of you.

Your eyes creep open when you feel him pull away, looking at his large body looming over yours with a little pout, one that disappear and melts into a little grin when you see him fumbling with the knot of your cloak, looking even more frustrated with trying to take off your bodice as quickly as possible.

“Here,” you whisper gently, your hand holding his as you move it away, sitting up on your elbows as you undo the knot, shrugging off the layer of warmth as you throw it to the side, “There’s a lace up in the back,” you say, about to twist your body around to show him how to undo the bodice before you hear a loud, almost animated riiip!

You stare down at shock, your chest completely exposed to him, naked and bare, and then to his hands, the culprits for tearing the fabric as if it was a piece of parchment and not heavily lined and stitched top.

Your mouth drops open, hands flying to cover your breasts, but he tsks, swatting your hands aside. 

“H-hey!” You exclaim, laughing a little bit at the way his eyes look at you, his brow cocked, heat blossoming across your cheeks and chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air, “You can’t just - just rip it!” 

Gojo chuckles, rolling his eyes, moving up to get closer to your face as he leans down, pressing another searing kiss against your lips. 

“I didn’t wait all these months just to be halted by lace,” he mutters, his voice thick and primal and your breathing hitches at the sound, the near growl he has in his tone, and you don’t have it in you to argue with him, desperately needing his hands on you as if you’d die without his touch.

His head dips as he looks down, his eyes finally falling onto your tits, your nipples, your chest that moves up and down with each exhale, and feels his mouth suddenly go dry. He remembers the first time he saw your naked top, remembers that night in the fields vividly, but now that he’s spent so long without being able to look at them, it feels as if he’s seeing you like this for the first time all over again.

“Wait,” you sputter out quickly, your hands going up to your chest again and this time Gojo moves away, quickly and giving you some space as you sit up a little bit against the pillows and backboard, chewing on your lip in embarrassment, “I, um, I might look different, from…from the last time you saw me.” 

His white brows pinch together in confusion, but he lets you have the time to gather the words, no matter how much they make you want to see yourself aflame in shame.

The bandages around your hands had slipped off with all the movement, your skin riddles with small scars and bruises that came with chopping and hauling woods. You sometimes looked in your little mirror and saw somebody different.

“My hands,” you say, looking down at them, at the scratches from leaves and twigs, the coarseness on the pads of your fingers from wielding an axe for so many months, and you feel subconscious when his stare falls down to them, “And I…I don’t know, the rest of me, it’s not-” 

He cuts you off, pulling your hands away from your chest, but not for the reason you’d expect. He brings them up to his lips, pressing a kiss against each knuckle, the backs of them, the bottoms of your palms, and the only thing you could do is watch with bated breath.

“Do you want to know what I thought when I saw you again? Just outside, in the snow?” 

You shake your head, eyes peering at him with an air of curiosity.

“At first I thought that I had died,” he says with a chuckle, “But when I saw you, saw your face, your nose, your eyes, your eyebrows, your cheeks, your hands,” he saws with a little grin, squeezing them in his hands, “I thought that I was dreaming. You looked just like you did when I dreamed of you. And when you woke up, and I saw your eyes again, I felt the happiest I have since the day I last saw you.”

Your shoulders fall, the tension in them dissipating, and you smile gently at him. Of course Gojo would know how to ease your worries, even after a year and counting of not seeing you. And he pauses, a silent talk happening between the two of you, one where he wanted to make sure you were still comfortable. To which you nod, biting your lips a little bit in nervousness, good nervousness, as you do.

His large hands falter, fingers reaching to grab the soft mounds. You watch through your lids that were slightly dropping, the anticipation causing a heat to blossom in your core, and you bite your lip as you wait for him to move.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in a hushed tone, wonder dripping from his voice as if he was seeing a statue come to life, a painting moving in front of him, “As beautiful as the day I last saw you,” his fingers rub soothing circles on your waist, “My beautiful girl,” he mutters, a small smile on his face that you mirror.

After another second of staring, Gojo makes his first decision, long slender fingers trailing up from your stomach, up your navel and to your left breast, cupping it, his thumb rubbing across your hard nipple as a small sigh escapes his lips. 

“G-gods,” he stammers, squeezing the flesh, feeling like a teenage boy rather than the man he’s grown up to be, “Soft,” he chokes out, leaning his head down, “So soft,” he murmurs, his lips latching onto it as you let out a gasp, his tongue rubbing over your areola and your back arches up into him. 

He sucks the tit into his mouth, his other hand moving upwards to squeeze and knead the other one, not wanting to leave her unattended. Your lashes flutter at the feeling, mouth dropping open in a quiet sigh when you feel his teeth scrape against your nipple, biting down on it a little bit as your fingers curl into his hair. 

“O-oh,” you’re able to say, “‘Toru, oh, oh gods,” you can’t think, can’t formulate a thought as he latches off with a pop, his chin dragging across your chest, his eyes never leaving yours as wrapped his swollen pink lips around your other tit.

He smiles a little bit at the sight of you crumbling from his mouth, flicking your nipple over with his tongue, biting down on this one as well as he moves upwards, sucking the skin around your breast, watching in satisfaction as dark hickeys bloom in the wake.

Your nails rake against his scalp, tugging a little harshly, but his eyes roll back at the feeling, loving the sting.

His lips continue to kiss your chest, moving down from the valley of your breasts and goes down, his spit shining in the candlelight as he kisses the soft skin of your stomach, just above your belly button and then lower, where the tear from your corset ends and the loops of your work skirt begins. 

You let out a whine, a keel as he sucks the skin into his mouth. 

“You’re s-such a tease,” you stutter out, and he looks at you from his white lashes as his lips make another mark, his tongue moving as he licks the spot, lovingly, and you try to smile back, but your head falls back against the pillow no matter how hard you tried. 

“I’m taking my time darling,” he corrects you, his hands moving the hem of your skirt, tugging it down a little bit but eyes eyes squint when he feels some resistance, “I need the woman I love to know just how much I cherish her,” he kisses your hip slowly, “Want her, “another kiss to your lower stomach, “Need her,” and he finishes by moving a little up to press a kiss to your sternum.

You catch your bottom lip beneath your teeth, one hand wringing into the sheets of the bed as you sigh shakily, the heat that’s in your core turning into a fire, one that is growing and burning you from inside out. 

Before everything happened, the two of you were burdened with the ever impending need of consummating the marriage. Gojo’s parents were understanding, never pushed the two of you, but the outside world seemed to ponder why your belly hadn’t grown in the months you had been together. Truth be told, you were always nervous, not knowing how to do it, what to do, where things go, and so you’d freak whenever the two of you got close to having sex. So Gojo would always pull back, assuring you that your comfort was the most important thing to him. And though there were nights when he's eating you out, bringing you to ruin on his tongue and fingers, but that was it. But now, it feels different. There was a growing desire in you that felt like it was about to burst the longer you didn’t feel him inside of you.

You can feel the ghost of his touch on your legs, the way his fingers trail slowly up your calves and to your knees, not long before settling on the meat of your thighs, squeezing them as he feels the soft plushness beneath him. 

It’s all so maddening.

“‘T-toru?” Your hands search for his, your chest moving with each labored breath, and you feel his hands move upwards, lacing his fingers between yours as his eyes search for what it was you wanted, “‘Toru, please, oh, please, I need you,” you murmur weakly, “Need you i-in me, please,” you beg, and see the way his pupils grow, his eyes barely even blue when you say the words inches away from his lips.

He lets out an animalistic grown, his eyes rolling back in his head as he plants a sloppy kiss against your lips, his hands falling down to the waistline of your skit, fingers fumbling to find the loop before he gives up, scrunching up the fabric between his fingers before you hear another rip. Looking down you see your skirt in tatters, the fabric looking like it had been mauled by a bear, and watch as he bundles it up and throws it to the side somewhere.

You go to argue but he raises a brow, wondering how you expected him to stay calm and put together when you utter such filthy words in his ear.

It takes you a second to find that you’re now completely naked beneath him, and while that doesn’t cause you to cover up the way you expected, you find yourself pouting a little bit, something that Gojo notices. 

“What?” He asks, his hand immediately cupping the side of your face, worried, “Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?” 

But you shake your head, hands pawing at his coat, nails scratching as you try to unloop the buttons. 

“‘S not fair,” you mumble, pointing to his chest and then to yours, your lips quirking up a little bit as your pout deepens, eyes all wide and open for him, the way you know makes his words turn to slurred speech, “I’m all bare and you’re…not…s’not fair ‘Toru,” there a little whine in your voice, one that causes his cheeks to go pink.

He grins, kissing your cheek apologetically as he nods in agreement. 

“You’re absolutely right darling,” he says, able to make quick work at tearing his coat off, swift finger fumbling to get his arms out of the sleeves, his hands going the either side of the tunic beneath him to lift it off and above his head, but the sudden touch of your hands against his skin makes him stop. 

He looks down to where your fingers are lying, atop his neck, your eyes wavering when you hook something out from underneath the dress shirt.

How could you have forgotten? 

You think to yourself, looking at the ring he had resting on the delicate gold chain. His wedding ring, the one he had told you ages ago he keeps around his neck so that it does fall off during training. Your fingers rub against it, feeling the cold sting of the gold, a familiar thing. But that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, your eyes fall to something next to it. 

The matching ring. Yours.

You let out a little shaky gasp, looking up to Gojo to only see him staring back at you, trying to gauge your reaction. 

“I…” he sighs, holding your hand in his, the one that was holding onto your ring, “I thought-” 

But you don’t let him finish his rambling, pulling him down by the chain of the necklace as you slam your lips against his, a new set of tears sprouting in your eyes as you feel the rings dance around your neck. 

Your fingers curl into his hair, digging them deep as your tears wet his cheek, your lips trembling against his as you hook a leg around his waist, your other hand holding onto the side of his face as you kiss him feverishly. You need him near you, need him to know just how much you have missed him, longed for him, need him.

But after a few seconds pass, he pulls away from you and your head moves up to chase him, but he sits up completely, your leg falling away from his waist as you watch him move his hands up to the necklace, tugging at it as it unclips from the back. 

You watch silently as he slides your ring off of the chain, holding it in the palm of his hand as it shines brightly in the candlelight. His white lashes flutter against his cheek as he twists the ring around. 

“May I?” Gojo says quietly, and you falter, looking down at your hand. 

The hand that you’ve lived by for a while, using it for cutting logs and trees, to collect twigs and leaves. The hand riddles with scars and bruises, some fading, some new. The hand that always felt light, no matter how many things you were carrying in it. The reason you always knew, but never wanted to admit it.

You bring it closer to his own, watch as he turns the ring around to face your finger. You feel like the seconds have turned into hours, your mind flashing to when the last time he placed this ring on your finger, when you were a little bit younger and naive, not knowing he’d be placing it on your same finger nearly two years later, but this time out of love and not from an arrangement. 

When it finally slides on you sigh a breath of relief, a tear escaping the corner of your eye, falling into your hairline as you hold the hand up, admiring its lost component that you’ve missed so dearly.

“My wife,” he whispers softly, almost to himself as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, bringing your hand up to his lips as he presses a kiss that lays over the ring, holding onto your hand tight, giving it a squeeze as he gently set it back down on the bed. He places the necklace back over his neck, taking his tunic off with one fluid motion after it clasped into place. 

You smile, full, content, and you lie back down against the pillows after a minute passed, your legs spreading a little bit to make room for him between them. His touch goes back up to your thighs, fingers searing in their place as his gaze finally, finally, drops down to your aching, burning core.

You watch as he undoes the buckle of his pants, his trousers being kicked off, his eyes never leaving your glistening folds, and you feel your heart rattle in your ribcage, waiting to just jump out. 

Your eyes rake over his naked torso. Gods, he looked even bigger if that was possible. He riffs with even more muscles all across his chest, his arms, and his abs, looking even more pronounced from when you last saw him. His shoulders stand broad and sturdy, a thick vein running across the white trail of hair leading down, and you feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. You’re so busy staring at him you don’t even realize that he too has put his focus down. Down to where you need him the most.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. It’s the first time you’ve seen it in its entirety. Sometimes you’ve seen the outline from afar, feeling the length from layers of his clothes, but never like this, never so raw. 

It’s long, you think, and though you’ve never seen anyone else cock before, you know this must be above what was normal. It curved upwards, not fully standing up from how heavy it was. You wanted to guess that it was at least eight inches, and gods, he was thick. His cockhead spurted more precum, pink, almost red, and it looked like it was about to burst. 

Little white hairs grow from its base, soft and plush, and your eyes almost blur from lust at the sight. 

Gojo scratches the back of his head almost in embarrassment, a little flush to his cheeks as he snaps his fingers in front of your face to get you to look back at him and not his little friend downstairs. You gulp, slowly finding his gaze as you stare at his pink face. A blush had traveled across his cheeks and went to his nose and jaw. Your head tilted slightly, bottom lip caught underneath your teeth as you squinted a little bit. 

Was he…shy?

“Are you…” You almost want to laugh, but stop yourself, a questioning look in your eyes as you sit up a little bit, resting on your elbows as you grin, “Are you blushing?” 

Gojo rolls his eyes at your teasing tone, pinching your waist as you squeal a little bit, a fit of laughter falling from your lips when he refuses to answer. Though he tries to look tough, his demeanor cracks when he hears the musical sound of you giggling, a new noise that seems to bring a fresh wave of colors back into his dull grey colored life.

“I know you haven’t,” he swallows, his throat bobbing when he rubs a thumb slowly up and down your thigh, a comforting touch, “I know you’ve never done this before. And if you want to wait-” 

“No,” you say instantly, shaking your head, “No, I want this. I want you. I…I need you, Saotru, I need you so bad I think I’m going to start going crazy if you don’t…” you trail off, swallowing thickly as you look back to his groin, and your fingers itch to hold it, to touch it, to feel the velvety skin beneath yours.

Gojo’s mouth goes dry, his lips parting as his pupils grow again. 

You need him. You need him and oh gods does he need you. He thinks his heart will stop if he doesn’t have your warmth circling him, pulling him closer to you.

He nods slowly, gnawing on his lip as he continues to rub soothing circles on your thighs, scratching his jaw as he thinks about how to go about this. Though he hates to even think about it, this wasn’t his first time the way it was yours. But it was his first time with the woman he loved, and it felt like he was learning how to do it all over again.

“O-okay,” he says shakily, and here he looks like a young man in love, not the Northern warrior people forced him to become, just your Satoru, “I’ll go slow, okay? Hold my hands, squeeze them as tight as you want. If it becomes too much…” his brow furrow, heart lurching at the thought of hurting you.

“Then I’ll let you know,” you finish with a smile, a promising one as you lean up to rest your forehead against his, “And I’m a strong girl,” you say with a little tease, trying to relax the tension, “It takes a lot to bring me down.” 

Gojo chuckles, nodding at your words as he leans a little closer to peck at your lips. You fall back down to the pillows, your legs spreading again as his hands move away form your thighs, going to your cunt, spreading some of his slick on them as he brings it to his cock, breathing slightly through his teeth as his fingers make contact with it, lubing it up as he lines it up with your entrance. 

He looks at you once, and you nod, smiling, telling him you were ready. 

He pushes the tip in, and feels your walls clench instantly around him. The stretch is there, and your eyes flutter shut, his hands traveling up through the sheets to grab at yours, your fingers lacing together as he brings them to your head, watching your reactions, fearful that it was too much. 

But you nod again, wanting him to continue. 

He pushes his way in little by little, your tight cunt fluttering and squeezing around him with each inch, biting down on your lips to keep the sounds in. It’s not too much, but you know that if Gojo heard he’d stop it immediately. Because while it does hurt a little bit, the sting is good, and the more he lets you settle in it, the more it actually becomes pleasurable. 

Gojo lets his cock sink into, letting you take all the time you need to adjust to his size, squeezing his hands as your fingers dig into his skin.

“G-good? Do you want to stop?” He’s able to bite out, feeling like he was about to cum with the way you’re clenching around him. But his eyes are still filled with worry, not knowing what you were feeling with the way you were staying quiet. 

You take a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek as you slowly open your eyes, looking down to where your bodies were connected, and a little gasp escapes your lips when you see that he’s somehow managed to fit all of himself inside your tight walls, your cunt spasming around his girthy cock. 

You moan, mouth falling open as you grip onto his hands again, quickly nodding, needing him to move.

And Gojo takes it. 

He slowly begins to pull out, your cunt weeping wetly with his absence, and he gives it a second before he slams back in. 

“Umph!” You whine, eyesight going white when his cockhead hit the spongy part of your cunt, nudging at it as you feel achingly full, a good full, “Oooh, oh, ‘Toru, it’s…ohh,” and he knew it was a good oh because you were growing wetter around him, your slick staining his dick and the sheets beneath you.

He pulls his hips back out before he goes back in, creating a steady rhythm that makes your legs feel useful, wrapping around him to keep him as close to your middle as possible. You can hear the squelch whenever he pushes himself back inside, and can feel the way you spurt around him.

“You’re doing great darling,” he says encouragingly, praising you as your finger clench and unclench, “Doin’ so great for me, you know? So perfect, my perfect wife, fuck, oh, s-shit,”

He pulls the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it before he lets go, bringing your now empty hand up to his shoulders, his own hand falling in between your bodies as his finger find your clit, rubbing and pinching at it with such a speed that you feel like you’re finally going towards the light. 

“S-so tight,” he moans out, head falling down to your chest as he takes in a nipple between his teeth, sucking your tit into his mouth, needing something to with his tongue, “You’re s’warm, fuck, it’s so, so fucking good,”

You nod feverishly at his words, mewling in agreement, the ability to talk dying right in front of you, your walls turning to mush the more he slams himself inside of you.

It feels like lightning when his fingers continue their movements on your pulsating bud, his cock molding your cunt into its shape, your hot warmth trapping him inside like a honeypot, barely allowing him to move but pulling him back inside whenever he pulls away, needing to chase after the intoxicating feeling. 

You feel like crying and laughing, never expecting to have this moment happen. You want to pinch yourself, to see if maybe you were dreaming. You feel all your emotions wash up as Gojo kisses your chest, feel the excruciating pain you first felt when you ran away, the lonely feeling when you were surviving on your own, to live by yourself, pretending that he’d be there to wake you up.

And sure, you dreamed that you’d see him again, but you never thought he’d believe you, let alone forgive you. You never thought he’d be like he always was, kind and caring, loving you with such tenderness that it feels like you never left. You never thought he’d fall in love with you twice, but maybe that was your biggest mistake. Because Gojo Satoru never stopped loving you just like you never stopped loving him.

You feel tears prickle as your eyes, your nose scrunching up to hide your sniffles, a sound that quickly catches his attention. 

He looks up from your sternum, fear flooding through his eyes when he sees the tears that roll down the side of your face, the watery look of your eyes and the way you turn your head away so that he wouldn’t see you.

He instantly stops, pulling out of you as his hands quickly go to your cheeks, tapping your jaw, worried, anxious as he begs for you to look at him. 

“Hey, hey,” he mutters quickly, his hands slightly trembling, thinking he had hurt you terribly, “We can stop darling, it’s okay, don’t worry,” but you shake your head, a tremor in your lips as you look at him, hands covering your face as you feel tears wet your finger.

“It’s not that,” you whisper, choking on a cry, “‘S not that, it feels good, really good,” you add, sniffing again as your nose scrunches up. Gojo falters, rubbing away your stray tears, eyes looking everywhere to figure out what was wrong. He lets you find your words, even if it takes a minute.

“I…I just,” you sigh, pushing your lips together tightly as you look at him, “I missed you so much Satoru, I m-missed you, and,” you feel his eyes gloss over, “And I’m sorry I didn’t write o-or tell you anything. I love you,” you tilt your head up slightly to kiss him softly, “I love you so much. I know this isn’t what-” 

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head to cut you off, knowing that you might spiral, “I don’t care about the time, darling, I don’t care how long it took to have you again,” a tear off his falls on your cheek, “Just that I have you again. That I have the woman I love back in my arms is enough for me,” he promises and you laugh wetly, rubbing at your eyes. 

He kisses your tears away, balancing himself above you as he nudges his nose against yours, something he does when he wants to catch your attention, when he knows you’re lost in your own mind. 

You smile again, your hand falling in between your bodies to line himself up again with your entrance. He stutters, going to stop you, but you shake your head, wanting this, wanting  this more than anything, and let your legs wrap around him again. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his cockhead push a little bit again past your aching walls.

His head drops down to your chest, not wanting you to see him break. Not wanting you to see the way he cracks because he never thought he’d hear you say those words again, never thought he’d see your lips form around those tender words, to give him such a divine feeling. 

“I love you,” he says huskily, gasping it out as he sink in a little deeper, “I love you so much, so so much,” he kisses your chin, “So much that even if it took a century to find you I’d still love you as much as the day I first loved you,”

You giggle a little bit, kissing him messily as you moan against his lips, your cunt stretching again to fit his size, cradling the side of his face in your hands.

“I’m…I’m never letting go of y-you ever again,” you stammer, a little moan escaping you when a vein scratches deliciously against the side of your pulsing walls, “‘M yours, S-satoru, all yours.” 

He groans, hands finding purchase on your waist as his eyes squeeze shut, too many feelings, all good feelings, coursing through him.

“Everything I have, e-eveyrthing I am and will be is yours,” he says, his voice breaking, “I was always yours to begin with.” 

Your nails scratch down the flexing and large muscles of his back, leaving red lines in their wake as he picks up his face, your own tears, spit, juices, everything, mixing together as you moan in tandem.

“So good!” You whine, toes curling, your arm wrapping around his neck to pull him down to your chest until you were flush against each other, kissing against him messily, licking into his open mouth as you moan even louder when he angles his hips a certain way to reach even deep inside of you, if that was even possible, “T-think…think I’m ‘gonna…!”

That same buzz grows, that feeling of an incoming orgasm approaching you quickly. You were warned that it was difficult for a woman to finish during sex, and some of your friends often told you how they usually lay there until their husbands finished. But it wasn’t like that with Gojo, not at all. You have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels far quicker than usual.

His fingers never give up their pace on your clit, and your walls clench around him, a new feeling growing inside of you.

“‘Toru, I think I’m ‘gonna c-come,” you hiccup, your orgasm building up, “I t-think…” 

He nods, biting your bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his own release creeping up on him, feeling the white hot flash grow in his groins.

“I know darling, I k-know,” he mutters, kissing the side of your mouth as his motions quicken, needing to feel you come with him, “I know, let go, come on, I know you can, let go for me darling, there it is.”

You let out your last moan when you feel your orgasm wash over you. 

It’s blinding, exhilarating, and for a second you think you nearly died from how good it was.

You spray around his cock, gushing with your release. It wets his balls, dripping down onto the sheets, his abs shining wet from the way you squirted all over him. You want to feel embarrassed, but quite frankly can’t because of how utterly spent you feel.

Gojo opens his mouth in a silent exhale when his own orgasm happens, spilling his cum deep inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed as he spurts, seeming like it was never ending. 

You feel yourself clench around him at the feeling, your entire body feeling even warmer at his cum reaching deep inside of you. He came so much that it overflows from inside, coming out from the sides of your cunt, mixing with your own juices as the two of you try to calm down from your mind-shattering climaxes. 

And despite how tired you feel, a giddy smile makes its way onto your face. 

Your husband is right next to you. You could have only dreamed this moment happening.

Gojo looks down at you, smiling too, his head tilting to the side. 

“W-what?” He asks with a quiet chuckle, his cock still nestled inside you, and the thought makes you feel even giddier, turning your face to the side, smushing it against the pillows to mute your bursts of laughter.

But it’s no use, because Gojo leans down to the side of your face, kissing your cheek and jaw gingerly as he smiles against your skin, wiping the excess tears away from the corners of your eyes. 

“What’s got you laughing, hm?” He says, his voice slightly muffled against your cheek and you giggle even louder, unable to control it, his fingers not helping as they place tickling and fleeting touches all over our naked and sweaty skin. He can’t help himself and laughs too, the sound hearty and loud, bouncing off the walls as you squirm around, your lips pulled wide, a toothy smile etched permanently onto your face. 

“S-stop!” You wheeze out, his fingers everywhere, your arms, legs, thighs, stomach, fast and unforgiving, trying to squeeze every but of the wonderful sound out of you so he could bottle it up and keep it forever, “S-satoru, s-stop! Please!” 

You push at his chest, eyes bright and full of mirth, looking back at the man you loved, his smile bright and blinding. You want to have this moment forever, over and over again, never ending, and you never want it to end. He finally pulls away, looking down at you with such adoration and love in his shining eyes that you feel like you’re about to go blind.

He pulls himself out of your warmth, kissing the back of his teeth when you pulse around him again, and his limp cock hangs satisfied. He pushes the mixture of his cum and your juices back in with his thumb, something primal filling him seeing you full of his seed. 

Your legs twitch, slapping his curious hand away when it starts to trail back up to your clit, and watch him send you a little wink, a little sign for what’s to come later. Not now, though, because he sees the way your eyes are drooping, your hands resting on your stomach as you pat the empty space next to you. 

Gojo obliges, falling down on the rumpled sheets, turning to the side to look at you.

You sigh, happy, full, and breaking at the seams with love. He lets the same sigh out, his pink lips pulled into an easy grin, months of exhaustion washing away from his body as he loops an arm under your waist, tugging you closer to his chest.

The two of you stay there in comfortable silence, grieving the months you lost, celebrating the moments just spent together, finding each other over and over again even if it tore you apart in the process. 

He kisses your hairline, your forehead, the corners of your eyes. You preen like a cat, humming when you feel him kiss your cheek and your lips, pressing his last kiss to the tip of your nose, something he used to do when you were about to go to sleep. 

“Sleep now” he whispers against the side of your head, pulling the blanket to cover your bodies, his hold of you never letting go, “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he smiles, pausing before saying, “I promise,”and you smile softly, craning your head up to look at him. 

You fight back the tears, at the thought of waking up next to him, just like you always dreamed you would. 

“You promise?” You murmur, feeling one last tear fall, one tear of joy, utter joy, and he catches it with his thumb, his blue eyes wavering like a clear sky without a singular cloud, and you watch as his throat bobs, eyes roaming all over your face, still can’t believing you were real. He hums deeply, tipping your chin up to meet him in one last longing kiss, lips moving gently along one another.

“I promise.”

[hellaverseapocalypse]

Another awesome commish by @heyjay177art. This time I asked them to do Ozzie from me and @eyecandyeoz Apocalypse Hellaverse Au.

Ozzie and the other deadly sins are in the front lines and he is wearing armor to fight off the angel invasion.

I gave Jay free reign with the armor design and they freaking nailed it! I designed the Halberd and it had to have a heart motif.

[hoshigray]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇[𝐞𝐫]!! | t. fushiguro + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time, look around the area before you say you find a serial killer attractive. Because you’re about to see what mess your words will have you end up in — and your clothes all torn up.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: serial killers! Toji + Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - age gap (the reader is in their early 20s) - porn with plot - oral (f! + m! receiving) - threesome - double penetration; anal (first time) & vaginal - restricted movement (hands tied up) - face-sitting - cowgirl dp positions - gun + knife play - choking - spanking - unprotected sex - overstimulation - degradation (brat, broad, slut, whore) - pet names (baby, dollface, good girl, pet, princess) - blackmail/threats - the reader is in an established relationship w/ Nanami - mentions of blood, tears, spit, and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k (told you, porn with plot, lol)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uhhhh happy Friday the 13th, everybody???? blame @ramonathinks for this idea (jk, don't, she's so amazing, ty for pushing me into this, mona bear ♡ and tysm for beta reading; your thoughts mean the world). Haven't done a fic in two months sooooo go easy on me!! Not proofread, so I'll fix stuff l8rrrr

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! Just answer the question!”

“You’re so fucking sick, you know that!?” You glare at your friend, who slumps on the booth chair with a heavy sigh. 

A slight breeze tickles your skin through your comfortable sweatshirts as the leaves on the trees slowly change to autumnal colors, and Halloween decor is already adorning every house and every yard. It was a warm and sunny afternoon on this pleasant Friday. Usually, you’d be cozied up in your apartment enjoying yourself, probably catching up on some horror flicks you missed last year. 

But alas, that was not the case. Because you’re a college student. As October has finally rolled around, only one thing prevents you from enjoying this beautiful season — midterms. The thought of it is enough to pull you into a pool of dread. Every day has been one whirlwind after another. Yet, on the bright side, all you have now is one last exam to worry about, and you’ll finally be able to rest this weekend. So here you are, at the diner with your best friend, Shoko Ieiri, completing your papers while eating off your plates to satiate the stress. For the most part, things were going smoothly.

Until the news anchor on the television at the bar relays an announcement… 

“…Once again, everyone, please be on the lookout for these two killers on the loose. Three weeks ago, the two recently escaped from their cells, killed three guards, and are still at large. There have been accounts around the state that reported recent sightings of either or both criminals, the recent one being in this county 27 hours ago. So, please, stay safe. The killers are identified to be…”

And Shoko, being the curious person she is, asks you a question that stops your fingers from typing on your laptop: “Do you find those killers hot?” 

That’s how you two end up where you are now, groaning at the brunette’s persistence in getting your approval to find two criminals — murderers, even! — attractive. 

“Hey, Y/n, I know you hear me.” Shoko snaps their fingers at you while you try to get the assignment done. “Just answer the question: don’t you think those guys are hot.”

“We didn’t come all this way for you to talk about your hybristophilia fantasies.” Facing the Word document, you remind your friend why you’re here in the first place. “Just get back to writing; I wanna finish this and get home.” There’s nothing said afterward for a few seconds, thinking she has finally given up.

However, “First of all,” your eyes close to conceal them rolling behind the lids. “I’m not into hybristophilia; I just know a hot guy when I see one. Second, look at their mugshots. Like, damn, you’ve ever seen anyone so intimidatingly good-looking before? Come on, have a look!”

“You’re such a weirdo,” the click-clacking of your fingertips tapping your keyboard fills the rest of your answer. 

Still, she persists. “Y/n, look at the phoooone~”

No words, only tapping keys.

“Y/n?”

The keys become louder. 

“Pretty, pretty, pleaseeeee~?” 

Louder.

“Y/n!!”

A fist bangs on the booth table as the other closes the laptop shut, sending another glare to the person across from you who holds the phone up. You’ve had it at this point, so you say with a steady breath, “If I look at the dumb mugshots and answer your dumb question, will your dumbass leave me alone and finish your work?” The brunette only puts the phone on the table and slides it your way, giving you big doe eyes and whimpers like a hurt puppy. You sigh with your nostrils as you snatch the phone up, your gaze stationed on the images presented.

The image displayed two mugshots: on the left was a man with raven hair and a scar on the left of his lip. Intense, forest-green orbs contrast the black strands that cover his forehead. The mugshot letter board below him is labeled as "Toji Fushiguro." The one on the right is another man with spiky salmon-colored hair pushed upfront with prominent black tattoos decorating his nose, cheeks, and forehead. The board named him as “Sukuna Ryōmen.”

You look at the pictures intently, examining the men’s features at your discretion. It didn’t occur to you how long you were gawking at the mugshots until you peered from the phone to see Shoko give you the biggest shit-eating grin. Shaking your head, you chew the inside of your cheek before responding.

“….Well,” you cough. “…they’re not terrible looking at all. They are…..hot.”

“Told you!” Shoko slams the table with high enthusiasm, earning another sigh from you as she snatches the phone back. “Would you fuck them?”

You almost popped a vein. What the fuck—“is wrong with you!?” 

“It’s just a question, geez.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Or is that too lewd and raunchy to ask the partner of the trusting, charismatic “Golden Boy” SGA president, Kento Nanami?”

You choke on your spit before you can say anything, and your cheeks dial in warmth. “S-Shut up! Don’t bring my love life into whatever deviant horny thoughts you’re thinking!”

“I’m sorry, I’m boreeeeeeed. I don’t wanna do this paper, ugh.” The brunette whines and bangs their forehead on the table surface; your eyes roll for the fifteenth time in the past three hours. “…Maybe I should get some dick after this.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to use the restroom.” 

You exit the dining booth when they give you a muffled response of anguish, straightening yourself and heading for the back of the diner. As you walked away, you noticed a pair of hooded figures sitting at the booth behind you. Realization kicks in, and you groan internally. Oh, God, they probably heard what we were talking about! But what caught your mind next was that one of them had a black mark on the bridge of their nose. Huh, what an odd tattoo…

After using the toilet, you wash your hands at the sink, but your mind is still fixated on that weird tattoo. Who would get such a thing on their face? Wouldn’t that hurt? I wonder if that’s the only tatt— And then It clicked, you quickly turn off the faucet and dry your hands, exit the rest restroom, and run to your booth. Shoko was begrudgingly typing away on their laptop until she saw you return in a hurry. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asks you, but you aren’t looking at them. Your face contoured to a confused expression as you stared at the booth behind the one you were sitting in, now empty. 

“Did…..The two people who sat behind us, did you see them?” 

“Hmm? No, I didn’t. Must’ve left while my head was on the table.”

“Uh huh…” you say nothing more as you slowly sit back in front of your laptop. Your mind is now clouded with confusing thoughts, questioning your experience up until now. It could be a coincidence, quite far out at that. Regardless, you could’ve sworn you saw that tattoo on the Sukuna guy that Shoko showed you. It was such an uncommon decor, especially since you just saw it on the face of a criminal. Not to mention, the news anchor earlier stated that those two killers were in this exact county…

Needless to say, you didn’t touch your keyboard for about twenty minutes. Your mind was too wrapped up elsewhere to think clearly about your school assignment, and your body harbored a disturbing chill worse than the soft autumn winds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, why are you researching about the loose killers again?”

“Hm? Oh,” you stop typing on the laptop to attend to the phone call you’re on. Exiting your bedroom, you walk to the living room. “No reason, I was just curious. I saw something about them on the news at the diner with Shoko.”

The person on the other side of the line hums. “You should be careful about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know, Kenty,” you open the sliding door to your balcony and close it behind you before taking a seat on the cream-colored swing chair.

“I’m very serious, Y/n.” It was none other than Kento Nanami who was speaking with you. The trustworthy “Golden Boy” of your class year, the circumspect president of the Student Government Association… your loving and attentive boyfriend.

"I know you are."

"And those guys aren't just any usual criminals. They're notorious killers who barge into people's homes at night to steal valuable things. Maybe even kill their victims in their sleep if they have the time. So, be very careful, okay? Can’t trust these streets at night, especially now with those guys on the run. So, don’t go anywhere alone, always have your pepper spray on you, and be sure everything is locked — doors, windows, everything.”

A deep sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I double-checked all the locks once I got inside.” 

No one says a word; the rustling of the trees and the beeping of cars from the traffic at the light substitute this awkward silence. Until Nanami says, “….You scared?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind flashing back to the bewildering encounter at the diner earlier today. Those two hooded men, one with a black tattoo on his face. It felt too surreal to feel like a coincidence, yet it wasn’t too far out of your mind to think as such. The timing was strange, with the news reporter and your conversation with Shoko. The thought of two murderers nonchalantly being in the same space as you rub you off in the worst way imaginable. “…Kinda, yeah. A bit spooked.”

“You want me to come up there and spend the night?”

“No, no! You don’t have to do that,” you hurriedly decline his proposal. “I know you’re busy with homework and student government stuff. I wouldn’t want you moving around so much; I’d feel bad.”

You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone, and your heart swoons at the sound. “Don’t feel bad; you could never be a burden to me, especially when your safety is my top priority.” Another skip of the beat; it’ll never fail to amaze you how sweet he is with his words.

“Thank you, Kenty. But still, I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. You don’t have to see me right this moment. Besides, isn’t Haibara supposedly dragging you to some party at Geto’s?” Nanami is silent for a few seconds before he groans; a smile creeps up on your face at his reaction.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to leave to pick him up, and then we can go…But I can cancel and come o—“

“Absolutely not.” You’re quick to interject. “You’ve been so high and on edge with your exams. This is the first party after midterm week. And I can bet my left toe that Gojo — cause you know he’ll be there if Geto is — will be upset you couldn’t make it.”

“…….Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have five toes on your left foot, so which one—“

“Kento.” He chuckles once more for your ears to hear at the use of his real name. “Have fun, okay?”

Nanami hums. “I’ll try. I’ll come by your place Sunday. Sounds good?”

“Perfect. Take some pics for me. Love you!”

Your boyfriend bids you farewell before ending the call, already missing his voice. A yawn creeps out from you, a sign that you are indeed fatigued and need rest. Leaving the balcony, you close the door and do a final check at your door. Confirmed that it’s locked and secured, you turn off the living room lights and head back to your bedroom to get some shut-eye. 

You shut off and close your laptop on your desk before turning off the lights. Then, you lift the comforter and finally enter the chilly embrace of your bedsheets.  Usually, you’d scroll on your phone for a little bit until you get drowsy enough to fall asleep. Yet — it could be because of the exam you were doing at the diner — you felt way more exhausted than usual and wanted to sleep right away. And you did just that: closed your eyes, listened to the calming rhythm of your breaths, and soon drifted into an anticipated slumber.

….Three Hours Later….

The next time you open your eyes, you’re not in the room you left yourself in — let alone the bed. 

Instead, you find yourself somewhere cold and dark. Your bed is nowhere in sight, just a lone chair facing you. There are no windows, no desks, just you and this chair with a sole overhead light that almost blinds you when you slowly get up. 

The change of scenery throws you off as one thought after another picks up the pace of confusion. Where am I? What is this place? This has to be a sick dream of mine…Wait a minute. You look down to find your pajamas are shriveled and torn up, pieces of the material scattered all over where you’re lying on the cold floor. Also, what the fuck!? You can’t seem to move your hands and feet, noticing that there’s some rope restricting your limbs from moving freely from one another. No matter how hard you try, squirming does little to no help, yet it confirms that this is not a dream.

What the absolute fuck is going on right now!? It was an appropriate question for this perplexing situation, not knowing where to pick up from to start picking clues as to why you’re here. Better yet, who brought you here?

“Ah, look who’s awake.”

You turn to the sound of a door opening and closing; the direction it came from makes it hard to register the distance of whoever was speaking to you. However, that doesn’t matter because you can hear footsteps approaching you and a figure stepping into the light. And when the face finally comes to your field of vision, your blood shifts into an immediate icy cold.

Standing to you by the chair was a man in a tight black shirt that exhibited his muscular arms and physique way too perfectly, harboring dark and baggy pants. But those weren’t the features that had your breath hitch. No, no. The man before you had raven hair with the length stopped to his ears and strands that covered his brows. They did not even try concealing the striking green eyes that looked straight at you. And the familiar scar at the right of his lip put everything together for you — the mugshot that Shoko showed me, the inmate that escaped prison…!

Toji Fushiguro, in the flesh, takes a seat on the chair with his legs spread while putting on black gloves. He notices your look of realization and smirks; you don’t like how his scar is rooted up with the motion. “Y’re a pretty heavy sleeper, ya know that. But I guess that made bringing you here a lil’ simple.” 

A tiny bit of confidence prompts you to speak with the man. “Whe–Where am I?”

“C’mon now, little girl,” your stomach churns when he scoffs at you. He brings up a hand to help him as he cracks his neck. God, why is he so jacked!!? “Y’re supposed to be smart, right? You know that’s the wrong question to ask me.” 

Okay then, think, Y/n, think… ”…Why did you kidnap me? Is it for money? Because I don’t have much—“ The palm of Toji’s hand faces you to halt you from speaking more, making your nervousness dwell even further. 

“For one, you should really consider locking your balcony door when y’re done using it.” There are not enough words to describe the mental facepalm you gave yourself. “If we wanted to run y’r pockets, we woulda done so earlier.” He casually admits to you. “But that’s not why we brought ya here, so he’ll explain it to ya.”

He? Wait, wait, we??

The other mugshot hits you like a flash before you hear the door open and close again. Of course, Toji isn’t the only one on the run right now. There was another guy with salmon-colored hair and tattoos. The other figure, now wearing a black tank tee and ripped black jeans, came from behind Toji. Your stomach drops to the floor when your eyes land on the prominent black tattoo on his nose — now seeing that he has way more on his face, shoulders, arms, and wrists. The scene from the diner replays until your brain can’t keep up. It was him, no doubt about it.

“Well, well. Did the sleeping beauty finally get their rest?” Sukuna Ryōmen, looks just as [if not more] dangerous as Toji. He stuffs his hand into the back of his jeans pocket. “Listen here, I’ll be asking you some questions, and I expect nothing but honest answers. Got that?” 

You don’t know what possessed you to ask the question. You being scared shitless right now should’ve prevented you from doing so. And yet, you ask, “And if I don’t?”

It happened way too fast; your eyes couldn’t even process it happening. But one moment, the salmon-haired criminal was standing in front of you beside Toji. The next, you feel someone crouched behind you with the cold feeling of something barely piercing your skin. Your eyes widen, and you don’t dare move a single hair. Toji shakes his head at you, the smirk on his face still present. Now you can guess who had fun cutting up your PJs.

“I don’t think you wanna know the answer to that question.” He says it so close to your ear that you could’ve nearly fainted. Sukuna then moves the knife to scrape the side of your neck. “And don’t you ever think you’re in a position to ask me questions. Use that college brain of yours, brat.” 

You gulp — a risky move when you have a sharp object to your neck — and nod. Satisfied, the pink-haired man removes the knife from your proximity and stands right up. “At least you follow things quickly.” He says while walking back to where he stood prior. “Now, question one: do you know a kid named Kento Nanami?” 

The mention of your boyfriend’s name hits you like whiplash. Kento? What do they want with him!?

“…Yes, I do.”

“Good. Next question,” You chew the inside of your lip before he asks you the following. “Where does he live?”

Your body almost shuts down when he says the final word. No. No, no, no! Absolutely not! “I can’t tell you that.”

“Tch, just when you were doin’ so good.” Sukuna sucks his teeth. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want you hurting him.”

He barks a laugh. “You don’t even know what we’ll do to him! Damn, talk about a loyal dog.” 

The insult sparked a flame in you. It was a small one, but a flame nonetheless. “Why the hell do you want to know anyway? It’s not like he knows you any—Hrckk!”

“What the hell did I say about you asking questions, huh.” A hurried hand meets your throat, black nails digging into your skin as his grip gets unbearably tight. You attempt to keep a stern face despite choking for some air, but you’d be lying that the pain wasn’t getting to your head.

“Alright, Kuna, let ‘em go.” You almost forgot about Toji sitting on the chair until he spoke up. With a displeased click of the tongue, Sukuna releases you and throws you to the cold, hard floor. “For your information, princess, that kid does know us.”

You’re coughing up a storm, but you still listen. Your eyes are watery, and your throat pulses. “Hic…Ack, what—What are you talking about?”

Toji continues. “That little friend of y’rs is the reason why we were behind bars for three years. Fuckin’ kid saw us break into a house in his neighborhood and called the cops on us. For the longest time, we’ve thought about getting out of those damn cells and coming back to rip that lil’ fucker limb from limb. Maybe ransack his whole home and then some.” 

“And now that we are out here,” Sukuna chimes in. “We plan on doing just that. We were sitting right behind you at the diner and heard the brown-haired chick say his name, meaning he had to be around this county. And when he heard that fucking square had a little girlfriend, who better to introduce ourselves and point us the way than you.” 

So much information hits you all at once that you’re not given enough time to process it properly. Nanami called the cops on these guys? Where was that piece of information on the phone call!!? Three years ago, it must’ve happened before the start of freshman year. And then there’s the matter of these murders trying to kill him — the love of your life! 

You immediately try to weigh your options: you could give them a fake address, but that would lead them back to you and have you killed instead. And Nanami doesn’t live at home right now; he’s on campus with you and everyone else. So, sharing these two his home address will just have his family killed in his place! Oh, you wouldn’t handle that guilt; you just couldn’t!!

“So, what’ll it be, little girl?” Toji’s voice snaps you from your rampant thoughts. “You can be a cute girlfriend and be loyal, and we’ll just kill you right here, right now. Or, you give us an address, we’ll put you back to sleep, and you’ll never see from us ever again.” 

Those two options were far from what you wanted to do. You would never want to jeopardize your poor boyfriend’s life and those around him for being a model citizen, especially for these assholes! There had to be a way, something you could do!

“Please, don’t hurt him!” The ropes on your hands and feet have you shuffle to look at the two men from the dirty ground. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just spare him!”

“No-can-do, brat.” Sukuna comes down to your level once more, yanking your shirt — or whatever’s left of it, your bra practically out for the whole world to see — to lift your upper body. “Nothing to ease a vengeful spirit than taking care of the problem, right? So do us a favor, will ya.” 

Tears are fighting your control to fall, your body trembling. You’re scared, so so frightened. But most of all, you’ll do what you can to make sure your “golden boy” stands tall for you. “Please, I’ll do anything! Anything you want, I’ll do it! So, please!!” 

Sukuna opens his mouth to bite back, but no words come out. Actually, his expression resorts back to a neutral tone. He then turns to Toji, who looks at him with a quirked brow. There’s nothing but silence between the two, a silent conversation between the two killers that you have no choice but to stay quiet for. And you jerk when the two focus back on you. Sukuna then finally says something.

“Anything, huh?” It’s the worst when he sneers at you. Such a devious man. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Tch. Fucking brat.” Sukuna sucks his teeth before he snatches your chin with a rough vigor, forcing your teary eyes to face him. And it doesn’t help that you now have a gun pointed at your temple. “This is your warning. You better do this right, or you’ll be the first to get a gift with your boyfriend’s head all minced up. Now, use that mouth. Properly.”

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d end up here. You stood on your knees and hands on the concrete floor, your mouth occupied with Sukuna’s cock, propelling your face to and fro to meet the base. Why the handgun to your head? According to the salmon-haired man, he said: “Try to fight, run, or bite our dicks off, then this whole mag is getting emptied.” So, you’re literally giving the fellatio of your life. And judging by the grunts coming from Sukuna, it seems you’re doing a decent job keeping him going. 

As for the other one, Toji, his hands grabbing onto your asscheeks from beneath should answer that. “C’mon, baby, sit on my face. I don’t bite…” you can tell he has the biggest grin on his face saying that, has you hesitant to follow orders. Regardless, you gently sway your ass down to sit on his face. But impatience gets the best of him before he pulls you down himself, his nose abruptly hitting your clitoris. You jolt despite his hands keeping you on him, forced to feel his tongue and mouth indulging on your wet folds.

So there you sit, bare and nude, for the men to use you as they see fit. Whatever piece of your clothes were torn off you to be fully exposed for them. This is what you choose to do for the sake of your boyfriend: giving yourself off for the night. 

Oh, if Shoko could see you now. Sucking off one of the exact murderers you two were talking about at the diner while the other eats you out? You know you’ll never hear the end of it from her if — by some miracle — she finds out! And you’ll hold onto that miracle for as long as you can. 

“…Fuuuck, hnngh! It’s been a minute since I had my dick on something tight,” Sukuna comments while putting his free hand on your head. His thrusts increase to have your tongue bathe the underside of his dick, and he sighs at you choking when the tip suddenly hits your uvula. “Heh, that’s right. Keep those tears coming, pet…You seem to be enjoying yourself there, Fushiguro. This broad taste that fucking good—Ohhh shit, fucking shit…”

You can feel Toji’s lips curve into a smile from down under, he gives your labia and clit a slow and antagonizing lick before responding to his partner in crime. “Mmmm, man. It’s been a while since I had to do this. Crazy how this princess got with a square like that kid. Wonder if he makes ‘em feel good like this.” And then he returns to your clit to give it a harsh suck. 

Your body continues to be used like a toy. Your jaw loosens to oblige Sukuna’s girth that’s currently hitting the back of your throat every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. His ruts dial-up, and you ball your fists with the constant oral abuse on your face. Drool runs down your chin with every shove of his length, practically choking you with his dick. And the commotion between your leaking vulva and Toji doesn’t go unnoticed either; motherfuker’s tongue is relentless, making sure every crevice and part of your pussy is familiar with him. And the sounds of him slurping your essence are so lewd, so erotic for your ears that you think they’re bound to explode on you. 

“—Ahhh, damn, I’m gonna cum,” Oh, God. Your eyes open to look at Sukuna’s expression, nothing but pure enjoyment looking at your pitiful look. “You’re cute looking all pathetic taking my cock like this, whore—Mmmph!! Shiiiit, keep your head like that.” He grabs your head as his thrusts speed up to an irregular pace, your throat and face becoming numb. Your whimpers are muffled, and tears streak down your cheeks. His groans of pleasure fill the room, and before you know it, his load is released down to the depths of your throat. You’re stuck taking it, mewling on the shaft still in your mouth until he’s finished. 

He removes you when he is, his cock slathered in your saliva and still rock hard. You gawk at it, amazed that you could fit it in your mouth. And you hate to admit this, but it has you wondering what Toji’s is like. 

Speaking of, with a foggy mind, you peer down to see Toji finally done eating your cunt out. “Ya taste good, you know that.” He licks his lips provocately with a smile. You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. “You ready fr’ me now?” He cocks his chin up, and you turn to see what he’s talking about, only to be met with the pinkish-red tip of his sprung erect cock. If you didn’t think you’d be able to have Sukuna’s in your mouth, you’re going to need a diety’s grace to see what you can do with Toji’s. “Heh, think I’m too big fr’ you? How the hell is Kento handling a piece like you?”

“S–Shut up, stop bringing him up!” You shout at him, tired of being reminded of the love of your life whom you’re betraying right now. All for his sake, but still…

He chuckles at your reaction. “Little girl got spark, huh. Fine then, be a doll and put it in yourself.” 

Cold sweat slides from your brow. Me? I’ve gotta put that shit in on my own!? But you have to. You know you do. So, with anxiousness pooling in your stomach, you bring your ass up and use your hand to align his cock to your wet cunt. 

It takes a lot of mental motivation for you to continue, but slowly and surely, you push the folds of your cunt onto his glans. The pain you experience makes it excruciating to bear, but with steady breaths, you push the tip in with every exhale. And when it finally enters your vulva, a gasp erupts from your puffy lips and a hiss from the man with the scarred lip. “Mmmm, slow down, baby, slow it down…” That was probably the only words he’s ever said that you could trust, so you anchor your ass down, taking in every inch of his length with his hands guiding your ass down. When you reach the base, you give yourself a few seconds to adjust to his girth within your velvety walls. “Fuck, ya feel so nice and tight, princess.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna walks from behind. “Can’t wait for me to have a go.” You couldn’t even comprehend the meaning of that sentence because the salmon-haired one kicked your back. You are now mounted on Toji completely, the two of you facing each other while Sukuna crouches behind your ass. “Get ready, I’m putting it in.”

“Huh?” Wait, both at the same time!? “Ho–Hold on, I’ve never done it in my ass bef—“

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me; guess I’ll be the first then,” he shuts down your argument and then bends down to use his fingers and spit to ease your asshole. It feels so gross and repulsive that you could puke right now. Not that it would matter to Sukuna because he’s already set on doing it — his fore and middle finger pushing in and out of your anus. When he feels you’ve loosened up, he’ll remove his digits and substitute them with his cock. 

And he doesn’t warn you either, fucking bastard; he nudges his dick in his own countdown with no regard to how you’re feeling. Gripping onto the raven-haired man’s black shirt, Sukuna’s cock puts you through pain worth traumatizing, evoking screams that scratch your throat until he gets the whole thing in your ass. Nanami would never put you through this much pain. Never!

“Aww, y’re making the pretty girl cry,” Toji teases condescendingly, chuckling at the sight of you burying your head in his chest to shield the embarrassment. 

Sukuna hums while grinding his hips to your ass, a tiny bit of blood painting his shaft. “Hmph, good, makes my enjoyment worthwhile. Now,” you shriek with the sudden snap of his hips to your ass. “Let’s get this show started.”

When Sukuna moves, Toji follows right after, and you’re left to fend for yourself in this unsteady tempo from both your holes. You start seeing stars from the unusual stimulation, and your mind and vision become so blurry that it hurts to think. Hell, it hurts to try and concentrate on one dick at a time! One is currently scraping the wells of your walls in a way that your slit clenches around him, while the other churns your insides from the back that almost takes your breath away. More drool and tears seep into the black shirt you use to disguise yourself from them. This shit is already humiliating as is!

“C’mon now, baby. Show me that pretty face of y’rs.” Of course, Toji uses one hand to nudge your head to look at him. Your face is such a wet and hot mess, the sweat on your body making you sticky. The attempt to make sentences is beyond you, relying on moans and choked sobs to express your disorganized emotions. “There ya are. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Toji then takes your plump lips with his, his hand snaking to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. It was one thing letting them use your cunt and ass as they see fit; now, they dare to kiss you in a time like this. Oh, this is the absolute worst! How can you speak to Nanami ever again after this!? These lips are now sullied by the lips and cock of other men. You can’t ever go back and say that you were his, and it’s because of these assholes!!

…And what’s worse, you were starting to find enjoyment in what you were doing, sinking into Toji’s kiss and moaning into his scarred lips.

“Haahh…Mmmph…Damn, this slut is so fucking tight.” Sukuna watches your back glisten in the light while your ass quaked under his unstable momentum. He sneers before slapping your asscheek, resulting in a rushed moan and a twitch from your pussy. Toji breaks the kiss. “Hey, keep doing that. Think they like it.” 

With devilish glee, the tattooed other doesn’t hold back. He gives you another smack to the ass, and more loud purrs and shrieks fill the space between you three. Fast ruts to your soaping slit and ass coincide with the strikes to your butt, catching you off guard and leaving a stinging sensation every time. 

It’s apparent now that your hips start to move on their own, riding out your own high while preparing for your orgasm that’s climbing up. And the raven-haired man notices as he puts your hand on your aching buttcheeks. “Goin somewhere, dollface?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me come already!! “—Ahhnn, ooohhhh!! I’m about to cummm—I’m gonna break—Eeyahhh!!!

“That so?” You want to wipe that smirk off his stupid, dumb, handsome face. “Then go ahead and get dirty, princess. Ring us up.”

Your arousal staggers up when both of their thrusts fall into a unity, the tender spots of your gummy walls from your ass and cunt being hit and abused prompt more ecstatic moans and your head pounding with every jab. Almost there, almost! Please, please, I want it!! And you are finally given what you want; your release crashes into you in a hard swoop, the shocks crawling up your body while your holes contract around both men’s cocks. Your brain falls into an erotic trance; you only care about the euphoric sensations tingling around your body. Dizziness overtakes you, and your head descends back on Toji’s chest.

“Hmph, you really a pathetic pet.” Sukuna grinds his pelvis into your sensitive ass. The aftershocks from your release still make your body react to their movements. “Chasing for your own orgasm, huh. We outta fuck that selfishness right out of you, damn brat…”

You don’t say anything — more like you don’t have the energy to. Your ass and chasm are too stuffed to keep your mind active, and your eyelids feel too heavy to keep up. It probably was from all that crying and screaming. All you want to do is go back to sleep in your bed at your cozy apartment. But that must be asking for too much. Just please end this nightmare…

Kenty…Please forgive me, I’m so sorry….

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You can’t remember how sleep found you that night. But your eyes open to the ray of sunshine that peaks through the binds of your bedroom. Wait, my bedroom!?

You shoot up from your bed, the soft comforter and sheets peeling off your skin, and the cool air from the air conditioning welcomes you back to your personal space. Everything untouched, everything where it’s supposed to be — where you’re supposed to be.

A deep breath is the first thing you do when you wake up, following a long exhale. Was I dreaming? You would’ve accepted that delusion had you not looked down to realize that your figure was covered with one of your oversized shirts, remembering that your old pajamas were cut and torn up. Flashes of last night return to haunt you, and shivers travel down your spine from realizing what transpired at those ungodly hours. You quickly check your sheets for any stains — Thank God, none. Funny how a pair of serial killing assholes have the decency to clean up your body. 

And then a sudden feeling of dread crawls up after hearing your phone vibrating on your nightstand. You hurry to check the screen to find out it was a text message from Nanami. It’s a Saturday, 9 a.m. He’d usually be sleeping in until noon. Curious, you unlock your phone to check what your boyfriend is texting you about.

Recent Message from: ♡ my bby nanamiii ♡

Hey, Y/n. Hope you slept well and everything’s okay. I’m coming from Geto’s place after picking up Haibara, who is going through the worst hangover right now. He said he wants to see you and that you make the best meals for his hangovers. I don’t want to intrude if you’re not up for guests, so please tell me so I can take him somewhere else. But otherwise, we’ll be there at around 30-45 mins. Let’s just relax this weekend, okay?

Reading the text as you fall in love with him all over again. After what you’ve gone through, knowing that he’s safe and sound from any trouble, all you want right now is to be around him and hold him close. To be with him and forget about everything that’s happened. 

You send a heartwarming reply saying you’ll be waiting for the two of them. Then, you remove yourself from the bed and stretch out your fatigued muscles. Ugh, I should probably shower before Nananmi gets here…

However, before you lift your shirt and head for the bathroom, you notice a glass of water and a bag full of pills. Huh…I definitely didn’t have that there when I went to sleep before I was taken. And next to the glass was a folded piece of paper. Curiosity got the best of you this morning as you picked up the material to read its contents. 

And this is where you knew your life was changing, for better or worse. Your legs give out, making you fall to your knees with a shaky breath, the hairs of your body standing, and your heart on the verge of leaping out of your mouth. What you read crushed your whole being, leaving you cold in this world — worse than the autumn breeze.

Yo, thanks for the great time last night. Keep that up, and your pretty boytoy will keep standing. Here’s water and birth control, and keep that bag safe. Wouldn’t wanna end up losing it for the next time we fuck you dumb. See ya later, pet.

SR + TF

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly <3 header art by rororgi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!

[thewulf]

Forever Yours || Paul Lahote

Summary: Request -Okay so reader is Bella's (fraternal) twin sissy. She moved to Forks with Bella and the whole first book happens WITHOUT her knowing what's going on. She's just as in the dark as Charlie is..... Read Rest Here

A/N: LOVED THIS. LOVE TWILIGHT. Keep them coming!! Thank you for the requests as always!

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Swan Sister Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

TW: Possessiveness

You and your sister, Bella, had always gotten along well even being so different. She was the shy twin who always stood behind you. You on the other hand always fought Bella’s battles because she needed it, that’s what sisters were for. The two of you weren’t identical, and your personalities could not have been more different. Yet, at the end of the day, she was the person you knew would always understand you. She was your best friend and confidant. So, when she proposed moving back in with Charlie you followed along with her.

Things changed when the two of you moved to Forks and not in a way you liked. She began distancing herself from you after she met Edward. Instead of coming home and gossiping about your respective days she started going to the Cullen’s house. She stopped telling you things. She became protective and oh so secretive over her boyfriend. You confided in Charlie more than you could ever expect. You hung out with Jessica and Angela more than you would’ve ever dreamed. Still, you looked after your sister. She was the shy one who fell hard and fast. For whatever reason you just couldn’t seem to trust Edward. When she finally let the two of you meet he was just off and you couldn’t seem to pinpoint what it was.

It wasn't until the departure of Edward Cullen, leaving Bella desolate and shattered, that the mysterious shroud enveloping your lives began to unravel at a rapid pace. As Bella struggled to navigate through the abyss of heartbreak, you tried your hardest to be the strength that she needed. But it often felt like you were failing her. Like nothing you could say would offset any of the heartbreak she was feeling. And you were angry. Angry at the stupid family that decided to vanish without a trace. For even though Edward seemed off he seemed like he truly was deeply in love with your sister.

Your only saving grace was your old friend Jacob. He found a way to bring your shattered twin back to the surface of the water she was struggling to swim in. The three of you spent so many nights together doing everything and nothing at the same time. Laughing till your faces were blue and finding the human connection she so desperately needed. You could never thank him enough for bringing back your sister you had lost for so many months.

But even that wasn’t enough for him to leave. When Jacob withdrew from both of your lives you became the sad twin. It was Bella who became angry like you were so many months prior. Bella forced you in the truck one afternoon claiming she had a bone to pick with the second boy who abandoned her in so many months. You had no desire to see the boy, but Bella demanded you come with her.

You watched as she pounded on the door of his home only to be met with nothing. You waited in the truck as Bella noticed Sam and his pack off to the side of Jacob’s home. Her footsteps treaded the path towards Sam and his pack, heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. It was only when you saw her physically push Sam, the leader of the tribe, did you bolt out of the car trying to catch your sister from doing anything too drastic.

"Bella, stop!" you cried out, your voice tinged with desperation as you rushed forward. Your heart was hammering desperately in your chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you as you reached out towards Bella, hoping to stop the impending confrontation.

But it was too late. Bella's palm has already met one of the dark-haired boys cheeks with a sharp crack, the sound reverberating through the trees. You watch in dismay as the man’s expression darkened. His features contorted with fury, a primal growl rumbling in his chest that even startled you. The forest seemed to hold its breath as the world became silent at what the next move of the man could possibly be. You gulped feeling the tension thick in the air.

And then in the midst of the events that were unfolding you looked to the men in front of you looking at each of them one by one before your eyes finally met the one who had just been slapped. His gaze locked onto yours, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the tumult that surrounded you. In that instant, everything seemed to crystallize, the world narrowing down to just the two of you even with all the people surrounding you.

Timed seemed to slow to an utter crawl. The world around you faded into insignificance as your attention was locked in on the man. A sharp gasp came from you as you continued staring right at him. It was a feeling you had never experienced in this lifetime. Something you could never have expected. He too couldn’t seem to break his gaze away from yours. In that fleeting instant, everything seems to shift. The air crackled with anticipation, the forest holding its breath as the weight of the moment bears down upon you. It's as if the universe itself has paused, allowing you and Paul to exist in a suspended state of existence, isolated from the disorder that rages beyond the confines of your shared gaze.

As the boy who captured your heart and soul with just a single look staggered backwards, a whirlwind of emotions courses through his mind each feeling vying for dominance over the others. Anger, once burning bright within him, now dissipates like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind a hollow sense of bewilderment and wonder. His chest heaves with the effort of controlling the torrent of feelings threatening to overwhelm him. He had felt every single emotion. Saw every single emotion. You were her. You were his imprint. Only Sam had been so lucky to have found his person. And now he did. And he didn’t even know her name nor you his.

To your surprise you felt your feet moving forward as he dropped to his knees on the forest floor. Pauk was acutely aware of the weight of this moment. He had to wonder what you were feeling. You too were locked in on his own eyes, yet you could have no idea what was going on and how chaotic your seemingly normal life was about to get. But amidst the heaviness of the moment, there is something else—a glimmer of hope, a spark of possibility that ignites within him like a flame in the darkness. For in your eyes, he sees not just a reflection of his own turmoil, but also a flicker of understanding, a shared recognition of the bond that now binds the two of you together.

"What... what just happened?" Bella's voice wavers, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looks between you and the man she just slapped. But you have no answers to offer, you were just as confused as she was. While Bella's voice wavers with disbelief, her eyes dart between you and the surrounding men, searching for answers amidst the bewildering scene.

Embry, who had been standing nearby with Sam, catches your eye with a knowing smirk, a hint of understanding dancing in his gaze. He stepped forward, as if he's seen this scenario play out before. "Looks like we've got ourselves an imprint," Embry remarks, his voice tinged with amusement as he addresses Sam, who watches the unfolding scene with a composed yet cautious demeanor.

Sam nods in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable as he assesses the situation before him. His eyes shifted between you and Paul with a measured intensity, as if gauging the depth of the bond that now connects you.

Meanwhile, the boy you had originally came to see, Jacob, came sprinting out of the house that he had just ignored Bella from. His expression a mix of surprise and concern as he takes in the scene before him. His eyes narrow as they settle on Paul, a flicker of protectiveness crossing his features before he turns to you, his look softening with understanding in your utter confusion. Yet in all that was happening so fast you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from this man. He had captured your mind, body, and soul all within a single look.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Jacob asks, his voice gentle yet tinged with worry as he approaches, his footsteps echoing against the damp grass.

You finally tore your gaze away from Paul somehow, your heart racing as you meet Jacob's concerned gaze. Despite the frenzy that surrounds you, his presence offers a sense of comfort, a reminder of the unwavering support that has always been there for you, negating the two weeks he had decided to ignore you for.

"I don't know what happened," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that flowed through you so unexpectedly. "But I feel... different."

Bella's eyes widen in disbelief, her mind racing to comprehend the incomprehensible. But amidst the uncertainty that envelops you all, one thing remains clear—the ties that bind you to Paul, are unbreakable, defying logic and reason with an undeniable force.

"Jacob," Sam's voice cuts through the silence, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of urgency. "Take them to Emily's. We need to talk." He motions towards Paul who was still on his knees before you.

Jacob nods in acknowledgment, his gaze flickering between you, Paul, and Sam, a silent understanding passing between them. He moves forward, his hand reaching out to gently guide you away from Paul, his touch reassuring in the confusion that surrounds you.

"Come on, Y/N, Bella," Jacob murmurs softly, "Let's go."

As Jacob reaches out to guide you away from Paul, a low, guttural growl rumbles deep within Paul's chest just as it had earlier after Bella has slapped him. His possessiveness flaring in the face of Jacob's touch. His eyes narrow, a primal instinct driving him to protect what he now considers his own.

"Hands off my girl," Paul's voice is low, but the irritated edge to it is unmistakable as he stands to takes a step towards you. His eyes never left yours. The intensity of his declaration sends a shiver down your spine, his unwavering stare holding you in a trance.

But Sam, ever the voice of reason among the sea of emotions, steps forward with a measured stride. His expression unwavering as he addresses Paul with a firm yet understanding tone. “Paul, calm down," Sam's voice carries authority, tempered with a hint of empathy as he meets Paul's frustration head-on. "We need to talk, separately. She will be just fine with Jacob."

Paul's protest is immediate, his feelings for you overwhelmingly strong. "No, she's not going anywhere without me," he insists, his voice tinged with desperation as he takes a defiant step forward, his resolve unyielding.

But Sam's gaze holds steady, his alpha like authority asserting itself in the face of Paul's defiance. "Paul, stand down," he commands, his voice brooking no argument as he meets Paul's gaze with unwavering determination. Paul winces but gives into Sam’s demands, though the reluctance is evident in the tension that lingers in his frame. His eyes remain locked on you, a silent promise of protection and devotion burning brightly within their depths.

While Jacob leads you away from Paul you can't help but feel torn between the conflicting desires that rage within you. Part of you longs to stay by Paul's side, to bask in the warmth of his unwavering love. While another part recognizes the need for clarity and understanding in the sheer confusion that threatens to consume you. And as you and Bella follow Jacob through the dense undergrowth of the forest you can't shake the feeling of Paul's presence lingering at the edges of your consciousness, a constant reminder of the inexplicable bond that now defines your existence.

Jacob guides you and Bella through a trail in the forest, a heavy silence hangs in the air, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Sensing the need to break the tension, Jacob takes a deep breath before breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Look, I need to tell you both something," Jacob begins, his voice cautious yet resolute. "But it's going to sound... well, it's going to sound crazy."

You and Bella exchange a puzzled glance, the weight of Jacob's words settling uneasily in the pit of your stomachs. You've both sensed that there's more to the Quileute tribe than meets the eye, but the truth remains shrouded in mystery.

Jacob takes a moment to gather his thoughts before coming out with it. "The thing is... we're not exactly... normal," he admits, his words halting as he struggles to find the right way to explain the inexplicable. "We're... werewolves."

The revelation hangs in the air like a heavy fog, enveloping you and Bella in a cloud of disbelief. For a moment, neither of you can find the words to respond, the enormity of Jacob's confession leaving you speechless. "Werewolves?" Bella's voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with shock as she looks to Jacob for confirmation.

Jacob nods solemnly, his expression grave as he meets Bella's gaze. "Yes. And there's something else. Something called imprinting."

You nodded along, “That’s what the one guy just said. We’ve got ourselves an imprint? What is that?” You asked pressing him further.

Jacob smiled knowing that your life was going to change, hopefully for the better. "It's when a wolf finds their soulmate. Their other half. The one person they're meant to be with for the rest of their lives." Bella's brow furrows in confusion, her mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what Jacob is telling her. But you, on the other hand, feel a strange sense of recognition stir within you, a faint echo of the inexplicable connection you felt with Paul.

As Bella sighs with uncertainty, Jacob senses the weight of her confusion and seeks to provide clarity. "And... and what does that have to do with what happened back there?" Bella asks, her voice laden with hesitance as she gestures back in the direction of Paul and the pack.

Jacob's gaze flickers towards you, a silent acknowledgment passing between you as he prepares to reveal the truth. "It means that... Paul imprinted on you, Y/N," he explains gently, his eyes filled with compassion as he meets your bewildered gaze. "He's your soulmate."

“Paul.” You whispered his name out loud for the first time. Paul, your soulmate. Your heart skips a beat at the revelation, the words sinking in slowly as you struggle to comprehend the enormity of what Jacob is saying. Soulmates? It's a concept you never thought you'd entertain, let alone experience firsthand.

"Soulmate?" Bella's voice echoes your thoughts, her eyes widening in astonishment as she turns to you for confirmation.

You nod slowly, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in. "I... I don't understand it all," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the implications of Jacob's words as the three of you walked through the forest to what you assumed to be Emily’s place, whomever that was.

Jacob offers you a reassuring smile, his expression filled with understanding. "It's okay, Y/N. I know it's a lot to take in," he says softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "An imprint is... it's like finding your other half. Your perfect match. And for Paul, that's you."

Bella's eyes widen in realization, her mind racing to process the revelation. "So... he's bound to her? Like... forever?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she seeks to grasp the intricacies of the imprinting process.

Jacob nods solemnly. "Yeah. It's a permanent bond," he explains, his tone heavy with the weight of the truth. "But it doesn't have to be romantic. It can be... it can be like a best friend too. Someone who's always there for you, no matter what."

The realization washes over you like a tidal wave, the enormity of the situation sinking in as you come to terms with the truth of Paul's imprint. It's a bond that transcends the boundaries of time and space, forging a connection between two souls that can never be broken.

And as you walked surrounded by the whispering of the trees and the steady presence of Jacob by your side, you find yourself beginning to accept the truth of your newfound destiny. The road ahead may be filled with uncertainty, but with the unwavering support of your sister and the friendship of Jacob, you know that you'll face whatever challenges may come your way head-on.

As you, Bella, and Jacob step into Emily's cozy kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked muffins envelops you, a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Emily's warm smile greets Jacob, her eyes alight with joy as she rushes forward to embrace him.

"Jacob, it's been too long!" Emily exclaims, her voice filled with genuine affection as she pulls back to look at him.

Jacob returns her embrace, offering a sheepish grin. "I know, Em. It's good to see you," he replies warmly.

Emily's gaze then shifts to you and Bella, her smile widening as she takes in your presence. "And who do we have here?" she asks, her tone friendly and inviting.

Jacob gestures towards you and Bella. "Emily, this is Y/N and Bella Swan," he introduces, a sense of pride evident in his voice. "They're new to town, and we thought I'd bring them by to meet you." He spoke referencing the pack as a whole. It was intriguing watching him operate now that you knew why he up and disappeared on you those weeks ago.

Emily's eyes widen with recognition as she looks at Bella. "Ah, the Swan sisters! Charlie's girls. I’ve heard a lot about you two," she remarks with a knowing nod. Then her gaze shifts to Bella, and her expression changes to one of surprise. "And you're the vampire girl, aren't you?"

Your heart nearly stops at Emily's words, the revelation hitting you like a sudden jolt. Vampire girl? You exchange a bewildered glance with Bella, who looks equally taken aback. Edward was a vampire? What next… mermaids?

"What? Bella? Vampires?" you stammer, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you struggle to comprehend Emily's words.

Bella's face turns crimson, her embarrassment palpable as she shoots you an apologetic glance. Her eyes told you that she would explain it all later. "Emily, I'm so sorry," she begins, her voice tinged with mortification. "Y/N, this is... um... kind of a long story."

As the truth about vampires and the supernatural world of Forks begins to unfold, you can't help but feel overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. But amidst the confusion and embarrassment, there's a sense of shared understanding that together you'll navigate the challenges that lie ahead. As the conversation continues in Emily's kitchen, laughter and chatter filling the air, the sound of approaching footsteps draws your attention. Sam, Paul, and Embry enter the room, their expressions relaxed and jovial as they exchange banter with Jacob.

"Hey, look who decided to join the party!" Jacob teases, a playful grin spreading across his face as he greets his packmates.

Sam chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Couldn't stay away, could we?" he retorts, a hint of mischief in his voice as he exchanges friendly jabs with Jacob.

Paul's gaze finds yours amidst the commotion, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Y/N," he says, his voice gentle yet earnest as he steps forward, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of emotion that leaves you breathless.

"Paul," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze, a rush of anticipation coursing through you at the prospect of speaking with him alone.

Sensing the unspoken tension between you and Paul, Jacob steps forward with a knowing smile. "I'll leave you two to get to know each other," he says, his tone light yet meaningful as he gives you a subtle nod of encouragement.

As Jacob and the others retreat away from the kitchen to give you and Paul some privacy, you find yourselves alone in the midst of Emily's bustling kitchen. The air crackles with anticipation as Paul takes a step closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that sets your heart racing. "Y/N, I wanted to talk to you," Paul begins, his voice soft yet filled with determination as he gathers his thoughts. "About what happened earlier. About us. If that’s okay with you."

You swallow hard, the weight of Paul's words hanging heavy in the air as you search for the right response. "Paul, I... I don't even know where to begin," you admit, your voice trembling with uncertainty as you struggle to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm you completely.

But Paul reaches out, his hand finding yours with a gentle touch that sends a shiver down your spine. "We'll figure it out together, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you. I promise you that."

As you stand there, enveloped in the warmth of Paul's presence, a soft blush tinges your cheeks as you struggle to find the right words to express the swirl of emotions coursing through you. Your heart races with anticipation, your thoughts a jumble of uncertainty and longing. "This is all a lot," you murmur softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze with a shy smile. "But it's a good thing you're so... so handsome." You weren’t sure where that surge of confidence came from, maybe it was the bond. But even you couldn’t deny the sheer beauty of the man that stood before you. You feel a rush of exhilaration mixed with nervousness, unsure of how Paul will respond to your flirty compliment.

Paul's expression shifts, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Is that your way of saying you think I'm cute, Y/N?" he teases, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, a playful glint in your eyes as you meet his gaze. "Maybe," you reply coyly, a hint of flirtatiousness creeping into your tone as you lean in closer to him. "You'll just have to stick around to find out."

As a smirk tugs at the corners of Paul's lips, his gaze intensifies, locking onto yours with a magnetic pull that leaves you breathless. You feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins as he leans in even closer, the air crackling with electricity between you.

"Oh, I intend to, pretty girl" Paul murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers ripping through your body. His words are filled with promise, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he closes the distance between you, his breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you worry about that.”

A soft gasp escapes your lips as Paul's hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending waves of warmth cascading through you. Your heart pounds in your chest as his lips brush against yours in a tantalizing whisper, a feather-light caress that ignites a fire deep within your soul.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N Swan," Paul whispers against your lips, his voice filled with sincerity and admiration. "I can't help but be drawn to you. I’m forever yours pretty girl."

The sweetness of his words sends your heart soaring, a rush of euphoria washing over you as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of his affection. In that moment, all doubts and fears melt away, leaving only the undeniable connection between you and Paul, a bond forged in the flames of desire and longing. And as you surrender to the irresistible pull of his embrace, you can't help but feel a sense of bliss wash over you. With Paul by your side, you know that the journey ahead will be filled with laughter, passion, and endless moments of pure, unadulterated love.

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[coralinnii]

‧₊˚✧ Welcome to the Family‧₊˚✧ 

↳ Getting Culture Shock from Your Friendly Family

feat: Sebek ❋ Silver ❋ Malleus genre: fluff, note: no pronouns were used for reader, established relationships, TWST characters’ age are canon-accurate (so no underage drinking), 

So... I sort of misinterpreted a request and there's just too much to change so I'm gonna have to redraft an entire writing post. But, I felt like it'd be a waste to delete this so I hope you enjoy this random plot.

The culture shock hit the fae the moment your boisterous family opened the doors with bright smiles and excited cheers. 

“You must be Sebek! Come in, come in!” 

Word must have spread because not only your parents, but Sebek ended up being introduced to your aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, grand-aunts and uncles who were visiting your parents that day. Apparently, your extended family tree was ‘coincidentally’ in the area and wanted to drop by to see the man you brought home. 

A simple lunch plan became an all-out buffet with your family pulling out the extra chairs and plates. Sebek insisted on helping with the heavy lifting which your parents adamantly refused. 

“A guest doesn’t do anything!” “That’s right, just relax and have a drink!” 

“Dad, he’s 16.” 

Sebek was in slight awe of the power your human family possessed, not really physical power but rather their charismatic aura that he couldn’t fight against. Sebek came from a good home as well, but this feeling of intimacy and acceptance from a group of humans that owes him no such hospitality is new to him.

It was as if he was reduced to a pampered child and any responsibility or obligation, he had was taken off his shoulders. 

Once the table was set, Sebek’s vision was overcome by a whirlwind of hands, utensils, and food. Without lifting a finger, the green-haired guest had a mountain of food piled up on his large plate. It was a cuisine unlike the Briar Valley’s food he was familiar with, but the aroma was too tempting to ignore. 

The house was full of loud chatter and laughter that brought a sense of homely warmth to Sebek.

Sebek came from a good home as well, but this feeling of intimacy and acceptance from a group of humans that owes him no such hospitality is new to him.

This feeling of being swept away by your family was… strange but not unpleasant.

"So, how are you keeping up with my family?” You cheekily questioned the tall young man, finally alone as the two of you hid in the sanctuary that was your bedroom. 

After lunch, the little ones in the family were taking advantage of your boyfriend’s trained body as they climbed and swung on him like a jungle gym. Of course, you trusted Sebek as he kept his stance and never once did he drop or falter while the children played to their heart’s content. 

“Hmph, as if a bunch of humans could ever be a challenge for a knight such as myself.” Sebek huffed with all his bravado, but you see the gel in his hair slightly wearing off from sweat. 

You smiled regardless. “That’s good, then. I’m honestly surprised that you're so good with kids.” 

The green-haired man smirked with confidence. “Of course, I would not be so easily taken down by such a puny number of opponents.” 

“Please don’t call my cousins your opponents.” 

Sebek straightened his back as he puffed up his chest. “I am personally impressed that your family are not deterred by me, since not many can handle someone of proud fae blood such as myself!” 

You hummed humorously at him. You knew behind those arrogant words, you knew that he was actually nervous about your family being put off by him, be it for his heritage or his abrasive personality. You even swore that his hair seemed a little more gelled up than usual, hoping to look good in front of your family. 

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around Sebek’s broad shoulders, with Sebek instinctively stiffening from your touch. “My family loves you because they can see what I see. Who do you think raised me?” 

Sebek relaxed and turned his head to meet your eyes. His softened eyes reflected in yours as his hidden worries dissipated from your words. 

Both of you felt a mutual pull towards each other, lips leaning ever close to touch- 

Knock Knock 

Sebek well nearly flung you to the other side of your room in panic, his face burning with embarrassment while your face expressed more shock and a little indignation. 

“Mom and auntie said there’s snacks, so come down.” A tiny carefree voice came through the door before footsteps walking away followed after. 

Maybe Sebek was right. Your cousins were opponents, indeed. 

The moment you and Silver step foot into your family home, you weren’t sure who’s the guest and who’s the actual family member anymore. 

Silver was pulled to the center of the sofa with your family crowding him, cooing and praising the handsome man. 

“Such soft hair, you take good care of yourself!” 

“Not only that, you have a strong body too. You must eat well, that’s good.” 

He’s not your boyfriend, he’s our future son-in-law

Silver is fairly used to this kind of energy thanks to a certain easygoing fae but he does internally heave a sigh of relief that your family seem welcoming of him. Being a human from a primarily fae kingdom, he wasn’t sure how he would come across to other humans.

If you ever worry about the potential gawkers Silver would attract with his good looks and personality, imagine that…but with your very own blood-bonded family. 

You and your family had to suppress your bubbling laughter as you watched your little siblings' eyes sparkle at the prince-like young man you brought home. They quickly latched onto the confused knight-in-training, chubby hands either gripping the leg of his pants or raised up high asking for a hug.

“Should I up my game so I won’t lose my only boyfriend?” 

You finally couldn’t stop yourself from laughing when said boyfriend asserted with such a convicted expression that he would never stray from you. 

Finally, you and Silver had a moment to yourself…or at least one as close as you can get while your little siblings run amok at the park nearby. While the adults were cooking up a storm back home, the children wanted to play outside which led you and your boyfriend on babysitting duty. 

“So…” you started the conversation while the two of you leisurely sat under the shade of a hefty tree. “How are you feeling? I know my family can get a little…much.” 

“They remind me of Father in many ways.” Even with some drowsiness in his voice, Silver replied without hesitation. “It was almost like being in a room with multiple versions of him.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

The fair man looked over to the park where your siblings were yelling and running without a care in a world. He knew they could feel so carefree because they have you watching over them and have a whole room full of people waiting for them with a warm, hearty meal. 

Never alone, never unloved. A big, joyful family.

And these loving people readily welcomed him, a child with mysterious origins and an unfamiliar upbringing. Silver didn't want to come off as unapproachable or disrespectful due to his quiet demeanor, but your family was unaffected in the least and accepted him with open arms.

Silver smiled at you like a man blessed by the heavens. “It’s wonderful. I never thought my life could feel even brighter and warmer than it already is.” 

You smiled back, warmth filling your heart after hearing the man you love equally cherishing the people precious to you.

Perhaps Silver’s sleepiness has rubbed off on you as you felt compelled to rest your head on his side, with Silver immediately laying his head atop of yours.

“Next time, let’s invite Lilia too.” A quick look of panic was shared between you two. “He’s not allowed in the kitchen, though.” 

“Agreed.” 

Malleus, a being of pure fae blood, was the most clueless of what to expect at a human gathering which led to a multitude of questions regarding human customs. It was rather adorable to watch this imposing figure pace back and forth over the most minor of concerns. 

“What is the customary gift to offer your family as a greeting?” 

“I don’t know, wanna try gold bars? Haha…wait Malleus don’t actually-!” 

After calming your boyfriend's nerves, the two of you finally reached your home where your family were excitedly waiting for you and the man you brought.

Of course your family is impressed by the magnificent figure that was Malleus and the inhuman features that the fae worried over were instead adored and admired. 

“His horns look strong but shiny, so sleek.” 

“Such a tall, handsome man! A little skinny, but very healthy and that’s what matters.” 

Mayhap, this lack of fear of yours is an inherited trait.  

Soon, compliments turned to gifts as your family bombarded Malleus (and by extension you, I guess) with things around the house that they think kids your age would like. Free prizes they’ve won, treats the family bought too many of, presents given by other relatives or friends…everything was suddenly in his hands and lap. 

It was almost entertaining watching your boyfriend, who could literally acquire any materialistic goods he could want for, get overwhelmed by all the gifts and trinkets that he could barely carry in his arms.

“Just be grateful, Malleus. At least they hadn’t given shopping bags filled with those dried fruit snacks you mentioned were good yet.”

A sense of calm and peace finally came over your household. Well, your family’s version of calm at least, which is everyone sitting around the living room, chatting while watching a melodrama with that attractive actor your grandmother likes. 

Imagine the confusion and slight concern on Malleus’s face as your mother tried to explain the plot of the whole series. 

“Is he not aware of how his mother is treating his paramour? How can he let this be?” 

“Malleus sweetie, he’s been in the hospital this whole time because of that car accident with his half-brother. That’s why the mother is trying to get rid of the girl before he wakes!” 

You chuckled at the scene of your sweet boyfriend giving his full attention to your mother’s passionate venting, but a pang of anxiety pricked you. 

Your family can be quite boisterous and forward, even by typical human family standards. You never wanted to pry into Malleus’s personal life but you can’t imagine any noble fae behaving like your family do. You are by no means embarrassed by your family, but you’d hate the idea that Malleus was feeling uncomfortable but far too courteous to speak out.

Gently, you called Malleus’s attention with a subtle touch atop his hand. When he turned to you, you motioned him to lean down to whisper into his ear. “If we get too loud, you can excuse yourself. I can cover for you.” 

Malleus felt aghast by your words. Was he giving off any signs of dissatisfaction? That was not his intention at all. 

Yes, your family is unlike most families the young fae heir have encountered. In fact, they are unlike most people he has encountered in general. No one would be brave enough to crowd him so freely, to pull one of the strongest mages of their time around to their whim. 

In contrast to the large, silent halls of his throne room in his castle, Malleus found himself nearly squished into a couch with someone at every direction while chatter filled this comparatively small home. 

How delightful this has been for him to be a part of this lovely family.

Hoping to convey his sincerest thoughts, Malleus encompasses your hand in his, whispering softly to you. 

“I’m enjoying myself, truly.” 

Your mother suddenly perked up, looking away from her phone she was typing away on. “Oh, honey! My friend group is planning on a road trip to this cute retreat. Would you and Malleus want to join us?” 

“Are you…inviting me?” 

If Malleus’s tail was visible right now, do you think you’d see it wagging excitedly?

[leaderwonim]

THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!” you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly—your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

[yourlocaltoad]

Artwork of the cards from Skylanders: Battlecast (Skylanders: Battlecast, 2016) (pt30)

[poguehearted77]

Oh, Baby!

Summary-> Today is Rafe's birthday and you're determined to throw him the best surprise party before the baby comes in a few days.

☆Some more content from the baby steps couple☆

It was a warm summer night, the kind where the air hummed softly with the songs of crickets and a gentle breeze whispered through the trees. The streets were quiet as you and Rafe drove home, the headlights illuminating the road ahead. The stars sparkled in the clear sky above, but they paled in comparison to the anticipation bubbling in your chest.

“I just wish you’d checked to see that the restaurant had space before we came all the way here,” Rafe sighed, his grip firm on the wheel. He glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. You’d already called the restaurant weeks ago and knew they were fully booked. That was the whole point. You needed an excuse to get Rafe dressed up in the nicest clothes the two of you could find without him getting suspicious. It was his birthday, after all, and you wanted tonight to be perfect.

"It was supposed to be one of our final nights together with just the two of us," you murmured, playing your part with feigned disappointment. Your hand rested on the swell of your nine-months-pregnant belly.

The truth was, you’d been planning this for the past month—tirelessly working around Rafe’s attentive nature to keep it a secret. He knew you too well, always noticing the slightest change in your demeanour, and you had to put on the performance of your life.

If he’d caught wind of what you were up to, he’d have put a stop to it immediately. Rafe would’ve thrown a fit if he knew you were doing all this while so close to your due date.

When the two of you finally pulled into the driveway of your generously sized home, Rafe parked the car and came around to your side to help you out, as always. He offered his hand, his protectiveness shining through, and you accepted with a grateful smile.

He makes a teasing remark about your slight waddle, "She's comin' any day now isn't she?" You sigh, "I hope so, but she seems to be getting comfortable." Your eyes glimmer as you watch Rafe unlock the front door. But as soon as the door opened, the quiet night erupted into shouts of “Surprise!”

Rafe’s jaw dropped slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you saw genuine shock in his eyes. The foyer was filled with friends and family, grinning and clapping, balloons crowding the ceiling.

Rafe blinked, then broke into a wide grin, pointing at you. “I knew you were up to something,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

You laughed, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, his other hand gently resting over your baby bump. “Happy birthday,” you whispered, feeling his lips press to your temple in gratitude.

You led everyone through the house to the backyard, and that’s when the real surprise hit. The backyard was transformed into a magical wonderland of twinkling fairy lights strung overhead, long tables set with glowing candles, and cozy seating arranged perfectly under the night sky. It was breathtaking.

Rafe took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping across the setup, a mix of awe and emotion crossing his face. “Wow,” he said softly, looking down at you before his expression morphed into one of concern. “Please tell me you didn't set this up, Y/n.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. “Calm down, I made John B and Topper do it,” you admitted with a cheeky grin. Rafe let out a short laugh, his brows raising. “John B and Topper? Together? Without killing each other?”

“Barely,” you teased. “I supervised, don’t worry.”

He was about to respond when a small voice broke through the chatter. “Happy birthday, Uncle Rafe!”

A little whirlwind of blonde curls and bright eyes ran toward him—it was three-year-old JJ in a white frilly dress. Rafe crouched down and scooped her up with ease, laughing as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he said, tossing her gently in the air.

As you watched him, surrounded by loved ones, holding little JJ close, and smiling brighter than you’d seen in a while, you felt the weight of your efforts melt away. It was all worth it. This was a night you’d both remember forever.

Maybe you'd be lucky to erase the forming memory of the radiating pain that coursed through your abdomen. You found yourself fisting the hand towels in the guest bathroom after your bladder incontinence had caught up to you during the middle of Rafe's speech.

God, what did you eat today? Your stomach had been hurting ever since you came back from the restaurant even though you never ate there. Sometimes you get a break, other times there's a sharp reminder shooting through you. Of course, you considered the possibility of contractions but you denied it.

There was no way in hell you were letting this baby come out on Rafe's birthday.

There's a knock on the door. "Just a second--!" Your voice is hoarse, the words coming out through clenched teeth. "Y/n? It's Sarah." With a deep breath, you reach for the door, revealing the pleasant face of your sister-in-law.

"Is everything okay? Rafe is looking for you." You nod, "Yep, everything's--" Another one. Your jaw clenches and your eyes close, doing your best to focus on the conversation at hand. By the time your eyes opened, Sarah was sliding past you into the bathroom.

"Why's the floor all wet.." Her eyes slowly trail from the wet tiles back up to you where you were still gripping the towel in your right palm. Oblivious to the gears grinding in her mind. "Oh shit." You shake your head over and over, immediately shutting the door on you both.

"Sarah, No. No! You can't tell anyone. It's Rafe's birthday." She couldn't believe what she was hearing, her brows furrowed, "Are you joking? You're in labour! You have to tell him and you have to get to the hospital like now."

"No, Please! Just give me 20 minutes, then I'll go." She couldn't believe she was actually considering it but the sheer look of desperation in your eyes convinced her.

"Fine, and not one second more or I'll deliver your baby myself." She threatens with a smile but she's a Cameron, she means every word. "I love you!" You whistle as you head upstairs to change into a different dress and meet everyone back outside.

"Baby, where did you go for so long? What's with the outfit change?" Your eyes are briefly distracted by the servers gracefully floating around the yard with the requested entrées. "O-oh, I started to feel a little hot in the other one--so," There's a contraction, not as bad as some of the others but you're able to suppress it and blame it on thirst.

"Here," He gets you a glass of water and helps you into your chair on the side of his at the head of the table. As if you'd forgotten the itinerary of the party you planned yourself, you're almost startled when the slide show of nearly all the images you could find of Rafe throughout the years is displayed on the projector.

He turns in his seat to glance at you, "You did not," It was all too much for him. You're the woman of his dreams, going above and beyond to show him how much he means to you and this was just a small example of proof.

The slideshow is touching, cute, and funny when the images of baby Rafe covered in pasta pop up. Once it's over John B suggests you say a few words. Kelce and his childish antics start a chant "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Your eyes roll, and with a minor struggle, you rise to your feet, Rafe standing beside you.

"Thank you all for coming, and helping me celebrate Rafe's 25th--" Oh boy, this was a big one, your mouth falls open in a silent cry and your right hand claws into the meat of Rafe's upper arm, it's so tight that he leans into it and his face contorts with discomfort and worry.

The electronic music is still playing softly in the background as all eyes are on you. "Y/n, Y/n, Are you--" Your lip is caught between your teeth bearing down with the pain, nodding aggressively. "We're having the baby!?" He panics but a huge smile is etched onto his features. "We're having the baby." You confirm and he hugs you.

The table is filled with cheers and glasses clinking together. "Go! Go!" Sarah shouts, and you both spring into action. At least Rafe does, he nearly leaves you behind with all the nerves running through his system.

Helping you back inside the house before he runs up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time, quickly coming down with the baby bag you'd both prepared weeks ago.

The next hour is a blur, one second you're standing in your living room waiting for Rafe to bring down your things, and suddenly you're in a backless hospital gown being strapped into the hospital bed, hooked up like a computer.

There are IVs, heart monitors, and everything else you could identify from your binge sessions of Grey's Anatomy.

“Mrs. Cameron?” A voice cut through the haze as the door opened. The doctor entered, glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. Her calm expression faltered as she scanned the notes. “Oh, wow,” she muttered under her breath before looking up at you.

“Is... is everything okay?” you asked nervously, gripping the bed’s railing as you shot a glance at Rafe, who was perched anxiously at your bedside.

“Everything’s fine,” the doctor assured you quickly, though her tone carried a note of disbelief. “But I have to say—I’m a little shocked at how far along you are.”

Your stomach dropped. “Far along? What do you mean?”

“You’re already at nine centimetres,” the doctor explained, flipping another page on her clipboard. “You’re practically ready to push.” That is not what you wanted to hear.

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait—nine? That fast? But I barely knew I was in labour until a few hours ago!” Rafe glances at you in agreement before doing a double take. "A few hours? I thought you just found out at dinner?"

"I knew since we left the restaurant." You coyly admit, and his eyes practically bulge from their sockets. "That was hours ago! Why didn't you tell me?" He seemed almost hurt but his concern overtook it.

"Because it's your birthday, I didn't want the baby to steal your day." He leans up, his gaze softening at your words. "Oh baby, I'd be so lucky to share my birthday with her." His words fall on deaf ears and you pout, eyes glancing at the clock.

10:47

"Well, Mrs. Cameron. It's almost time to start pushing, we're going to transfer you to the delivery room." Everything happened so quickly. Your gaze can hardly focus on anything in the halls as you are pushed past them.

There's one familiar sensation that remained an unchanged variable throughout the whole process. The reassuring hold of Rafe's hand with yours. No matter what, he held on.

When you squeezed his hand so tight with every laborious push. "You're doing good, just a few more pushes and she'll be crowning." Your body throws itself back, defeated. Eyes heavy and your hair sticking to your forehead as you wept.

"I can't, I can't do it. I'm sorry." Rafe's eyes turn mournful, wishing he could take on this pain for you. "Hey, hey. None of that. You're a Cameron now. We get shit done, and you're doing it. You're doing so well, baby. Just keep going, and I'll be right here with you, okay? I love you." He gently moves the hairs sticking to your forehead, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. His words give you the strength to keep going.

"Give us another big push in three, two, one-" Your throat is ripped raw from the pained shouts, but it was so worth it. It’s not long before you finally welcomed your baby girl into the world, at 12:01am.

"She's perfect," Rafe says, in awe of his newborn daughter who's delicately swaddled in those hospital blankets at peace in your hold. She looked up at you with her glassy eyes, lips moving in ways that Rafe could swear were a tribute to you.

"I can't believe she came out of me," It's an untraditional thing for one to say after giving birth but it's how you felt. You were still in disbelief at the whole process. From the day you looked at those two lines on that pregnancy test in St. Tropaz, to the gender reveal on the beach all the way to this very moment.

"You did amazing," Rafe reassures you and only a few moments pass where you enjoy the peace of the new reality of your tiny family. There's a soft knock on the door, and Sarah's head pops in awaiting clearance to be let in.

"Come in," You giggle, so excited to introduce her to her aunt, uncle and cousin. John B's face is overcome with shock and Sarah's with glee while JJ focuses on what she wants.

"Oh my god, she's so precious." Sarah beams as she peers over to get a closer look, and you offer her up into her aunt's hold. "What's her name?" John B is the first to ask, and Rafe grins down at you. "Say hello to, Melody Ava Cameron."

Sarah's eyes immediately misted over, she'd been told about the pleasant encounter you both had at the beach with a very lively toddler, but you knew that wasn't the name that touched her the most. "Melody? You named her after mom?" Rafe nods, a tear slipping from his eye as well.

You knew how much she meant to both of them before she passed, you couldn't think of a better name. Rafe places an arm around his sister as they both admire the baby.

"It's a perfect name, I love it. Congratulations."

[jaythes1mp]

Here, Kitty.

Yan batfam x cat hybrid reader -> CH2

14925 words, 84394 characters, 792 sentences, 338 paragraphs, 59.7 pages. Previous chapter -> Next Chapter

As you come back to consciousness, you find yourself nestled comfortably on a luxurious cat bed that feels almost too extravagant to be real. The surroundings are lavish and comfortable, the room itself enormous, with almost too much space to take in all at once.

You're not sure where you are, but one thing you know for certain – is that it is definitely not your apartment.

You push yourself up from the plush bed, your paws sinking into the decadent fabric as you take a moment to survey your surroundings. The room is a mix of modern and traditional, with a hint of something distinctly Wayne Manor-esque. The furnishings are plush and expensive, and the entire room is immaculate, every surface spotlessly clean.

You can see a large window at the far end of the room, offering a view of Gotham City’s skyline. 

You take another moment to look around, taking everything in as you process your new surroundings. It seems you're in a large living room of sorts, furnished with rich, high-end furniture and expensive-looking decor. Tall bookshelves line the walls, filled with all manner of books and trinkets. The most striking feature, however, is the excessive number of cat trees and wall climbers scattered throughout the room.

Confusion overtakes you for a moment, your mind still fuzzy from sleep as you try to figure out what the hell happened to lead you here.

As you shift up, adjusting your position on the plush bed, a small, bell-like sound rings through the air. In that moment, the memories flood back to you all at once. Nightwing, Robin, the strange collar.

The sudden, restrictive feeling around your neck is a stark reminder of your current predicament.

As the memories come flooding back to you, you instinctively try to raise a paw to rub at the collar around your neck, only to find that it's fastened on tight, the hooks holding it in place digging into your fur. Your movements are still a little sluggish from your previous unconscious state, making you feel more vulnerable than usual, trapped, in a place you don’t recognise.

As your gaze drifts downwards, you suddenly notice the subtle aching in your leg and near the base of your spine. Upon a more thorough inspection, you realise that there are small, almost imperceptible stitches in your fur, between the muscles on your left thigh. Panic rises within you, the realisation that something has been done to your body sending a wave of nausea through you, making you feel sick to your very core.

The fear washes over you in full force as you register the sight of the stitches on your body. It's not just the knowledge that someone has tampered with your body, but the thought that you were unconscious and vulnerable when it happened. Your heart races with a sickening anxiety, the fear coursing through you making your senses hyper-aware.

You quickly scramble up from the cat bed, your body a whirlwind of motion, you leap off the plush fabric, landing on the soft, carpeted floor with a thump. Your body is tense, nerves on edge, as you instinctively try to take in your surroundings. Your pupils have narrowed into slits, tail whipping around wildly, betraying your anxiety.

You start moving across the room, treading softly on the plush carpet beneath your paws, every muscle in your body tense and poised, ready to flee or fight at a moment's notice. Prepared for any surprise.

As you move through the room with tentative, calculated steps, your mind is on high-alert, taking in every single detail. From the placement of the furniture, to the large window at the far end, to the faint sound of a clock ticking on the wall, everything registers in your heightened senses.

There's a strange sense of being both trapped and exposed, in this grand space that is simultaneously familiar and foreign. The uncertainty of what might come next hangs over you like a dark cloud.

You go completely still, your fur standing on end, your ears perking up and shifting in the direction of the hallway. Your entire body tenses in anticipation as you listen to the loud, precise footsteps approaching you.

Every instinct in you screams danger, so you quickly ready yourself to either flee or fight.

A tall, slender butler emerges from the hallway, his pale blue eyes scanning the room before his gaze lands on your bristled, tense form. A single grey eyebrow raises slightly in surprise as he continues to look at you.

"You're up earlier than planned, young master," he remarks, his voice calm and even. A hint of curiosity laced within his tone.

The butler's casual demeanour is a stark contrast to the tenseness of your own body. His eyes linger on you with a sort of cool curiosity, taking in your fluffed up form. He looks unfazed by your reaction, his calm composure making it feel like this is a completely normal, everyday occurrence.

Your heart races as the words sink in, your mind racing with confused fear. What the fuck. Why is he calling me 'young master'? Where the hell am I, and what the hell is happening.

The situation feels entirely surreal, and more than a little bit terrifying. You just want to go back to the safety and familiarity of your own home, but instead you're here, trapped in this lavish living room, with a strange butler calling you by some title you've never  even dreamed of being addressed by before.

The butler watches you closely, his cool blue eyes scanning over every little detail of your tense form, noting your bristled fur, your tail that's whipping around wildly, and the panicked look in your wide, dilated eyes. A hint of intrigue flashes through his expression as he takes in your state.

Then, he speaks again, his calm and steady voice betraying his thoughts.

"It seems the sedative is wearing off a little faster than expected," he says, taking a few steps closer to you. His voice sends a new wave of unease through you.

The calm, casual vibe the butler is giving off, coupled with the little almost-smile on his face, makes your already overdriven senses go into a frenzy. Every fibre of your being is screaming danger, and you instinctively take a step back, hackles raised further, your body tensed and ready to bolt.

Your fear and panic have heightened every one of your senses, and you're on edge, ready to react to any sudden movement or sound. You're poised to run, or if need be, fight. You try to keep your breathing steady, but the anxiety is bubbling up inside of you, making it difficult to stay still.

The butler's observant gaze is on you, studying your every move as you take a step back, your body tense in a flight-ready stance. He notices the panic etched into your form, and for a moment, he doesn't approach. Instead, he stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his form composed and relaxed.

After a brief pause, he speaks up again, his voice soft and apologetic.

"I apologise for the state you woke up in," he says, that almost imperceptible smile still playing on his lips.

The man’s apology catches you off guard, a tiny flicker of surprise in your wide, dilated eyes. The politeness of his tone combined with that smile makes him seem almost eerily calm, given the situation you're currently in. Even though his words are apologetic, there's a subtle undercurrent of something else in his tone that you can't quite place.

The older man continues to watch you, his cool, observant gaze tracking every little movement you make, from the twitching of your whiskers to the rise and fall of your fluffy chest as your anxiety makes your breaths a little more laboured.

He takes a few steps closer toward you, his movements slow and deliberate. He's treating you like a wild beast, trying not to startle you further.

"It was necessary for the procedure to ensure your safe arrival, young master," he continues, his voice still soft but firm. It's as if he's trying to reassure you, despite the fact that his words do nothing but the opposite.

You shiver as the butler moves closer to you, your body tensing even further as you try to assess the potential threat he may pose. The apology and the explanation for your current state do little to ease the fear and confusion swirling within you. The dubbed name young master is foreign and bizarre and does nothing to help the situation.

You're on edge, your muscles coiled tight like a spring, ready to dart away the moment you sense any danger. But the butler isn't making any sudden moves, his calm demeanour and soft, even tone sending a confusing message.

The butler's eyes are observant, taking in every single twitch and jerk of your tensed body. He seems to recognise your anxiety, your coiled form ready to dart away given the opportunity. Yet he isn't visibly phased, his composed demeanour and soft, almost soothing voice unfazed by your obvious distress.

He takes another slow step toward you, his movements deliberate and careful.

"I understand your fear and confusion," he repeats, as if he was trying to reason with a frightened animal. Which in this case, wouldn’t be entirely wrong. However, beneath the soft, reassuring tone of his voice, there's still something else present, something you can't quite identify. “But you have nothing to be afraid of here.”

You swear that you could hear a hint of warning in his carefully crafted speech.

He's close enough now to reach out a pale hand toward you, his fingers outstretched. From this angle, the butler seems considerably taller, more imposing, and more dangerous than he appeared before, his gaze calm and calculating.

The tension in the room is palpable, and the clock on the wall seems to be the only other source of sound, beating in tune with your fast, panicked heart. He is entirely calm, his gaze cool and calculating, studying you carefully, like a hunter watching its prey.

"Come here, young master." He says in that soft, smooth, insistent tone.

You feel frozen in place, your mind racing with panic and despair. The options before you seem limited, the need to flee battling against the growing realisation that escape might not be a feasible option, especially with the butler's hand inching closer. Your body trembles slightly, your wide, alarmed eyes fixated on his approaching hand, the subtle threat underlying his words making it clear that the consequences of running away might be dire.

His voice, though soft and controlled, leaves no room for debate or refusal. The command in his words is clear.

He expects you to come to him.

You feel as if time stands still, your fear and tension making everything around you seem heightened, as if every fibre of your body was hyper-aware. The butler's hand is still gently moving closer, as if he was simply going to reach out and scoop you up, as if he had done it a thousand times before.

Your mind is swirling with fear and confusion, your thoughts chaotic and jumbled. You can't think clearly, and yet the old man exudes an air that somehow compels your trembling little paws to move forward, into his extended hand. Your every instinct is screaming at you that this man is dangerous, that getting any closer is a bad idea, but the mixture of fear, feeling of dizziness, and the authoritative atmosphere around him seems to overpower your logic. You don’t want to find out what would happen if you went against him.

A subtle victorious smile plays on the corner of the butler's lips as you begin to move forward, stepping into the range of his hand. He can practically feel your internal conflict and fear, and yet he shows no visible sign of it bothering him. His eyes remain steadfast, his expression and demeanour calm and composed.

"That's it," he murmurs, a hint of satisfaction in his tone, his hand closing around your small form, carefully but firmly holding you in his grasp, just tight enough to keep you from bolting.

You find yourself held against the butler's chest as he carefully lifts you off the ground, cradling you against him, his hold on you surprisingly gentle yet unyielding. The warmth of his body against your small form is an odd, almost confusing contrast to the fear and confusion you're currently feeling.

He begins walking across the living room, carrying you as if he was holding a fine piece of art. Every one of your senses is on high-alert, and you can feel the steady, calm beat of the butler's heart against your small form.

His steps are sure and controlled, his pace steady. He says nothing, his eyes looking ahead as he carries you through the lavish living room. Every step he takes seems to bring more and more confusion, the whole scene seeming like some sort of surreal fever dream.

The living room is large and open, with high ceilings and several plush couches and armchairs arranged around a grand, stone fireplace. The rich decor, the tall bookshelves, and the numerous cat trees and climbing structures give the room a distinct 'manor' vibe.

Everything in the room seems to scream 'wealth' and 'luxury', the opulence of Wayne Manor perfectly represented in this single, large room.

Despite the grandeur of the room, the butler's attention seems to be solely on you, his eyes focused on your small form he's cradling.

He speaks up, his tone is matter-of-fact and business-like, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "Master Dick has requested your immediate presence.” He speaks softly, as if his words would clear everything up. You don't know who this Master Dick is, but the urgency in the butler's voice tells you that it's probably someone important.

His words linger in your mind like a heavy weight. You have no idea who they are, but the way the butler addresses them and the air that surrounds him leaves no room for doubt that the person is someone important, someone powerful.

He walks out of the living room, and a wave of cold, stark realisation washes over you, a sense of hopelessness that comes with the knowledge that you have absolutely no say in this. You are at these people’s mercy.

The halls of the manor that you find yourself in are long and wide, the floor carpeted and the walls lined with expensive and elaborate paintings and decorations. The place itself is beautiful, but you're unable to appreciate any of it, your mind racing and your heart beating rapidly. A fuzzy feeling basked over the back of your mind.

The butler carries you down the halls, his steps long and unhurried, making you acutely aware of how small and helpless you are in this unknown, vast, and intimidating place.

As you're brought through the seemingly endless halls, your mind is bombarded with a barrage of thoughts, all of them chaotic and confused. You try to look for a way to escape, but everything here is unknown and unfamiliar, and you have no idea which doors might lead outside, or if there are any windows you might be able to jump out of.

Your small form cradled almost carefully against his chest, his grip strong and unyielding. There's a sense of detachment with which he carries you, handling you like an object, a thing to be used and given.

The halls continue to pass by in a blur of rich colours and patterns, the only sounds being the steady thud of the butler's footsteps and your ragged, stressed breathing.

After what feels like an eternity, the man stops his movements. You find yourself standing before a large, grand-looking door, it's dark wood carved with elaborate designs and patterns. It looks like it’s been freshly cleaned, as if it used to home someone and they’ve only now started using it again. The door radiates a sense of importance, and you feel the pit of your stomach clench in fear.

He adjusts his grip on you, positioning you to be more presentable as he reaches with one hand to knock three times on the door. He looks down at you, a slight flicker of something in his eyes, and then he waits.

Your ears involuntarily fold back upon hearing the heavy, fast footsteps approaching. The door is practically wrenched open with a thud, and a tall male stands in the doorway. He’s grinning widely, his eyes almost shimmering in the light, and his gaze immediately settles on you.

The man’s presence is imposing, and you feel yourself involuntarily shrinking back against the butler, not knowing what to expect. He looks at you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, his grin widening as he takes in your small form.

The man who stands before you is tall, and broad-shouldered. He's dressed in casual wear, a light, well-fitted hoodie stretched over his wide chest tucked into dark jeans. His face holds an almost boyish charm, framed by dark, wild hair that tumbles over his forehead.

His eyes are a bright, intense blue, and right now they're fixed directly on you. There's a hint of both curiosity and amusement in his gaze as he looks you over.

His demeanour changes almost instantly at the sight of you, his intense gaze softens as he takes you from the older man’s grasp by the scruff. He holds you up in the air, and you don't even have time to react before he's speaking.

"There's our baby." He coos, and there's a hint of something affectionate in his tone. The nickname baby is weird and confusing, but the man acts as if it's something perfectly normal. You’re not sure how to act. Everything’s happening too fast and you’re barely able to think, mind still hazed with sleep.

He doesn’t hold you forcefully, his grip not harsh but not soft either. You can almost feel the possessiveness in the touch, the way he looks at you, the sense of almost casual possessiveness. It’s like he believes that he has every right to be touching you, holding you, like you belonged to him. As if you were something he owned.

"Look at you…" he murmurs, his eyes taking in your form as he holds you up. "So pretty in person…"

There's a sense of satisfaction in his tone, as if you're better than what he had expected, and he's pleased by what he sees.

You can’t stop yourself from the deep, guttering hiss that escapes you as the man speaks, a mixture of fear, irritation and helplessness rolling through you. You hate how vulnerable you feel in his grasp, being held up in the air by this stranger, unable to break free.

The man chuckles, the sound loud and booming to your sensitive ears.

"Aww…" he coos. "I’m sorry, am I frightening you, little one?”

He holds you up to his eye-level, observing you with an amused yet soft grin, his eyes dancing with both curiosity and something else.

Your tail instinctively lashes around, thrashing in the air, trying to find a way to defend yourself, to break free of the strangers grip. But your body is slacking, the instinct to go limp when a predator has your scruff almost overpowering.

The position you’re in is uncomfortable and vulnerable and you’ve never been handled like this before. You’re finding it hard to move your limbs, breathing fast and overwhelmingly stressed. The helplessness of being carried like this is overwhelming. You want to scream and cry and run as far and fast as possible.

But you don’t. You forcibly stop yourself from letting the helplessness get to you. You refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared, of seeing you so exposed.

I’m better than that, you tell yourself. Better than them. You’re stronger than that. You might be small right now, but you’re also stubborn as hell, and you’ll be damned if they get the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

He studies you intently, his eyes taking in every little detail of your form, from the twitching of your ears to the frantic movement of your tail. He’s still holding you up, his hold on your scruff not slacking in the slightest. His gaze fond and amused.

He lets out another small, amused chuckle at your reaction, his lips tugged into a small smile. “Don’t worry, kitten. You’re safe with me..”

His attention shifts back to the other man for a moment, giving him a nod of thanks. “Thanks, Alfred.”

The older man, Alfred apparently, gives him a small nod, his gaze is still set on you. "Of course, sir.” A slight frown on his face as he looks at the man holding you, Master Dick apparently, a mix of concern and knowing in his eyes. “Be careful. The sedative is still in their system.” The man gives a small hum in response, seemingly not bothered by the warning.

Alfred lingers there for a moment, looking at you, then looking at the man, a silent exchange between the two of them. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks away, disappearing back down the hallway.

"Alfred is a worrier," The man mutters as he watches the butler walk away. He gives you a small, almost sheepish smile. "Sorry ‘bout that."

He turns back to you and continues scanning your form, his gaze thoughtful and curious. He speaks to you like one might speak to a child. Softly and reassuringly.

"You’re adorable, you know that?" he says, voice low and quiet. "Such a pretty little thing..”

He looks over you with an almost adoring look in his eyes, his thumb gently stroking the fur on the top of your head. You want to recoil from his touch, but you’re unable to do anything but stay paralysed in his grasp.

He seems to find your lack of reaction amusing.

"Not very talkative, huh?" he murmurs, tilting his head slightly to the side, watching your expression closely. "That’s alright. You don’t have to be."

He continues caressing your small form with his free hand, the stroking gentle and almost caring. His eyes flicker down to your ears and he grins. “You’re just a ball of attitude, aren’t you?” he notes, amusement in his tone. “The way your ears fold back every time I talk. So defensive.. Seems my youngest siblings are similar in that respect” He grins softly, pressing a kiss to your fluffy coat.

You freeze up, caught off guard by the unexpected and strange gesture. For a moment you’re too surprised to react, your body going limp before stiffening quickly again.

Your mind is reeling, trying to process this unexpected level of intimacy, from a complete stranger, no less. What the hell is up with this guy? He’s acting like I’m a pet. The thought is both angering and demeaning, you watch him with a mix of confusion and wariness in your eyes.

He brings you close to his chest, cradling your small form against him. His fingers run through your soft fur in a way that almost tickles, the feeling making your skin crawl a bit. The doors close behind him with an audible snap, the sound a little too loud to your sensitive ears.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the ridiculous amounts of cat-related objects that are placed everywhere. Drawers filled with little outfits, toys littered around, cat cushions, scratch pads, catnip balls stuck to the walls, and more. You almost grimace at the sight.

The room is a cat’s dream, filled to the brim with cat toys and decorations. A large, king-size bed dominates the centre of the room, covered with different patterns of soft blankets, a pile of various pillows and cushions scattered around it. It’s like a cat paradise, and an absolute nightmare for you.

The man carries you further in, taking a seat on the bed and making himself comfortable. He continues to hold you close, rubbing the nape of your neck, his touch too soft. Like he was silently apologising for handling your scruff so roughly.

He plops down on the bed unceremoniously, the springs creaking under his weight. He adjusts his hold on you to make you more comfortable, his grip a bit more lax now, but still firm enough to keep you pressed against him.

His eyes run over your form, looking you up and down, like he’s mentally checking you over. He’s studying me. He takes in every little detail. Every twitch of your ear, every lash of your tail, the way you instinctively hunch in on yourself. “... Damian’s not going to be happy with the state of your fur, little one..”

He reaches out to pet you, not expecting the swift response as you quickly smack his hand away, your claws drawing lines of bright red across the back of his hand.

He jerks backwards, yowling softly, his expression going momentarily shocked as he looks at the deep thin red lines across his skin.

He stares at you for a moment, surprised and probably pained, but also...almost impressed?

"That hurt you know..” he grumbles, more amused than mad.

"...But that’s okay. Siblings fight all the time." He mutters, still looking at his hand, the long red lines standing out against his tan skin. He sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to you.

His gaze then moves to look at you, and his expression is mildly entertained. He gives you a small teasing smile.

"Just wait until the others find out how feral you are. They'll have a field day with you.." The way he speaks is as if he’s joking, but his words make your fur stand on edge. He’s calling any person's natural reaction to getting kidnapped feral.

As you replay his words in your head you freeze. Others? You repeat in your mind, a sickening feeling settling in your gut. Just how many of them are there?

He seems to notice your reaction to his words, noticing your stiffened form and the look of dread on your face. He gives a small hum, his fingers running through your fur gently, a look of feigned innocence on his face.

"Is something wrong?" he asks softly, his tone almost patronising. He keeps his voice gentle, like a big brother speaking to his smaller child sibling.

"Did the mention of our siblings scare you?"

He continues to run his fingers through your fur as he talks, his tone still soft. "I'm sure you'll come to love them.. They're a bit rough around the edges, but they're good kids. Once they warm up to you, that is. And you, lovely, are already in their good graces.” He’s doing it again, speaking to you like you’re a dimwitted animal, something cute and small and incapable of understanding him. It’s demeaning and agitating. It makes me feel pathetic.

Tim's sitting on the kitchen chair, his feet propped up on the marble counter, leaning back casually. His attention was focused on the tablet in his hand. Or at least it was, too occupied with secretly watching as Damian meticulously rearranged the fridge, his brother moving items around to ‘make it look perfect’ for his older sibling’s new arrival.

Tim lets out a soft sigh. Of course. His little brother is almost as obsessive about organisation as Batman himself. He’s not surprised, more amused.

Damian looks over in Tim’s direction for a moment, his eyes catching the sight of Tim’s feet on the table. He rolls his eyes, a small scoff of displeasure escaping him.

"Feet off the table, Drake." Damian says dryly, his focus returning to the fridge and its contents.

"Oh relax, Dames. The table's clean." Tim counters, his tone almost mocking. He knows it annoys Damian to no end, calling him by the childish nickname.

He props his chin up on his hand, watching as his younger brother systematically re-arranges everything in the fridge, his movements quick and precise.

He hums softly, his gaze shifting downward for a moment, before he raises a brow. “Looks like the kitty’s awake.”

His eyes flick over to the live feed on the tablet, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk as he sees you. You look uncomfortable and wary, bristled and defensive. The sight causes him to let out a small amused huff of air.

Damian pauses mid-action, a container of fluffy cooked rice held in his hands. He turns to face Tim, a curious look in his green eyes. "Give me the tablet," he demands, holding out his hand expectantly.

Tim raises an eyebrow sceptically, "Why? You wanna spy on em?" He teases.

Damian huffs, crossing his arms in irritation, "I don't spy. I observe." He scoffs.

Tim just rolls his eyes, but relents, handing over the tablet. "Fine. But don't do anything stupid, Demon."

Damian glares at the nickname, but grabs the tablet from Tim's hands without comment. Looking down at the screen, watching the feed intently, his expression contemplative as he observes you. His gaze is sharp and calculating. Scanning over every detail, noticing the way you look around the room, the way you hunch nervously, your ears pinned back and swivelling as you listen for movement.

He tilts his head slightly, studying your form with intense concentration, taking in every little detail. "How long have they been awake?" he asks, not looking away from the screen.

Tim leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table again and folding his arms across his chest. He glances at his watch, thinking for a moment.

"Five, ten minutes, I think." Tim responds, leaning back against the chair. He watches as Damian's expression shifts thoughtfully as he studies the screen. Drake can't help but feel a pang of curiosity as well, but he keeps it in check.

There's a beat of silence as Damian continues to watch you, his expression thoughtful. Tim can practically see the wheels turning in his younger brother’s head.

"Hasn’t tried to bolt yet..” Damian notes, his voice quiet as he watches you, studying your movements. “That's... interesting.”

Tim lets out a hum, watching as Damian's expression becomes almost intrigued, like he's analysing your every move.

Silence settles over the room again, only the sound of the open fridges soft buzzing filling the air. Tim notices the way Damian's expression darkens a bit. "They look scared." He mutters, almost disappointed by the observation.

Tim raises an eyebrow at Damian’s observation, watching as the younger Robin frowns a bit.

"They’re probably terrified, to be fair. Would you not be scared, if someone kidnapped you?” Tim points out, his tone a bit sarcastic.

Damian scowls, a small pout forming on his face, the expression making him seem childish.

“I’d be angry, first and foremost.” He counters, his hands clenching slightly. “Not scared.”

He turns back to the fridge, placing the container in its rightful spot. He steps back, taking a moment to observe his work with a critical eye, before glancing back at Tim over his shoulder.

“And we haven’t kidnapped them. We’ve simply brought our little kitten home." He corrects, his tone matter of fact. Like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

Tim just groans exasperatedly, dropping his head forward against the table. He shakes his head in disbelief, rubbing his hand down his face.

"You say it like it's the most normal thing in the world." He mumbles into the table top, his voice slightly muffled.

Damian rolls his eyes, like Tim’s comment is beyond unnecessary and ridiculous.

"It is normal." He says, like he’s explaining something obvious to an idiot.

Tim lifts his head from the table, giving Damian a withering glare. "Abducting people is not normal, Dames." He sighs.

Damian huffs, returning Tim's glare with an equally intense one. "It is to us." He counters, his voice hard and unsympathetic.

Tim just stares at him for a moment. "And that doesn't strike you as concerning at all? The fact that kidnapping is so normal to us?"

Damian’s entire expression hardens, his features going from annoyed to cold and stoic in a matter of seconds. He pivots back to face Tim, his gaze steely and icy.

“Are you implying,” he begins, his voice low and dangerous, “that we return our sibling to the filth they were wallowing in?”

Tim's expression drops, a scowl pulling at his features. "I would never joke about that." He says firmly, his voice taking on a dark edge. "They're ours."

He then turns his attention back to the tablet, watching the screen intently. "I'm simply stating the fact that abduction isn't exactly the most common practice, not that I would ever dream of letting them go."

Damian hums in agreement, his expression still stoic, but his eyes flicker with a possessive light. He watches the tablet as well, the look in his eyes almost wild.

Tim notices the look in the younger boy’s eyes, and he lets out a small huff. "Calm down, Dames." He mutters, his voice a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Damian simply rolls his eyes, "I am calm." He says dryly, but his eyes never leave the screen, his gaze fixed on your form. He raises a brow as Alfred approaches you over the cams.

Tim just rolls his eyes at Damian's response, not fully believing him. 

As the elderly butler steps closer, the tension in your form becomes almost visibly apparent. You stiffen, your body going rigid, ears pinned back against your head, tail bristling like a pincushion.

Damian watches intently, his gaze fixed on the live feed, eyebrows pinching together in something close to disappointment.

“Look at them. They’re terrified by Pennyworth.” He says, his voice low and frustrated.

Tim glances over at Damian, seeing the disapproving look on his face, and smirks a bit. “Of course they are. They don’t know that he’s harmless.”

Damian huffs, his irritation growing. "It’s not about being harmless or not. They should just know that they don’t have anything to fear here."

He keeps his gaze fixed on the screen, his expression one of annoyance and annoyance at your clear fear of the elderly butler, the way you’re bristling like a porcupine. His brows pinching even further at the state of your fur. A disapproving scowl crossing his features.

“Not everyone is like us, Dames.” Tim points out, his tone a mixture of amused and sarcastic. “Not everyone is damaged.”

Damian glares at him, “I am not damaged.” He mutters, his voice a mixture of irritation and defensiveness.

Tim just rolls his eyes. ��Of course you are, you’re a Wayne.” He says dryly.

Damian bristles a little bit, his irritation growing a bit more, but he doesn’t take the bait. He continues watching the live feed, watching as Alfred reaches out to grab you, your tense and wary form flinching away as he scoops you up.

He lets out a small sigh of annoyance, his expression still irritated and frustrated. “This is ridiculous.” He mutters, his voice quiet, but clearly annoyed.

“Relax, Dames.” Tim says, a note of amusement in his voice. “You can’t expect them to stop being afraid immediately. They need time to adjust, to get used to us.”

Damian lets out an exasperated huff, his tone sharp. “They shouldn’t have to adjust to us.” He snaps, still glaring at the screen, watching as Alfred holds you carefully, in a way where you can’t hurt him while also like you're a fragile and precious thing.

Tim raises an eyebrow, looking at Damian with a mix of curiosity and understanding. “You want them to just...accept us? Just like that?”

Damian's expression darkens, his expression almost pained for a moment, his eyes never leaving the screen as he watches the way Alfred’s handling you.

“Yes, exactly like that.” He says, his tone firm and underlyingly desperate.

Tim's expression softens a bit, realising how much Damian truly wants you to accept them, that you don’t fear them. His expression becomes almost sympathetic as he watches Damian’s reaction.

"Dames…" he says gently, his voice soft, but firm. “It doesn’t work like that, bud. It’s gonna take time for them to actually warm up to us. They’ve been on the streets for far too long, they’ve been alone for a while.”

His gaze shifts down for a moment. “For now we’ll just have to result to the sedatives to keep them docile.”

Damian's expression pinches, his features shifting into a mix of agitation and discontent. While he loathes the thought of drugging you, he knows that the rest of the family has already made up their minds.

He lets out a quiet sigh, taking in a deep breath through his nose. Closing the fridge door with more force than necessary, his jaw clenching.

Tim notices the look on his brother's face, seeing the clear irritation and disapproval, and rolls his eyes a bit. “I don’t like this.” The youngest Wayne mutters, his tone tight and disapproving.

“It’s necessary.” Tim counters, his tone matter of fact, though there’s a hint of discomfort in his voice.

Damian shoots him a glare, clearly not satisfied with the explanation. He crosses his arms, his expression hardening, his eyes filled with a mixture of irritation and reluctance.

“Is it really necessary?” He snaps, his voice taking an almost bitter edge.

Tim’s expression hardens a bit, not appreciating the attitude. He takes a step forward, his eyes meeting Damian’s in a steady glare. “Yes, it is.” He says firmly. “It’s the most practical solution. We need to keep ‘em under control. You know the others won’t be happy if we let the kitty run wild. Or god forbid they throw a tantrum and hurt one of us. We can handle it, but can Alfred?”

His jaw clenches, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides. He knows Tim’s right, but he doesn’t enjoy that fact. He lets out a frustrated huff, his voice tight and strained.

“I know.” He snaps back. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Tim sighs, his expression softening a notch. He understands Damian’s reluctance, sharing a bit of the same sentiment. But he’s also pragmatic, and right now their needs are priority, not yours.

“I’m not saying you have to like it, Dames. It’s not meant to be enjoyable.” He says, his tone is gentle compared to before. “It’s just what needs to be done. It’s what’s practical. Effective."

Damian’s shoulders sag slightly, his expression shifting into one of reluctant acceptance. He knows that Tim’s right, that practicality should be their primary concern. But it doesn’t sit right with him, treating you like some sort of prisoner. You’re family.

He lets out a soft sigh, his hands uncurling from their tight fists. “Fine.” He mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tim notices the shift in Damian’s demeanour, the reluctant acceptance showing in his expression. He gives his brother a sympathetic look, knowing how hard this is for him. They’re all used to dealing with criminals, dealing with bad people, but using these methods on you feels wrong. Unnatural.

He nods in acknowledgment, giving Damian a small, relieved smile. “It’ll be alright, Dames.” He says genuinely. “You know it’s for the best.”

Damian nods, his features a mixture of reluctance and resignation. He knows that Tim’s right, that this is the best course of action for the situation. But it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“Yes, I know.” He says, his voice quiet, but resigned. “It’s for the safety of the rest of us. For their safety.” He adds, his tone taking on a bitter edge again, as if the words taste rancid on his tongue. “But I still don’t agree with it. I hate that you agree with it.”

Tim lets out a slow, drawn-out sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He takes a deep breath before looking back at Damian. “I’m the one who concluded that we needed to sedate them. It’s the safest solution.” He admits quietly, his voice taking on a note of resignation. “It may not be the best option, but it’s the practical one.” His voice started to take on a more tired note. He hates having to repeat himself.

Damian’s expression darkens again, his irritation flaring up once more as he glares at Tim. “You suggested this?” He snaps, his voice tense.

Tim tosses his tablet down onto the counter at Damian's outburst, his expression becoming more guarded. "Yes, I did." He says, his tone firm and unapologetic. "And if you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it." His voice takes on a challenge, a daring note as he glares back at Damian.

The younger Wayne grows irritated at Tim's challenging tone, his eyes narrowing. He opens his mouth, about to shoot back at Tim, the argument on the tip of his tongue. But then he notices the hint of exhaustion in his brother’s eyes, the weary lines etched into his expression. He catches the frustration in Tim's tone, the tiredness seeping through. He closes his mouth, the argument dying on his tongue. He’s painfully aware of the older boy's self destructive habits.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sag, and he drops his gaze to the floor. “No. I don’t.” He mutters bitterly.

Their attention is immediately snapped and drawn to the kitchen’s entrance as Alfred appears, a questioning eyebrow raised as he glances between them, seeming to take note of their tense exchange.

Tim’s expression shifts into one of slight relief, glad for the distraction from the argument and the heavy atmosphere of the kitchen.

Damian’s jaw clenches, his features shifting into a tight frown. He glances over at Alfred, his expression impatient and expectant.

“Where are they?” He snaps, his voice taking on a firm, demanding edge.

The butler glances between the two, his eyes lingering on Damian and his irritated expression. “The young master has been taken to Master Dick.” He says calmly, an air of mild reproach in his tone.

Damian’s scowl deepens as he processes Alfred’s words. The thought of you being alone with Dick makes his stomach twist with unease. He knows how overbearing and excessive his eldest brother can be, and he’s not exactly confident in Dick’s ability to handle the situation without causing some sort of incident. Plus, he wanted to be the first person you saw once you had woken up.

Tim, on the other hand, only looks only mildly concerned. He has a bit more faith in Dick’s ability to keep the situation under control, but he’s also not blind to his brother’s tendency to smother and overwhelm. But he has the cameras to watch over just in case the situation turns sour. So he’s not worried.

Damian’s face twists in irritation, and he’s about to demand to know where exactly Dick took you, but Alfred clears his throat before he can speak.

“I’m certain the young master is in safe hands, Master Damian.” Alfred says, his voice calm and gentle, a silent plea for him to hold his tongue.

Damian’s jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tensing further. He hesitates for a moment, wrestling with the urge to argue, but ultimately he swallows the words and just gives a tense nod.

Tim watches the silent interaction between Damian and Alfred, his expression still mostly neutral. He’s silently amused by Damian’s irritation, knowing how the youngest Wayne has very little patience with these kinds of things. But he knows that arguing with Alfred is usually pointless, the old butler’s word usually final.

So he just watches quietly, his gaze drifting towards the live feed fed from the cameras.

You’re curled up under Dick’s bed, body coiled into a small, tense ball. Your fur is bristled and your ears are pinned back, pressed flat against your skull. You’re tense and on edge, waiting silently for any sound from above, listening keenly to the movements of the man sitting on the bed above you who can’t stop giggling.

Grayson is sitting on the edge of his bed, a wide smile on his face as he looks down at the space under his bed. He’s trying to keep his voice relatively quiet, not wanting to startle you further, but he’s too amused to keep his voice completely level. He keeps chuckling to himself, he can’t help it. You were just so adorable. Even when you were angry, all fluffed up and hissing.

“Come on out, little thing.” He coos, his tone gentle and sweet. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He reaches a hand down, his fingers gently patting the carpet beneath the bed, coaxing you out from your meagre hiding place.

Your tail lashes out, thwacking against the underside of the bed. You roll your eyes at his coaxing, annoyed at the way he’s trying to get you out. As if you’re going to give him the satisfaction of coming out just because he keeps saying he won’t hurt you. How stupid does he think I am?

Dick huffs a quiet, exasperated laugh, clearly amused by your stubbornness. He continues to gently pat the carpet, his voice still gentle and coaxing. “Come on, come out, baby. I just want to talk to you.”

He shifts a bit, trying to get a better view of you under the bed, but he can only see a glimpse of your fluffy rump and tail.

You shift away from his hand, pressing yourself closer to the wall, your eyes locked on his fingers as they continue to pat the carpet. Yeah, right. You think bitterly, your tail whipping around irritably. Like I’m going to fall for that. A guttural hiss leaves your throat. As if I’d come out just because he ‘asked nicely.’ No fucking chance.

Dick can tell that you’re not budging anytime soon. He lets out an amused huff, still smiling down at the space under his bed. “Alright then.” He says with a small laugh, clearly not too bothered by your stubbornness.

“I’m not going to force you out. I can just sit here all day, sweetheart. All day and all night.” He says sweetly, his tone taking on a singsong edge.

Your ears go back, flattening against your head at the mention of him sitting there all day. You shoot a withering glare at his fingers. No way you’re going to let him get the better of you. You’ve dealt with humans trying to coax you out from hiding by pretending to be nice before. Never once has it worked. Not once.

My mother taught me better than that.

Dick watches your ears flatten against your head, his smile growing slightly at your defiant glare. He can practically feel the resistance radiating off of you. He knows that he’ll have to use a different tactic to make you come out. He’ll make sure to remember to get rid of the bed’s legs so you can’t hide under it again.

“Come on, little spitfire, you can’t stay under there forever.” He tries, his tone slightly softer. “I bet it’s cramped and uncomfortable under there. You gotta be getting tired.”

Your ears prick up slightly at his words, but you quickly ignore them. He’s right of course, it is cramped and uncomfortable under here. But you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. You keep your gaze locked on his hand. It may be a little claustrophobic, but the carpet laid under your little belly and small paws is softer than any material you’ve ever had the pleasure of feeling before. It’s more comfortable than the worn-out stained mattress you use as a bed. Everything here is, really. So you can deal with a little claustrophobia.

Dick can see the way your ears prick up at his words, and he can see the way your eyes drift around the carpet under the bed, taking in the soft material.

He can tell how much more comfortable this is compared to how you usually live. But he keeps that observation to himself.

He just continues quietly coaxing you, his voice never losing its sweetness.

“Yeah, I bet you’re cramped and uncomfortable, baby. It's awfully warm under there...” He coos, his hand continuing to pat the carpet lightly. “And you must be hungry by now, right?” He asks softly, his voice taking on a more sympathetic edge.

Your ears twitch a bit at his words, the mention of food making your stomach rumble quietly. He’s right, you are hungry. Famished, even. It’s been a few days since your last full meal.

You try to push down the ache of hunger in your stomach, your tail flicking irritably. You’re not going to give in just because he mentioned food. Even if a part of you is tempted, you’re not that desperate.

Dick’s lips twitch as he notices the way your ears flick, and he hears your stomach give an almost painful-sounding grumble. He’s silently satisfied that he’s at least getting some sort of reaction; a sure sign that he’s wearing you down.

“Aww…” he coos sympathetically, his voice sickenly sympathetic. “Are you hungry? Your tummy’s all grumbly.. I can hear it from here, kitten.” He leans forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. The position gives him a clearer view of you.

Your ears twitch again, but that’s the only reaction you give. On the inside, your stomach is practically clawing at itself, begging for some sort of meal. Your body is silently aching from how starved you are, the feeling only getting worse with each passing moment. Why the fuck did he have to say something? You hadn’t even noticed a few seconds ago.

But you keep your glare firmly fixed on his hand, refusing to acknowledge the pain. You’re determined to show him that you’re not going to give in that easily.

Dick hums thoughtfully, his gaze gliding over to the hidden camera in the corner of the room, his eyes locking on it knowingly. He casts the device a glance, his expression speaking volumes. He’s letting Tim know that he’s got this situation under control, but still mouths for him to send food.

He glances back down at the space under his bed, addressing you again, his tone still gentle and coaxing. “Come on out, baby…”

A soft growl rumbles in your chest, your mind still stubbornly set on refusing to budge. His soft tone and gentle way of speaking isn’t going to get the better of you.

You dig your claws into the carpet, a low, grumpy snarl working its way out of your throat. No. You think irritably, your tail twitching from behind, thumping against the wall in silent protest.

Dick hears the growl that rumbles out of your chest, and he can tell that you’re still holding out. You’re a stubborn little thing, he’ll give you that. It makes him almost proud. He’s proud to be your brother.

“Come on, kitty. Why don’t you come out from under there and let me see you?”

Your fur sticks up more at his words, your tail lashing even more furiously. He’s getting awfully demanding, which only serves to anger you more. You flatten your ears back against your head, letting out another low growl. Your glare locks intensely on his fingers, which are still lightly patting the carpet. Does this idiot honestly think I’d come out just because he’s saying please?

Dick tries to keep his calm demeanour, despite your visible irritation with him. He knows that you’re feeling claustrophobic under there, but he also knows that you’re too stubborn to come out just because he asks nicely. He silently notes the way your back rises and falls a little too quickly, a sign of how stressed you are in the confined environment.

He tries another approach. “Don’t make me come under there and get you…” he says lowly, his voice taking on a slightly darker edge.

Your ears twitch at the darker undertone in his voice, your body tensing further. You know that he means it, and the thought of him coming under there gets your claws digging deeper into the carpet.

You let out a guttural snarl, low and threatening. Try and get me out. Go ahead and try. I bet your big back can’t even fit under here.

Dick huffs a quiet laugh as he hears your warning snarl, but he’s not intimidated in the slightest. He knows that you’re just trying to sound intimidating, to scare him into leaving you alone. But he can see past the fierce demeanour you’re putting on, he can see the way your body is shaking with tension, the way you’re practically clawing the carpet to pieces.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment before standing. His hand reaching down and hooking under the frame of the bed, lifting it up with little effort.

Your body jerks back in shock as he suddenly lifts the entire bed into the air, the sound of the bed’s feet scraping loudly across the floor.

Your tail goes wild at the unexpected situation you’re suddenly in, waving uncontrollably behind you. Your eyes are as big as saucers, the sight of the bed being lifted up completely taking you by surprise. Fuck– how is he so strong?

Your heart is practically slamming against your ribcage, your adrenaline spiking. You’re suddenly feeling very exposed, pressed against the rich wooden frame of the underside of the bed with nowhere to go. You can see him peering under the bed, that smug smile on his face making your blood boil.

“Come out before I’m forced to grab you, spitfire.” He repeats.

A guttural snarl rumbles out of your chest, your legs bunching up as if you’re preparing to pounce. Your heart is racing uncomfortably. His tone is playful, but you can see the subtle hint of darkness in his eyes.

Dick chuckles as he watches your body tense up, the look in your eyes almost murderous. But despite your fierce demeanour, he can see the way your muscles are trembling beneath your fur.

He knows that you’re just scared. You like to put on a strong front, but your shaking body gives you away. He doubts that you’re even aware of it.

His arm is starting to strain a little, the bed is heavier than it looks, but he keeps holding it up with one arm, leaning forward slightly to peer at you.

A low hiss escapes your throat as you slowly begin to edge out from under the bed, your body practically scraping against the ground. You keep yourself as low to the floor as possible, as if you’re still trying to be undetected.

Then, you suddenly dart across the room, scrambling as fast as your legs will allow to the other side, putting as much distance between you and the dude. Once you’ve reached the far side of the room, your body immediately collides with a wall, your tail whipping around as you press yourself against the surface.

Dick sighs as he watches you scramble away from him, practically diving to the other side of the room and immediately slamming yourself against the wall. He lowers the bed back to the ground, letting it thump loudly against the carpet.

His eyes watch you closely, taking in how you’re almost vibrating with tension. He can see the way your eyes are wide, how your back is hunched against the wall, and your little ears are folded back against your head.

You’re ready to go at any second.

Your tail is lashing wildly behind you, your entire being screaming at you to bolt for the door. Get out. Go. Run. Leave. Now. Get out while you still can.

Your little legs carry you as fast as they can, the sound of the door clicking open ringing in your ears. The sound was as loud as a gunshot to your ears. It’s the only noise you need to hear before you bolt. The thought of escaping is a driving force, urging you to run as fast as possible. Darting as fast as your paws will carry you towards the door.

But your escape gets instantly interrupted as you suddenly crash into a pair of long legs, covered in posh looking suit pants. A startled hiss escapes your throat as you stumble back, your head bumping against the man’s legs.

You skid to a halt, your paws screeching against the floor as you collide with them. Your head snaps up, a hiss escaping you as you pull away and stumble back, trying to gain some distance. The rich black fabric now adorns a few of your fur's stray hairs.

A soft chuckle escapes the man just moments after your little stunt, the sound catching your attention. You look up at the man, his face calm and collected as he simply stares down at you.

He speaks in a light tone, addressing you. “Careful there, little one” His eyes are still locked on your small frame. His gaze then shifts back to Dick, holding out a tray to the man.

Dick huffs in amusement as he sees you bolt straight into Alfred, your legs carrying you so quickly that you don’t realise his entrance until it’s too late. He almost laughs out loud as he watches you scurry back awkwardly, your eyes darting back and forth between the two men.

He takes the tray from Alfred with a grateful smile, placing it on the rich wooden desk nearby. “Thanks, Alfie.” He says, his gaze shifting back to you, watching you closely.

Alfred hums softly in response, his eyes still locked on you, his gaze studying your every movement. You feel uncomfortably scrutinised as he looks you over, taking in your every feature. Jesus, he’s staring at me like I’m a bloody zoo attraction.

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes are studying your every move, as if you’re something of extreme curiosity to him. His intense interest in you is making you shift uncomfortably.

He didn’t do that earlier, did he? You think to yourself, your mind struggling to recall earlier events. But for some reason, your memories are just a big jumbled blur.

You can faintly remember waking up on a soft, plush material. Your mind struggles to recall the events. All you can remember are vague, blurry images, like watching a video through a rain-drenched window. One of those images is an unfocused picture of the butler walking, holding you in his arms as he moves. It’s anything but clear. You wouldn’t have believed that it had even happened if it weren’t for the fact that you are in the ‘Master Dick’s room.

Which, now that you’re thinking about it, sounds oddly familiar to you.

However, they don’t spare you much time to ponder over it as you’re forcefully pulled out of your thoughts when the door clicks closed behind the old butler as he leaves once more, your ears twitching in response to the sound.

Dick watches you silently as he places the tray in front of you, the aroma of cooked meat wafting towards your nostrils almost instantly, making your stomach rumble loudly, as if on a cue.

You silently berate your stomach in your mind, before glaring up at Grayson. He probably poisoned it, or something.

Your stomach lets out another loud gurgle as the meat fragrance hits your sensitive nose, the sound making your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You quickly try to silence the sound of your rumbling belly by internally scolding and cussing out the organ, but your silent tantrum is cut short as you glare up at Dick, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Your mind instantly accuses him of tainting the food. He probably poisoned it. Or something. You think bitterly.

Dick notices the way you’re eyeing the food suspiciously, a small chuckle escapes him in response. He can tell that you’re silently accusing him of doing something to the food, and he can’t help but find the way your face scrunches up in a tiny little frown as you glare.

He leans down to sit opposite you, keeping a safe distance before he speaks, his tone gentle. He tells you. “The food is fine. It’s made so you can eat it in both forms.”

Your ears immediately perk up in surprise, your tail freezing in its agitated movements. You can feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, making your body tense up. He knows I'm a hybrid.

A thousand thoughts run through your mind as the realisation strikes you. He knows. How the hell does he know?

Your heart begins to race even more as your mind instantly connects the dots, linking the events together like a piece of an unsolved puzzle. You recall the other man, the man who knew where you lived. You had no idea who he was, but he clearly knew who you were.

And now, Dick somehow knows about your unique condition.

Your mind quickly makes the connection. Are they working together? Is he with Jason?

You can already feel the adrenaline pumping through your system, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your chest. Your body is tense, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Dick doesn’t seem to notice your inner thoughts, or if he does, he’s not showing it. He sits calmly across from you, that annoying little grin still plastered on his face, his eyes studying your every move.

Your mind is racing, your body feeling like it’s ready to explode. You can’t help yourself, the thought of staying small and powerless while being in the presence of such a man is making you heave. Bile shooting up your throat at the mere thought.

You quickly shift forms, transforming into a human form. You’re still tense, on edge, but somehow you feel less vulnerable this way. 

A large red and black hoodie hangs off of your form, the oversized material reaching the middle of your thighs. A pair of shorts hugging your legs, clinging to the skin tightly. You’re painfully aware that this is not what you had on before you were knocked out. And somehow, by the tight restricting feeling that adorns your neck, the collar has adapted itself onto your human form too. The sight confuses you and leaves you with a thousand questions, but you don’t dare ask any of them.

Your mind is too occupied with the dull ache that had been building into a painful burn in the muscles of your body, making it harder to concentrate. The intense pain has gone from an irritating dull ache to a stinging, burning feeling. It feels as if someone has dug into your skin, left something deep inside you, and stitched it into your flesh.

Your muscles tense, the overwhelming feeling making you nauseous. The pain is far worse in your human form.

Dick’s eyebrows furrow as he notices the way you suddenly curl in on yourself, your body flinching as if in pain. His heart clenches at the sight. He immediately rushes over to your side, stopping and kneeling down right next to you. His deep ocean eyes filled with concern. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze studying every muscle twitch, every subtle movement. Something's wrong. His heart clenches at the sight of you in pain, a protective instinct stirring within him that he can't ignore.

His body is itching to reach out to you, to comfort you, but he holds himself back. Don’t make it worse. He thinks to himself.

He speaks your name gently, his voice filled with worry. “Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes locked onto you. “What hurts? Tell me, kitten.”

You’re curled up into a tight ball, your body tense and in pain. Dick’s voice is gentle, filled with concern as he asks you what’s wrong. But the sound of him calling you kitten makes you wince in annoyance, a slight hiss escaping you before you can stop it. 

You’re about to answer him when a wave of intense pain shoots through your spine, making your body jerk involuntarily.

The sound that escapes your throat is something between a hiss and a whimper. Which does nothing to calm Dick, his face growing more concerned as he watches you writhe in pain, his mind practically screaming at him to do something to help you.

Dick is about to reach out and touch you, to comfort you, but before his hand can touch your shoulder, the bedroom door slams open violently. Damian’s face, uncharacteristically filled with fear, is suddenly in the room. Tim is next, rushing past the boy and to your side with a syringe in his hand. You don’t have any time nor energy to evade him. The sedative administered quickly.

Your body is tense from the pain, but you feel yourself start to relax as the sedative takes effect. Your mind is slowing down, the world around you becoming hazy. Your breathing is growing slower, your body slowly going limp as the drug starts to take over your senses. Falling backwards into Dick's readied arms.

Dick grits his teeth, looking up at his younger brothers with a deep frown. “Someone explain." he orders firmly, cradling you protectively in his arms as you begin to fall unconscious.

“We need to get them to Bruce.” Damian responds instead of answering. Your mind is barely registering the words before everything starts to go black and it feels like you’re drowning. The sedative completely takes effect as you slowly fall unconscious.

You feel yourself slowly awakening, your long kitten limbs stretching out as your paws curl in on themselves. A soft yawn escapes your lips as you blissfully blink your sleepy eyes open, you can’t remember transforming, but you don’t dwell much on it, feeling somewhat satisfied and at ease. A soft, satisfied purr escaping your lips.

You’re almost about to lull yourself back to sleep when the surface you’re laying on shifts under you.

Your ears twitch in response, your eyes widening with alertness as the soft, fuzzy feeling of comfort is instantly replaced with confusion. You quickly realise that the surface you’re sleeping on is actually moving under you, and that the slight thump thump sound underneath you is not your own pulse.

Your mind quickly processes the new information, realising that you’re not laying on a soft surface, but on someone’s lap. Your body immediately reacts, your ears flicking back as you try to scramble out of whoever’s lap you’re on, startled.

A deep, rumbling chuckle resonates from behind you, a large hand patting your fur gently. Your tail flicks in response to the touch, your mind registering how easy it is to move, how the pain is gone. You take this opportunity to leap up onto the large office desk, your eyes darting around to take in your surroundings – completely ignoring the large figure behind you.

Your tail instantly goes rigid as your eyes fall on the framed photo on the desk, your eyes instantly widening as you recognize the people in the picture. Your heart sinks deep in your chest. It’s a family. A large and happy-looking family. One that you are all too familiar with.

Your mind connects the dots instantly, the realisation hitting you like a truck. The familiar manor. The butler, Alfred. Master Dick. Those people. You're suddenly afraid of looking at the man behind you. They were the Waynes.

Your heart starts pumping furiously in your chest, your breathing becoming rapid and shallow. You can feel a wave of nausea overcome you, your stomach clenching and your head spinning from the force of it all. How exactly have you landed yourself right in the laps of the Wayne's, of all people?

You’re afraid to look back, afraid of who is sitting right behind you. The urge to flee and run as far as possible from this place is almost overwhelming.

The man’s voice cuts through your spiralling thoughts, making you realise that you’re far too deep in your own head. A shiver runs down your spine at the nickname. Sunshine. You haven’t heard that nickname in years.

"You gave us quite the fright there yesterday, sunshine."

You finally gain the courage to look back, your body tense and your breathing heavy. You meet the man’s eyes, and the sight of the soft, concerned gaze makes your breath hitch in your throat. His voice was both soft and firm, almost... paternal.

His deep ocean eyes were looking at you with a mixture of concern and worry. There was no malice, no ill-intent. Only concern that made your heart clench in your chest. His expression is soft, like a parent seeing their child in pain. 

He's sitting in a large armchair, his tall frame slouched slightly as he looks at you intently. His suit looks expensive, but slightly rumpled, as if he hadn't changed in quite a while. His tired eyes never leave you.

Your mind instantly goes into a panic, your multi-coloured chest heaving as if you just got the wind knocked out of you. Fur going up and down at each breath.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Your thoughts are screaming at you, practically begging you to run. To hide. Everything in you is telling you to flee. You can’t go through this again. You were not going through this- not with Bruce fucking Wayne. One deadbeat mother was enough.

Your body is tense, your tail flicking quickly from one side to the other. You’re terrified, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through your body like a wildfire. You’re on the verge of bolting, of escaping as fast as your little legs can carry you. Your heart is pumping, your muscles tense and ready to jump.

But you can’t. You’re frozen in place, your body refusing to cooperate. Stuck there, looking directly into the eyes of one of the most powerful men in Gotham.

Your body goes stiff before you can stop it, your muscles flexing. You can barely even register that you’re being scooped up until you’re already in his arms, his large hands gently holding you close as he begins to scratch behind your soft little ears. His voice is low as he leans down and whispers in a soothing almost comforting tone, his warm breath on your fur making you shiver involuntarily. You almost don’t register his words, the soothing, deep baritone trying to reassure and coax you to relax. To calm down. He’s telling you that it was alright that you had nothing to fear. That you were safe.

“Breathe.”

You’re tense in his arms, your body fighting between the urge to stay and run away, to escape from this situation. But the soothing voice and the gentle fingers scratching behind your ears are starting to have a calming effect on you, despite yourself. His deep voice somehow helps soothe your inner cat, the instincts in your half-wild brain slowly calming down.

He tells you to breathe, to calm down, and you realise that you are holding your breath. You take in a gasping lungful of air, feeling your body sag slightly.

His large hands are holding you close, keeping you still and comfortable in his arms. He continues to run the back of his thumb soothingly behind your ears, the comforting gesture making your eyes flutter with pleasure as a soft, involuntary purr-like sound escapes you. He chuckles quietly at the sound, looking down at you with those deep ocean eyes of his.

“Good,” he says aloud, his voice deep and soothing. “Just like that… Easy, sunshine.”

Your body relaxes against his larger form as he continues to talk softly, his warm breath hitting you with every word he speaks. You find yourself leaning into his touch without meaning to, his strong hands and familiar scent comforting your inner feline instincts. The deep and soothing rumbling of his voice is a strange comfort to your nervous system, bringing an unfamiliar sense of safety. 

“That's it... you're doing so well…”

His hands never leave your body, his touch still soothing and tender, like a parent comforting a scared child. His voice is gentle and calm, like a soft, warm blanket, wrapping itself around you and muffling your senses. 

You find your body relaxing further, your muscles no longer as tense as before as you lean heavily into him, almost melting. His scent is warm and musky, bringing a strange sense of familiarity and comfort along with it. He chuckles softly as you let your eyes flutter closed, feeling yourself giving in to the comforting presence. You can barely think, just basking.

His large hands never stop their comforting motions, continuing to gently rake through your soft, fluffy fur. The sound of his low voice and the feeling of his warm breath on your fur are both soothing you further, making your inner cat feel safe and protected. 

He continues to murmur soft words to you, saying that you're good and that you're doing so well. You feel yourself nodding in a haze, the praise making your half-wild brain feel satisfied and at ease for the first time in a very long time. Your entire body soaking in all the praise and affection. He continues to talk softly to you, his deep voice almost lulling you to complete and utter contentment. You almost don't register his words, still feeling all fuzzy from the sedatives.

He lets his voice die out for a moment, just watching intently as you curl into him. Then he speaks up once more, his low voice filled with genuine remorse and sadness this time as he speaks to you, his large hands subconsciously tracing carefully over the newly bandaged areas on your small form. He murmurs softly about metal allergies and implantation tests.

“We hadn't run nearly enough tests...” he says, his voice full of regret. “We would never have been so careless if we had known you were going to react badly to the metal we used… I apologise.” His large figure is still holding you tight against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around you. His voice is soft and apologetic. As if it was his fault that you were allergic to the metal. As if it was normal for someone to put things like trackers inside of you. 

Your entire body tenses as you suddenly remember exactly where you are and who you're with. It's as if a switch flips inside of you. You can feel anger and fear rising up in your chest as your ears automatically lay back flat against your head. You suddenly find yourself not feeling safe in his arms anymore, instead feeling panicked. What the fuck did he just say? Trackers?

This time you don't even think, your natural instincts kicking in full force. Your pupils shrink into deep slits as your teeth bare in a feral expression, the fear and anger from before making your claws extend and dig into the billionaire's skin. 

He barely has time to react before you're lunging at his wrist, your sharp claws digging deep into his expensive suit, creating deep red gashes on his skin. You're not backing down, not this time.

He lets out a surprised hiss of pain, his grip around you relaxing just enough for you to slip out of his arms. You land on the edge of the desk, your body already crouched low, ready to flee. You can see the Billionaire's shocked expression, his eyes darting quickly between you and the deep red gashes on his skin. He quickly applies pressure on the wound, the gashes deep. He doesn't look angry however, more concerned than anything.

He looks up at you, his expression shifting from shock to concern, making your anger flare up again. He's looking at you like a concerned parent looks at their child when it has hurt itself. He’s the hurt one. It's making you livid.

He speaks your name softly, his voice filled with worry and concern. His expression and tone remaining gentle. Loving. “Are you alright?”

The question makes you twitch in anger, your eyes flashing in irritation. You just mauled the man's arm and he has the nerve to ask you if you're alright?

He slowly reaches out towards you, his expression unchanged, still concerned. "Come back here." he says, his voice gentle and coaxing. "You shouldn't be moving around too fast yet."

You hiss at him, your anger flaring at his patronising tone. The idea of getting closer to the man is making your heart pound wildly in your chest. His expression only softens in response, like he's used to temperamental creatures. "It's alright," he soothes, his voice staying level and even. "Just come back here and let me check if you’re hurt."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he assures gently. "I just want to make sure you're okay. The sedatives should be just about out of your system now, but you really shouldn't be walking around yet." He's still slowly reaching out to you, his voice soft and soothing. "You need to rest, sunshine. You just got a big shock. Come back here. It's alright." His voice is still full of that same paternal concern. Like he's worried for his own child. Like you're some frightened kitten that needs to be comforted. It makes you want to claw out his eyeballs.

You tense, your entire body shaking from the adrenaline and fury coursing through you. The nickname Sunshine from earlier only serves to fuel your anger further. Bringing back memories from your early childhood that you've tried so hard to squash down. You can feel anger and fear mixing into a potent cocktail inside your body, making you feel like you're about to burst from the conflicting emotions. You hiss aloud at him in reply, your body tensing further as he still reaches out.

He pauses as you bare your teeth at him, your tail lashing around wildly. He sighs, his expression turning to one of resignation. "You really are a feral little thing, aren't you?" he comments aloud, his tone holding unfiltered amusement. But his eyes are still concerned, watching your every move intently.

He slowly lowers his arm, seeing that you're not reacting well to his attempts at coaxing you back. He leans back in his chair, seemingly giving you a safe distance to calm down. His gaze stays fixed on you, his large eyes watching your every move, like a hawk watching its prey. He's still watching you with concern, like he's worried you're going to do something reckless.

"Just take a breath," he instructs, his voice still gentle. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep going like this." He's still watching you intently, like he's waiting for you to snap and attack him again.

The urge to transform back into your human form is strong, your emotions are a tumultuous storm inside of you. Wanting to cuss the old man out. But you resist the urge out of pure stubbornness, the part of you that still wants to claw him to shreds still in full control of your thoughts. But you want to scream at him, to say something cutting and hateful. 

You have so many things you want to say to the Billionaire, so many insults and scathing remarks that are just on the tip of your tongue. But the feral part of you is not letting you shift to speak. You're stuck between wanting to transform into your human form and shout at him, and staying like this to claw his eyes out.

The elder man tries once more to reach out and grab you, seemingly sensing that you're not quite done with your outbursts yet. But you react quickly, your body moving before your mind can stop you, your paw coming up and swiping at his arm. Claws out and extended. However, this time he's prepared for your reaction. He's quick to grab your extended limb, gripping you firmly by the arm. Before you know it, you're hoisted up into the air, dangling by your arm as you hold back a whine.

He doesn't let go, his grip firm and unyielding. You can feel your arm stinging unpleasantly from where his fingers are wrapped around it, your feet waving in the air as you dangle helplessly. Your inner self hates being so exposed, your body hanging there like a limp doll. You despise being held like this, having no control of the situation. Your ears fold back and pin down against your head.

His pale blue irises focus intently on your outstretched limb, eyes narrowing as he takes note of your claws, which are bared and extended. Noticing how they're not as dull as they would be if they had been cut regularly. You can see his brow furrowing in deep concentration, taking in the length and sharpness. You can also see his jaw clench when he notices just how untouched they look, like they've never been cut before. He lets out a low hum as he studies you, looking down into your eyes, his gaze hardening as he clearly puts two and two together. Thinking to himself for a moment, not phased by your violent squirming.

His mind races at a million miles a minute as he looks down at you, studying your body and your reaction. He can already picture all of the damage you'll do to his furniture, his expression growing more and more stern as his thoughts linger on the possibilities. But as the thoughts of the damage you'll do to the property fades away, another one rises, even darker. One that has him clenching his jaw.

His expression turns grim as he mentally pictures the damage you could do to your other siblings, his eyes flashing with anger. He can see the scenarios clearly, the thought of you harming them making deep, cold anger spread through his veins. His jaw clenches tightly at the thought, his hand gripping your limb a little bit tighter. But there's something else in his eyes as he pictures the damage you could do. Something possessive that shows on his face as he imagines you hurting your brothers.

His eyes remain fixed on your claws as his mind works, contemplating the idea of having one of the boys trim them as soon as possible. But a part of him is also considering a way to prevent them from being used as weapons. A way to keep them from being able to do damage in the future. His jaw tenses again as he mulls over the idea of some sort of restraints, his gaze still on your claws as he plans the next move.

As his mind ponders the options, he thinks back to the scene that just happened, the violent outburst and the way you swiped your claws at him, clearly upset. He's trying to think of a way to keep you from reacting so wildly, and the thought of restraints seems like a good solution. But there's a part of him that doesn't like the idea, not wanting to use something so final on you. Especially when you're still so young.

Yet his mind is also thinking of the danger that your claws represent, especially to yourself and your siblings. He thinks of all of the dangerous things that you could do, the things that you could accidentally hurt. The damage you could cause, the damage you could do to yourself and those around you. His mind is wrestling over the best choice to make, between his protectiveness and his need to keep you safe.

You writhe violently in his hold, using every ounce of strength you can muster to try and tug yourself free. With as much force as you can manage, you tug yourself up to deliver a solid bite to the Wayne's first knuckle, trying to dislodge his grip on your small paw.

Your teeth dig deep into his skin, your sharp canines breaking through the skin like it's butter, drawing a small trickle of blood. With all of your strength you yank against his hold. He lets out a guttural growl of pain as your teeth dig into his flesh, trying to yank his hand away on reflex. He wasn't expecting the sudden attack, the pain of your little fangs burying into his skin making his eyes widened. His fingers immediately loosen around your limb, as he pulls away his injured hand to inspect the bite.

He holds his hand to his face, inspecting the fresh bite mark you left behind, a trickle of blood sliding down his pale finger. You're able to tug your limb out of his loosened grip, landing on the desk with a soft thump. He looks at you with surprised eyes, taking in your feral appearance, your teeth bared and eyes flashing, your pupils small and slitted.

The knock on the office door interrupts the Billionaire's thoughts, his head snapping up to see Damian walking in. "Father, the enclosure has been set u-." the young boy says, but his words die out as his eyes land on you, his expression going soft at first, but then hardening at the sight of the injuries on his fathers hands.

There's a beat of silence, Damian's gaze flitting between you and his father, taking in the scene of you and the older man. The clear evidence of your outburst still present in his bloodied hands.

"What happened?" he finally says, his voice filled with anger and worry. His eyes are hard as he looks at his father's injuries, his own expression hardening further. But his next glance at you is softer, more concerned, seeing your small and feral form hunched up on the desk.

He slowly walks into the office, moving into the room and approaching the desk, his expression still a mix of anger and worry. But his eyes soften as they land on you again, seeing your small fluffy form curled up on top of the desk. His gaze flicks back to his father, waiting for an explanation.

"It's nothing, son," the eldest Wayne responds, his voice calm and reassuring, but his expression is tense as he meets his son's gaze, attempting to downplay the injuries on his hand. But Damian's eyes flick back to the injuries once more, clearly not accepting his father's explanation.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Damian retorts, his voice slightly heated as he glares at the injuries on his father's hand. "You're bleeding." he says, raising an eyebrow in scepticism. His eyes narrow at the obvious lie.

"It's just a scratch," the older man responds, his tone still calm but with an undercurrent of tension beneath it. He can feel the anger rolling off of his son in waves, seeing the glare directed at the small bite mark on his hand.

You don't bother waiting around for the confrontation, swiftly leaping off of the desk and landing near Damian's feet, your small form making a light thump against the ground. You can feel the tension in the air, wanting to get away from the arguing voices and this entire situation

Damian's attention is immediately drawn down to you as you land at his feet, his expression shifting from anger to surprise at your sudden appearance. He looks down at you, his expression still hard but softening at the sight of you, his eyes taking in your small and fierce form.

He bends down to your level, a hint of worry showing in his eyes at your unexpected action. He seems torn between staying focused on his father and his apparent injuries or looking further at you and your current state. His gaze is flickering between you and his father, not sure where to put his focus.

You'd heard tidbits about the youngest Wayne boy before, the press often calling him the "youngest Wayne" whenever he made public appearances, and you remember hearing that he was around fifteen or sixteen. He has a well defined face, but there's still a youthful innocence about him, his features still holding a boyish charm. Your gaze doesn't linger on him for too long, your legs quickly darting towards the exit, your mind focused on escaping.

As you make a beeline for the exit, you can feel his eyes following you as you move. There's a hint of surprise in his expression at your sudden escape attempt, his gaze still flickering between you and his father. He stands there for a moment, torn between stopping you and letting you attempt. Then, the reminder that you're still recovering from the surgery rings through his mind.

With minimal effort, he quickly pulls something from his pocket, sending it flying directly at the door. The object hits the door's hard wood with a loud thump, causing the door to slam shut, the door's hinges groaning loudly in protest. Your heart skips a beat as you're suddenly blocked from the exit, trapped in the room with the two of them. What the hell was that??

kind of abrupt ending, but I was rushing to get this out. So... See you in part three?

All reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated and encouraged!

If I begged would anyone create me some fanart? Please…

A special thanks to @zenychwan , @143637-hrrm , @goddessofalltrash ,@amisupposedtomakesenserightnow ,@redeemingmygloryintopurgatory , @yune1337 , @busenxr , @probabydeadbynow , @imaginarydreams , @cyberwears and @tagzi with the friggin prettiest kitties n puppies ever who definitely helped me write this chapter by sending in pics of their pets!💚

Guess who can no longer get the one thing that I’ve been saving up for for my birthday because my pay got cut 🤗 I’m officially fucking broke now. I’m actually really upset. Probably gonna be forced to not do anything for the big 20th now.

On a happier note, the chapter is finally out! I thank all the people who've waited so patiently for this to come out, you're hella appreciated💚