#and then i watched those coping mechanisms and did the same thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tonycries · 1 month

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Haunting You - G.S.

Synopsis. A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, king! Gojo, vampire AU, he’s actually ÍNSANE, royalty AU, arranged marriages, creampíes, breéding, fated mátes, FÉRAL down bad Gojo, mentions of bIood and kílling, bíting, óral (fem receiving), spítting, marks (a LOT), fíngering, pórn with plot tbh, overstím, ínnapropriate use of powers, jealous! Gojo, slight inspiration from Persephone and Hades, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 15.8k (HUH???)

A/N. Was listening to Haunted by Beyoncé, and my mind went “ooo vampires.” Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

In all your years being carefully primed to take over the throne, there have only been two rules you were raised under:

You live by the crown, and you will die by the crown. No matter what.

To stop the vampires - if your father, the king, fails to contain the bloody trail of killings before his own inevitable death, you have to. Or, more according to those tedious meetings with the table of elders, your husband will have to.

And it seems as if they were well and fully intent on enforcing that last rule as of late - with sharply increasing numbers of attacks on your local towns, the public was growing restless - and so was the royal court.

You weren’t doing any better either - but for a wholly different reason.

Maybe it was paranoia, but these days, you found yourself constantly catching a flash of crystal blue in the corner of your eye. Or hearing a sweet, sweet whisper in your ear deep at night. Maybe even a soft run of fingers down your spine as you were readied for yet another ball - hands much too large to be any of your ladies-in-waiting.

Like something was watching.

Waiting.

“And then I- your highness, are you listening?”

That familiar, grating voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re gasping in embarrassment as you turn back to the prattling man in front of you.

“My apologies, Lord Naoya.” you smile tightly, desperate to finish up yet another conversation about his latest cavalry expeditions. Nodding dismissively, “Just tired, please continue with your ah- wonderful tales.”

But of course, when he starts right back from the very beginning to “cover the key points you missed”, your stomach turns when you realize that you won’t be escaping any time soon. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.

God, future suitors your ass. You’d been taught that there’s no such company as “bad company” when you’re an heir to a kingdom, but this has been the fourth royal ball this month - and the biggest one yet. The fourth night you had to listen to another uptight lord show off his sparse battle medals, or another elder snide about how you’d be useless against the dangers of vampires.

You knew it was likely some coping mechanism with the grim deaths this week, but surely the nobles were tired of all this silly dancing? You sure were.

Gauzy dress just a bit too tight, sighs just a bit too loud than was permitted for the princess, you let your gaze wander across the brilliant ballroom. Those intricate gowns, the huge reflective wall, those little pastries you really wish you could walk away from this conversation and-

Blue.

Crystal blue.

“Wait! Did you see-” you startle, and it disappears as fast as it appeared. Your heavy skirts sway as you whirl around to uselessly track that odd burst of color, “Did you see that?”

“I know!” Naoya gasps, making you turn your head in excitement. “The light reflects off my medal so gorgeously! Oh, and this one-”

Dammit.

All through your life, it was this same color that’d been flitting occasionally through your vision, now haunting you almost every day.

You didn’t know where to look to find that familiar blue again - and you didn’t want to stand here waiting to find out. At the very least, your ears have definitely been assaulted with enough talk about horses and how “absolutely enormous” Lord Naoya’s weaponry at the Zenin Estate was.

Compensating, you muse.

The thought helps you plaster on a grin to your face, humming in a saccharine-sweet tone, “It pains me to cut through, my lord.” It really didn’t. “And I’d love to chat more later, but I think I hear my lady-in-waiting calling for me.”

He sputters, breathing out a few profanities under his breath that you catch. An arm raising as if to keep you in place, “Now, wait a minute-”

You’re angling your body expertly to make your dash. Batting your lashes deceivingly innocently, “Oh? What was that?” you cup your ear. “I hear her again- I really do apologize, but feel free to recount your valiant um- fairy tales in a letter.”

“But your father-”

Not waiting to hear the rest of his response, you barely even bother with a polite curtsy before determinedly weaving your way through the stuffy ballroom. Nodding by the nobles greeting you, waving past the throng of young lords that wanted to reel you into more conversation. Your satiny feet taking you anywhere but here - anywhere but where you could feel the still, heavy gaze of something burning into your back as you escaped.

You just prayed that it was only a miffed Naoya and nothing else.

It was around this time that the orchestra struck up another upbeat waltz, and with most people pairing off on the dance floor, barely anyone noticed you tip-toeing out of the ballroom.

“God-” you’re letting out a sigh of relief when you reach the long hallway, rubbing at your throbbing temples. “The next ball they host, m’gonna conveniently disappear, I swear.”

You didn’t care enough for what matchmaking would happen in the future anyway, no matter what the elders may tell you.

Your ballgown swishes with every urgent step through the quiet, dimly-lit corridors. Maybe a bit too quiet.

Strange. You knew that not many nobles would be wandering around the palace during a ball but, surely you can’t be the only one here? Where were the guards?

Just then, a soft winter breeze puffs against your left ear - and you inhale sharply. “Wha- hello?” you shudder, gaze darting around. “Anyone there?” But when only silence greets you, you’re struck with the sudden thought that the windows along the hallway were closed.

Where did the wind come from?

The realization has you taut with goosebumps pricking at your skin, your pace increasing ever-so-slightly. Gulping, you round the corner quickly, making a beeline for the closest haven you could find - the library.

Ducking past the towering stone archway, you hastily slam the door closed. It takes you a few seconds to get used to the darkness inside. With silvery moonlight ribbons filtering in through the curtained windows, you could just barely make out the rows upon rows of books you’d pestered your father into lining. Surrounded by heavyset tables, and your favorite, cushioned armchair. Luxurious, yet completely dwarfed when seating the lone silhouette-

“If this is an attack, then I surely don’t mind.”

“Fuck-” you scream, reflexively grabbing the nearest book spine you could reach to throw in the direction of the shadow. “Show yourself.”

Somehow, it’s as if the book bounces off an invisible forcefield, plopping down unceremoniously onto the velvety carpet right in front of the tall figure.

“And here I thought princesses usually curtseyed.” that deep, honeyed voice cuts right through your heavy breathing. He makes a move to get up - languid, and torturous, as if he enjoyed your agonizing suspense. “Well, maybe I do prefer being pelted by a- hey, that doesn’t mean pick up another book!”

In a split-second, you were brandishing a weighty encyclopedia this time - holding it firmly behind your head in a ready stance to throw once again.

“Show yourself.”

The man sighs, stepping into a channel of low light. It illuminated his stature - taller than you’d thought, towering well above most of the generals in the royal court. Muscled, yet lean - powerful, the thought strikes you. Magnetizing.

Someone from outside the kingdom, you observe, otherwise you’d have remembered that cloudy white hair, strands falling over a strange, black blindfold stretched across the upper half of his face. Leaving you only a set of high cheekbones, and a pert, pretty mouth to admire.

One that curls into such a mischievous smirk of neat pearly whites, and a tiny dimple digging into his cheek. “Now, I’ve never had anyone this eager to see me.” He drops into a courteous bow at the waist, expensive blue fabrics rippling. “From the North kingdom, Satoru, at your service, princess.”

Your hand falters - partially because of the heavy weight, partially because you recognised that gold “G” insignia in the middle of this stranger- Satoru’s uniform. The Gojo family.

That mysterious, estranged kingdom from the Northern part of the country that hadn’t been seen since you were young. You’d heard stories of them - everyone in this vast country had, it was impossible not to. Of their cruel winters and even crueler king, how blood stained every room in his palace. It was rumored he was a monster, and yet, no one ever saw his face - if they did, they never lived to tell the tale.

You knew your father had invited the king to every single ball out of diplomatic obligation, but he’d never attended. Never even bothered to respond.

So who was this?

“No one. Just a lowly attendant accompanying my king, your highness.” you’re jolting when he purrs, a brow quirking at just how he knew what you were thinking. “The question ah- showed on your face, my apologies.”

Finding your voice, “Um, I apologize, too, Satoru-” You note the lack of a last name, “-for the book. I can’t imagine being hit with Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet was a very warm welcome.” And like a little truce, you’re placing down the encyclopedia in your hand. Flashing him your most practiced smile, “I bet you’re hiding out here for the same reasons as me, then.”

That draws out a pretty laugh from him, bubbly and boyish. “Mhm, the ladies just refuse to leave you alone, too?”

“Well, more like the lords there.”

He hums, something that sends a chill down your spine. Words just a little strained, “Not much for bragging about horses?”

And suddenly, you get the urge to snark back, huffing in a way you know your preparational teacher would faint at. “Absolutely not. I’d rather face a vampire than listen to Naoya and the “absolutely enormous” weaponry he uses to-”

“-compensate!”

“-compensate.” the two of you finish at the same time. “I like this place a lot better, it’s quiet- though…” your voice trails off in wonder. “It’s strange, guests aren’t supposed to be allowed in the library unsupervised.” His jaw clenches when your eyes sweep him, “We are supposed to have a few guards here but I don’t know where-”

All of a sudden, it’s like you’re being splashed with cold water. And your words are dying on your tongue when the room drops a few degrees in temperature.

Satoru is unnervingly still, yet he catches onto your slight shiver. “This damned wind, am I right?” And he’s gesturing at the windows with his head. The closed windows. Words tumbling quickly from those pink lips now, “Anyways- why don’t you sit down-” He prowls towards you, slow, confident. Large hands rest at your arms, they’re pale, surprisingly cold - guiding you easily to sit on the unoccupied armchair. “-since m’being nice enough to let you hide out here.”

His words drip with tease, and you still couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they’d be twinkling. No one ever dared to speak to you this way - it was always either thinly-veiled condescension or fear towards royalty.

Surprisingly, you didn’t mind.

You roll your eyes, trying to hold back your smile. “Yeah? Well what do I owe you in return for that, Satoru?”

His lips part, as if not expecting this response. Before letting out another sharp cackle at your expense, “Well, why don’t you-” You can’t tear your eyes away from his magnetic figure when Satoru begins unbuttoning his flowing coat to reveal a snow-white shirt underneath. Wrapping it snug around your shoulders in one, fluid motion, a hand of his tilts your head towards him. “-give me your soul?”

The Gojo emblem burns into your back, and Satoru’s deep, almost raspy tone rings in your ears. It sounded like a joke - but looking into his ethereal features, there was no trace of a grin on what you could see of it. And once again, you’re struck by the pure power radiating off of him.

You hoped it was a joke.

“S-soul’s not for sale.” you manage to choke out, trying to make it look like you weren’t breathing in his metallic, peppermint scent. Heady. Pulling the soft fabric tighter around your cold body, “Steep price for a hideout, don’t you think?”

“S’a discount for you, flower.” his chilling breath fans your face. Letting out hushed, “Heh, you should see the prices I charge others.”

You’re reeling, face burning, “Flower?”

“Because you’re shaking like one, see?” The pads of his fingers move from under your chin to trace up, up, up the goosebumps on your exposed arms. Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Hypnotic.

And his steps are soundless as he walks over behind you, the moonlight giving him an angelic halo. Haunting, almost. “And you’re just as gorgeous, like a wild rose. Way too gorgeous for the fuckin’ bastards out there, might I add, princess.”

The nerve!

Heart pounding, you turn around to- call him out for his disrespect? Snap back? Accept the compliment?

You don’t know - and you don’t get to find out, either. Because before your eyes can search for Satoru’s mysterious figure, the door to the library is slamming open with a deafening bang!

“Ah! There you are!” your lady-in-waiting’s relieved voice floods your ears. And she’s barging in with no comment about your sudden stiffness, or that foreign coat around your shoulders. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, your highness. His majesty is just about to make his speech of the night and needs you there.”

Shit, out of all the scandals.

“I- I can explain.” You’re desperately trying to catch Satoru’s eye to make up an excuse for why you’re alone with a strange man away from the ball, shooting from your seat to look around the library. “We’re just-”

The suddenly empty library.

“Yes yes, I understand that the balls aren’t exactly your favorite pastime.” The oblivious girl is pushing you towards the door, brown eyes narrowed. “But we’ve got to get going now.”

Despite her wrangling you outside, you manage to sneak a few glances backwards, straining to see if he was hiding in the shadows. Only to be met with a now-rumpled armchair and the still, dark bookshelves. As bare as if Satoru never existed - the only proof of his existence being a sad copy of Yaga’s 1001 Methods to Crochet lying on the ground.

And yet, you can’t help but feel a pair of eyes on you.

You feel it all through the short walk back to the ballroom, Nobara’s excited chatter about how finely your all-new coat was made filtering through one ear and out the next. Even when you reach the edge of the dance floor, even when you feel every single other eye in the room on you - you feel it.

“Um, Nobara.” you whisper, discreetly shuffling the coat off your shoulders. “Please take this to my chambers for me.”

The younger girl is positively bursting at the seams, murmuring conspiratorially to you, “So is this where you were? With who- The “G” what does that-”

“Ah! My daughter!” Saved by your father’s booming voice - though, you wouldn’t consider it too much of a salvation when you’re immediately being whisked away to the high platform your father’s throne was seated on. His arms spread wide to greet you in a hug despite stiff etiquette.

“You’re late.” he whispers in your ear.

It’s all you can do to manage out a quiet, “S-Sorry.”

Without another word, he’s addressing the congregation in the middle of the dance ballroom again. More ruler than father at this very moment. “My people, we are gathered here today to dance, to sing, to forget about the horrors happening in our beloved nation.” To large murmurs of agreement he continues, “And despite it all, it’s a reality we must all live with. Me, especially, as your king, have a duty to fulfill.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you wonder where this is all going - your father never brought up vampires during a time like this. Never.

Clearing his throat, “And as we all know, I’m not getting any younger here, unfortunately. Which is why-” He claps his hands once, and three figures - one of which being Naoya, amongst two other nobles you briefly recognized - step forward from the crowd. “Ah- there should be one more- Anyway, after thorough consideration with the table of elders, we have decided to go forward with the betrothal process for my dear daughter here. With the joining of hands will not only be the joining of kingdoms - but the joining of arms, and our people shall prevail as one over the vampires.”

You think you might stop breathing, eyes burning and trained firmly on the ground. This had been a topic of conversation - well, more the elders conversing while you skipped out on every meeting once this discussion was brought up.

You knew this would happen. You knew. But now? At this very moment? All you can do is stand there and listen while he rattles off.

“I know four of the- erm, three of the most eligible young suitors of the land will do their utmost to vie for her heart - and her hand. No easy task I tell you.” Your fists clench, head swimming. “And in a week’s time, we will hold the grand ball to announce my successor.”

Shit - a week. A week.

Somewhere in your line of vision you see - you feel that spark of blue. And you’re raising your head to cheers echoing from all around the room, and still no sign of where those eyes are.

“The next time we meet, will be with the future king and queen!”

Fuck.

---

That night was spent with a few too many tears, and a consoling Nobara at your side all until daybreak. And if you held onto that comforting, peppermint-scented coat through it all, well, you were only glad that you seemed too pitiful for her to question it.

Feeling much more composed and only slightly less bitter about the prospect of being married off to a stuck-up noble you didn’t know, you made your way to breakfast the next morning. An affair usually spent with your father, or in the palace gardens - but this time, surrounded by four suitors under the guise of getting to know you. Sizing each other up, maybe.

“Ah, your highness, good morning!” you sweetly reciprocate the greetings once you’re escorted into the dining room, taking your seat at the very end of the long, mahogany table.

Sighing you take in the scene - on your left was Lord Naoya from last night, the same sharp grins and shifty eyes as you remembered. Seated beside him was the young duke of the Kashimo clan - hair striking, his battle staff laid out next to him on the table. Intimidating.

But nothing in comparison to the hulking man on your right, it seemed as if his uniform was on the verge of bursting. Face sullen, letting his pink locks fall into place - Sukuna, you think you remember.

“Your highness.” Ichiji bows, taking his place supervising the breakfast. “I am afraid our guests from the Northern kingdom will not be able to attend this breakfast today. He sends his deepest apologies. B-but-” His face-paled, looking scarred for life. “-he did have his um- attendant send this note-”

You’re gratefully taking the creamy scrap of paper before the words have even left Ichiji’s mouth, flipping it over to reveal slanted, beautiful calligraphy - Apologies for the sudden departure last night, flower. And I hope you forgive my king for not being here to deter the talk of horses - duty holds both man and beast from freedom. Worry not, we will be seeing your sweet smile again soon. But, for now, give those three bastards a rude gesture from me.

You giggle, tucking away the note. A tiny pang of disappointment hitting you out of nowhere at the lack of that gold “G” emblem anywhere along the table - and more importantly, the white-haired enigma that would follow.

All three men were glowering, yet begrudgingly plowing on with their conversation from before as you settled. Not having the energy to contribute, you listened in.

“-this would never have happened in my estate.”

“Oh buzz off-” Kashimo interrupts Naoya, before throwing a guilty look your way at his crass words. As if you didn’t say worse. “Apologies, your highness. As I was saying-” he turns back to the man. “Don’t think we haven’t heard of those vampire killings in your court that you tried to cover up, your defense isn’t as impenetrable as you want it to seem, Naoya.”

That causes you to raise your brow - and evidently, Sukuna’s as well. “That so? Little fraud, aren’t ya, Zenin?”

The shorter man sputters indignantly, “You- you little- you call me a fraud and yet you’re the only one who didn’t bother to help investigate last night? Got something to hide, oh king-of-curses?”

“Tch, shut up.” That little nickname ticked something off in Sukuna, and his grip on his delicate fork tightens. Smirk intentionally bared to piss off, “It’s just because when the princess marries me, she won’t have to worry about vampires attacking guards in the middle of a ball.”

Wait, what?

“Yeah right, you and what army because I have an absolutely enormous-”

“What do you mean?” Your smooth voice cuts through their bickering, and all three men freeze, gazes snapping to you as if they’d already forgotten you were there. “I didn’t hear about any killings last night.”

If you thought they were tense before then you weren’t prepared for right now - shoulders raising in surrender, for all their blabbering, not a word was uttered after your accusatory question. After a few beats of silence, you scoff in frustration, turning towards your escort, squirming and avoiding your pointed stare at the very corner of the room.

“Ichiji.” The man looked like he could positively give anything to blend into the meticulously hand-painted flowers on the wall. “Ichiji, tell me what happened.”

“P-princess!” he yelps, adjusting his glasses. “I- I’m afraid the king said- please I can’t-”

“Ichiji…”

“P-please don’t banish me-”

You’re on your feet now, cornering the poor man. Mentally, you make a note to give him a raise. Eyes narrowing, “I won’t banish you, but as the future queen I have a right to know, don’t I?”

“...”

“...please?”

And the remaining men had been watching with morbid fascination as you worked your magic. They were already aware that the frail attendant was the weakest link out of them all, but what they certainly did not expect was exactly how weak.

It only took a single bat of your lashes before his pale cheeks colored an almost-concerning pink. Eyes scrunching shut in embarrassment, as the words spilled from his lips. Neverending and slurring with haste as he speaks in one breath, “Th-three of the guards stationed near the outer corridor and library wing were found killed by a vampire last night before you retired for the night, your highness. Their b-bodies were disposed of, and this in combination with all the recent killings was why the king hurried the announcement for your engagement. B-but, his majesty decreed that this never be relayed to you in order to keep you in high spirits after the betrothal eep-!”

“Is- is that so?” you breathe, eyes wide. Taking one last look at the four speechless men, before walking out of the tall doorway. “I seem to have lost my appetite, I will be heading for my chambers now. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay, my lords.”

Shit shit shit - how did you not notice?

Maybe you walked right past the killer last night and didn’t even realize - who knows what could’ve been hiding in the shadows. How did you not realize? How did you not see?

Just then, a thought strikes you - did Satoru see?

---

It’s one of the whirlwind of questions ringing around in your mind even by the time you hear a steady knock on your door. Jolting you upright from where you splayed out on your plush, silken bed, rows upon rows of books on vampires haphazardly surrounding you.

Peering out of your large window, you notice the hues of pink and red painting the sky, a big red sun just dipping below the horizon - shit, when did you even fall asleep?

“Come in.” you answer, voice scratchy. Rubbing away the sleep in your eyes, you could barely make out the hazy outline of Ichiji standing in your doorway.

“Ah- your highness, I apologize for waking you up.” he bows. “But master Kashimo will be headed out for a late-night hunt at this very moment, and requested your presence shall you wish it. He noticed that you seemed upset at breakfast, and wanted to make it up to you.”

You take a moment to mull over the question - it certainly was rude for you to just ignore your guests all day. And considering you might just be marrying one of them, it wouldn’t kill anyone to actually get to know them.

“Alright.” you reply, voice even. And your answer seems to surprise the other man, “Tell Tsukumo to get my gear ready, I will be down as soon as I change.”

“Y-yes, princess! I will call for Nobara to help you get dressed.”

As the door shut once more behind him, you threw off your heavy blanket- and your coat? Satoru’s coat, which had evidently been draped around your upper half. Heart stuttering, you didn’t remember putting that on before…

Hm, you had to thank Nobara for that later.

---

Hunting with Kashimo was, unexpectedly, dull.

“So…” you drag your words, trying to fill the tense silence. “What is it that we’re actually hunting for-”

“Shhh-” you hear for about the third time this past hour. A brow of yours quirking at the way it seemed like the two of you had been wandering the woods belonging to your kingdom’s estate for hours, and you still didn’t know what it was you were supposed to be looking for.

Alright, perhaps hunting wasn’t the best opportunity to get to know your potential future husband.

“My lord…” you call out warily, already aware of the duke’s affinity for hunting. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, after all, the stars are out already and the moon is so bright.”

He barely even turns to look back at you, “No time. The woods belonging to your kingdom have some of the rarest species of cursed animals in this country. I must make the most of this week in that case, your highness.”

You brighten at the closest shred of conversation in so long. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard! I also hear they-”

“Shh!”

So close.

Letting out a resigned sigh, your eyes glaze over as you watch Kashimo trace his thick fingers over animal tracks on the dirt. Suddenly, gesturing for you to follow him as he sped off in another direction.

It doesn’t take too long for him to stray out of sight. Meanwhile, your legs lag behind in protest - and pettiness, you realize. Grumbling to yourself about how you’d rather have watched paint dry as you’re sure the elders often did. Well, you look at the now-barren pathway, at least now you didn’t have to worry about someone shushing you all the ti-

“AHH!”

And then, all of a sudden - it felt like you were the hunted.

It’s like every bit of blood drains from your body at the blood-curdling scream. Grip tightening on your bow, you’re jolting at the direction it came from - where did Kashimo disappear off to again?

Yet, for how much you knew your kingdom like the back of your hand, it’s so dark. The moon barely peeking through gloomy gray wisps of clouds that you don’t know where exactly you’re running to - just that something was tugging. Reeling you in. No destination in sight until you’re crashing face-first into- a wall?

“Hey, flower, where are ya running off to this late?”

Your hairs raise, something visceral in your body jolting.

Satoru - blindfold and all.

“Wh- Satoru thank God you’re here.” you gasp, looking nervously over his broad shoulders. “I heard a scream, and I’m worried about Kashimo because he went somewhere over there and-” You’re pointing aimlessly in his direction, before clasping a hand around Satoru’s defined bicep. Tugging, “You have to help me, that idiot even insisted on no guards because of disturbing the wildlife and I’m so worried and-”

Before you can react, big strong arms are enveloping you. And you’re suddenly hit with the smell of peppermint and Satoru - something so sickly sweet tinging the air, it makes you droop limply into his firm hold. Your skin burns when he breathes in, deep.

“Shhh shhh, I know I know, princess.” he hums, pulling you deeper against his chest. Until you could feel every dip and curve of his pectorals. “You must’ve been scared, right?” At your hesitant nod, “You did good. You did perfect- in fact. Especially putting up with that pretentious bastard.”

The shocked laugh that drags from your throat has Satoru sighing contentedly, an almost-pained grunt leaving him as he pulls away ever-so-slightly. You felt much the same.

“S’alright, I’m pretty sure it was some animal.” he soothes. He clasps your hands with his, running a damp thumb over your knuckles. “I saw him trudging about disturbing more wildlife over there.”

You breath catches in your chest at just how close Satoru was now, his breath mingling with yours. Pretty plump lips so close - too close. Yet you’re leaning in closer, like you’re drawn by a thread. “Are you sure? Maybe we should-” You gasp, eyes widening when you look down at where your hands were intertwined - red. Or, what you assumed to be red, a saturated, patchy stain on your hands where Satoru’s met yours. He stiffens when he follows your gaze, trying to pull away, but you only hold your grip harder. “Satoru, are you bleeding? Or is this-”

“Not mine.” his voice is hard - and for a second you have to wonder whether this is really the same Satoru. And you swear there’s a little tremor in his words as he explains, “You see, I went out on a little hunt myself, flower.”

Even if Satoru didn’t have his blindfold on, you’re sure his face would’ve been unreadable. That almost-familiar grin of his is strained. Too strained. Yet, his movements are unwavering as he tries to wipe away the blood. “Must’ve forgotten to wipe down, I apologize for sullying your hands, princess.”

“Let me-” you mutter, taking a hold of the coat around your shoulders to wipe away the blood. Uncaring for what you were dirtying at the moment. “I swear you need to take better care of yourself, Satoru. Seriously.”

And you didn’t see them - but somehow you could just feel the amusement dancing in Satoru’s eyes. Raising your confused gaze up to meet his, “What?”

He only flashes you a knowing grin, “S’jus’, you’re wearing my coat, your highness.”

Your movements pause, mouth gaping open while you try to pathetically spout out an excuse. “I- I didn’t mean to get this coat dirty, oh my god. I didn’t think-”

“S’alright.” he inches in even closer. A smirk grazing those sinful lips of his, “I actually prefer it like that, you look like mine.” Taking a deep breath, “You smell like mine.”

And before you can ask about his cryptic message, he’s placing a hand at the back of your waist. A very improper hand that would definitely make the elders gasp in scandal. “We should head back to the palace, it’s getting late. I will escort you, m’sure that born hunter of yours is already halfway back too.”

“Carry me.” you blurt out, your body aching to feel more of him. And before you can retract your words - probably sputter a few apologies, you’re being cradled by a smug Satoru. One hand under your knees, the other supporting you like you’re weightless.

“Heh, a princess carry for a princess.”

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble with embarrassment when he walks forward slowly, your legs swaying in midair. “Want my soul for this as well?”

And you can feel Satoru’s muscles ripple, you can feel the way his breath hitches in his chest ever-so-slightly. Rumbling as he drawls, “More than you’d know.”

“S’that a discount, too? You still didn’t tell me what you charge others.” you quip, remembering the conversation from the night before.

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough, your highness.”

You’re quirking a brow, something hot churning at the pit of your stomach at that ragged tone to his words. “I’m onto you, y’know.” You stare up at his clenched jaw, highlighted in the dim moonlight. His long, pale neck, the crevices of his blindfold. For a moment, you wonder what it would be like if you could peek under. “Onto you and your absurdly high prices, Satoru.”

He breathes out a shuddering, overly-dramatic shudder. “Mhm, flower, I should be worried.” Before looking up at the sky - and you wondered just how well he could see through his blindfold. “The moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

That night, you dreamt of long-winded star-gazing and blue, blue eyes.

---

“What do you mean Lord Kashimo has left for his kingdom?” you hiss, feeling a faint stab of offense. Seriously, were you that awful at hunting? “He didn’t make any indication of it last night.”

And if your careless words made Nobara beam with slight embarrassment, you didn’t take note of it - too caught up in what you’d just heard. Enough so that it takes her next words to bring you out of your stupor, “Exactly what I said, your highness. The lordship and his court have all vacated their wing, leaving behind only a letter of forgiveness for ending the festivities early.”

“Still.” you murmur petulantly. Setting aside another one of your books on Vampire: Mates, Murder, and More. “It’s strange, I thought he was here for the hunting sprees, if not for me.” Your tiara weighs heavy on your head as you turn to your young lady-in-waiting. “I would like for Ichiji to catch up to Kashimo’s traveling party, make sure they’re safe, and send them my well wishes.”

Ha! Take that elders - you’d show them you’re fully capable of holding diplomatic relations as a ruler.

“As you wish, princess. Additionally, this-” She’s holding out a small pouch of blue fabric that you’d never seen before. “-was found by your bedside when cleaning and I wished to give it back safely.” Before her polite smile drops into a much more devious smirk, “A gift from one of the suitors, perhaps~?”

You gesture for her to hand it over, the silk casing soft under your touch. Detailed. One-of-a-kind, from what your tedious lessons in the history of fabrics had taught you. You didn’t recognize the patterns sewn onto it as something typical for your kingdom - or any other you’d learned about, really.

“M’not sure.” you whisper. Opening the little purse to reveal a flash of gold - a necklace. Thin and intricate, holding a sapphire pendant in the shape of an eye.

Blue.

A blue you knew too well - the same one that peeked out from every dark corner, that you saw before you slept at night. The one that’s been by your side for years.

Constant. Now coming to haunt you.

Chills run down your spine, and your fingers tremble at how life-like it looked. Burning into your very soul.

“Would you like for me to help you put it on?” Nobara asks, mistaking your shock for difficulty. And yet, you don’t correct her - body moving before your mind to simply nod.

There was only one clasp on the chain - leaving you to worry about the fit. But when it was hooked around your neck, you found that it fit you so perfectly. Like it was tailored to you - and only you. Why was it so perfect?

Why did it capture the exact color you’d been chasing after your whole life - since before you’d even formed memories? Since you were nothing but a surly, teary-eyed little girl that was crying about the dark, babbling about that “blue flash” that no one else ever seemed to see.

“If that will be all, your highness. I will take my leave.” With a nod and a low bow, you’re left all by yourself in your sprawling chambers. Wondering, somewhat in amusement, whether you’d be let off this marriage pact if all the other suitors suddenly left as well. Hell, maybe you could marry whoever got you this necklace since they apparently know you so well.

And you swear - maybe it was the fatigue from trekking last night, maybe it was the stress from the past month - but you swear the wind picks up in its chilly bite. Howling just low enough that it sounds like a deep, taunting cackle.

The necklace doesn’t leave its palace around your neck for the next few days. You still didn’t know who’d gifted it to you - right inside your chambers for god’s sake - and if either of the two suitors remaining knew, they didn’t make any indication of it either.

Three, technically, but it seemed that the more the days passed, the less you saw of the mysterious king of the Northern kingdom.

While Sukuna and Naoya had taken it upon themselves to woo you by joining you in your daily activities, he hadn’t even shown his face to you yet. You were sure your father would’ve had him humiliated and thrown out of the palace already if he wasn’t afraid for his life.

But you didn’t mind, because you saw enough of Satoru to make up for King Gojo and Kashimo. The man seemed well and fully intent to stick by your side, talking yourselves well into the night.

It was on a night like this - sprawled out along the plush armchairs in the very library you’d met, only a few days after Kashimo’s departure - you asked, “Satoru, what color are your eyes?”

That makes him pause in the middle of his extremely animated story about how he’d caught Earl Yaga in the middle of an artistic dance routine. The baritone of his voice cracking so uncharacteristically as he responds with, “Wh-why do you ask, princess?”

“Because.” you roll your eyes. “In four days m’gonna be marrying, and it might just be your king. Yet, I don’t even know his attendant’s eye color - what type of good queen would I be then?”

You knew it was a flimsy excuse, truthfully you just wanted to see Satoru. All of Satoru.

“Not many have wanted to look into my eyes”

You tilt your head, “How come?”

“Well, I can assure you that they aren’t half as alluring as yours.” Satoru pushes back your tiara ever-so-slightly to reveal your face to him better, fingers dancing down to fiddle with your pendant. “You’re a strange one, aren’t ya, flower?” he chuckles, face inching closer to yours - and for a moment, you think he might do something else. “Tell me, how are the wedding preparations going?”

Ah, right - the wedding preparations. Your wedding preparations, to someone else.

Did you want him to do something else?

“W-well-” you pull back from his hypnotic presence. Heart lurching, necklace burning cold into your skin. “Sukuna keeps trying to teach me his very particular diet, I swear I’ve spent much more time with Uraume learning it than with him- they’re a sweetheart though, I can’t complain.” Eyes trying to avoid the intensity of his gaze, “Oh- and Naoya still talks about his weaponry, however, I think his Zenin elders had a word with him because he asked to meet me in the gardens tomorrow evening to actually get to know me for once.”

You brave to take a look at Satoru at the end of his spiel - only to be met with a face you never thought you’d see. His mouth a tight gash, jaw ticking, and you could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Terrifying. Magnetic.

Powerful.

The library was always cold - but you fail to suppress a shiver at the sudden grip in the air. “S-Satoru?”

And suddenly, at the mere sound of your voice, everything clicks back to normalcy. You’re staring that familiar grin painted onto his face again, musing slyly, “How much d’you wanna bet he’ll ask about your weaponry instead?”

“Oh, shut up.”

It’s only much, much later at night when you’re forced to retire early - Satoru slipping past the library earlier than usual with groans of his “attendant duties” that you realize - he didn’t answer your question.

---

“P-princess, will you be alright going alone? I don’t think-”

“It’ll be alright, Ichiji, I’m just meeting Lord Naoya.” you wave off the stammering man. Tugging your velvety coat snugly around your body, “Honestly, you act like I haven’t been out in the gardens alone before.”

And it was true, since returning from his little meeting with the Kashimo court, your jumpy attendant seemed even more so - and you didn’t even know that was even impossible. Always peeking cautiously behind corners of the winding hallways, always hovering close by you even when his duty didn’t require it.

He’d told you - in that quiet, shaky voice of his - that Kashimo was well, and headed straight for his kingdom to fulfill emergency duties. To which you’d accepted - you understood the gravity of responsibility, after all.

“But- but, your highness!” he gasps, pulling you out of your little reverie. “I don’t think- with the way he-”

A spine-chilling breeze rustles the nearby tree, sending shivers down your spine. Howling in your ears. You squint your eyes against the cold, “Sorry, what was that, Ichiji?”

But the man in front doesn’t speak - fuck, you didn’t even know if he was breathing. Face a sickly pallor, mouth gaping open and shut like he wanted to say something - he needed to say something. Yet, he wasn’t even looking at you, wide eyes locked on something over your shoulder.

“Are you-” Your body holds you back, feeling two burning eyes on you - and you have to force yourself to look over your shoulder. Only to see- nothing? “-are you alright?”

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you’re turning back to face your attendant - only to see him sprinting back down the entrance as fast as his knobbly legs could carry him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” you call, hoping it echoed far enough to be heard.

Strange.

It’s all you can think about for the next half an hour you’re seated on that dainty, painted bench in the middle of the palace gardens, waiting for your potential future husband. And for the next hour. And the next.

It’s by the time the sun has fully set, when twinkling stars are dotting the night sky that you settle with the conclusion that yes, it seems that Naoya has already made his decision about the marriage. And no it doesn’t end with a wedding.

“Dammit.” you spit, running a hand through the hair you had Nobara fuss about with. “S’not like I wanted to marry you anyway, bastard.”

And you didn’t - you really didn’t. Whenever you dared to imagine walking down that decorated aisle, Naoya was the last person you saw.

But seated alone and abandoned, trying to cover yourself from the biting chill of the night, you never felt more like an unworthy heir. Fuck, if no one wanted to marry you how would you even dare to think of taking over the throne?

Maybe you should just-

“We have got to stop meeting like this, flower. S’like you’re haunting me.”

“Satoru!” you gasp, throwing yourself into his embrace. You’re reaching up to loop two arms around his neck, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. That asshole had the audacity to stand me up.” Pulling back so your face ghosts his, “I got all dolled up just for him to leave me like this. As if I wanted to be with him, I was just trying to be a good- a good h-host and-”

Suddenly, you’re struck with the realization of how close you two actually are. You could count every crease on his blindfold, pinpoint exactly where every dimple at the corner of his grin was.

Your hands slide their way down to his sculpted chest, pushing slightly. “-I apologize, this was forward of me.”

But his arms only tighten around your waist - when did they even get there? Large and steady, pulling you back to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, your racing pulse. “Stay.” he groans, and he sounds slightly out-of-breath, heavy exhales tickling your ear.

“We can’t be caught like this, Satoru.” you breathe, but that familiar little tug has you shuffling closer. Breathing in that familiar metallic sweet scent you’ve grown to love, “I- I’m getting-” Bile creeps up at the back of your throat, and you laugh bitterly. “I think I’m getting married in three days, y’know? To Lord Sukuna, I assume, since two of my suitors ah- ran away and the other refuses to even see my face.”

His thick fingers dig deeper into the extravagant corset at your waist, “I know. Fuck- don’t I know.”

It’s a steady beat of silence, so still. So tense you could hear every stuttering heartbeat of yours, and strangely enough, you had the nagging feeling that he could, too.

“You could just marry me.” Satoru’s abrupt confession breaks the silence, and you find yourself sinking deeper into his soft coat. Wrapping yourself up in his heady presence. “Be my queen. You wouldn’t have to worry about duties or elders or- or vampires.”

And the night was still. So still.

Despite the way your heart races, eyes blinking up in disbelief, you find it in yourself to deadpan, “F-funny. Do I have to give you my soul for that as well?” Oh, some stupid little part of you think you might just have.

And you’d expected Satoru to crack a laugh, to give you a teasing smile while he carried on that little inside joke between the two of you. You’d expected him to no sooner shove you off and talk about it being late. Hell, a part of you even expected this to be some elaborate set-up from the elders to get you caught in such a compromising position with the no-longer stranger from the Northern kingdom.

But, no. It’s anything but that - everything but that.

Because the taller man only rasps, nose-to-nose now, “No.” Sounding like his sanity was slipping away from him with every breath, fingers making their dance down to twirl your sapphire pendant between them. “I’d give you mine.”

You can feel his breath fanning your cheeks, head dipping slowly - so torturously slowly. As if he was giving you ample opportunity to run away if you wanted to. But you don’t think you could move for the life of you.

Instead, you’re dipping closer, gliding the tip of your thumb over his defined cheekbone. Mere millimeters away - just one push. Another hand of yours steadies at the back of his neck, feeling those snowing locks under your fingers.

One.

Your thumb dips just under the seam of his blindfold - unwillingly.

“Your highness.” Satoru’s voice is cold, his fingers lacing with your own even colder. Something eerie. And even with the delicate touch you could feel the power thrumming through Satoru’s body. “This is for you.”

You can only stand there in shocked silence as the moment shatters, and he produces a wild rose as if out of thin air. “Consider it from King Gojo.” Touch searing against yours when he hands it to you, you feel drunk off of him “Perhaps the night is late now.”

Right. The king.

When you’re walking back in the directions of the palace’s warm lights, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer. Strangely enough.

“Satoru.”

“Yes?”

“I’m onto you.”

“You’re onto me.” he’s tucking the bloom over your ear. Before stepping back into the inky pool of shadows beside the entrance you came from. “Sweet dreams, flower.”

That night, when you tuck yourself into bed, you swear you hear a faint whisper of those same three words lulling you to sleep. Over and over.

Sweet.

Dreams.

Flower.

---

Floral preservation was one of the lessons you’d been forced to attend growing up in the palace, but even you didn’t know how that wild rose Satoru gifted you hadn’t wilted yet.

It remained as fresh and prim as the night it was picked, bluish pink petals never fading. You didn’t keep it safely in a bowl of water amongst the other plants and flowers in your bedroom. Somehow, never out of place, always tucked safely behind your ear in the days that followed. Perhaps it was improper to keep it on you even when you were being fitted into an engagement gown to be promised off to another man. But Satoru didn’t complain, and you didn’t either.

With Kashimo departing for his kingdom early, and Naoya apparently following in his footsteps due to “irrevocable differences”, it was now almost confirmed that the future king was to be Lord Sukuna. Not like King Gojo had made any effort to reach out - and Satoru hadn’t mentioned it either.

Satoru.

Things were…the same after that night, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

It must be done, you sigh, wincing at the pinch of the flowing white dress being suited onto you by the bustling tailor. At least it could be worse, even if you’d rather…

“Honestly, young people these days.” Yaga speaks up from where he was fussing with the silken hem of your gown for tomorrow. “I heard of that Naoya brat leaving out of nowhere, princess. My condolences.”

“Ah-” you startle, not expecting to be addressed. “It’s not your fault, we likely didn’t mesh all that well. I just wish he left a note- Honestly, I’m lucky to even have a suitor left after these six days.”

Another grimace leaves you when you feel another tweak of pins pricking at your skin. The other man hums lowly, “Don’t say that, anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyway-” He gets up from his position kneeling, towering over you to admire his own work. “How do you like it, your highness?”

You let out a gasp when you face the floor-length mirror, “Oh my god, it’s perfect.” The dress was regal, decadent. With flowing tresses resembling a petals, and gilded gold and blue weaved into the fabric.

Blue.

“I fashioned it after that necklace and flower of yours.” You unwittingly reach for that familiar pendant, “I ah- forgive the assumption, but I assumed you would be wearing them both at the betrothal ceremony tomorrow, princess?”

Taking another long look in the mirror, you nod, “Yeah. I will.”

---

“I knew it.” he laughs shrilly. “I fuckin’ knew there was something wrong with you. As soon as I saw you butterin’ the princess up in the library, I knew you were a fuckin’ freak.”

The other man only responds with ominous silence, letting labored breathing cut through the bone-chilling air. Clearly unsatisfied, “What? Not gonna talk now? Aren’t ya just in it for the crown like me? Have the bitch, just give me the crown.” Goading now, “I bet you’re not even an attendant are ya- I know what you are-”

His words are cut off with another choked-up gasp, followed shortly by a strained growl. “I know- what you are-”

Red stains the marble floor - a problem for later.

“I know, King Gojo.” And it’s the last thing he sees. “And you’ll reap what you sow, she’ll never love you.”

Blue.

“You’ve haunted me too long, flower.”

“Satoru–!” you scream, throwing your soft bed sheets off your body.

It was burning - you were burning, gasping for the cold lungfuls of air that filled your empty bedroom. Mind bleary, distantly, you register that it’s around daybreak - tiny fingers of golden sunlight just barely dipping through your window - your open window.

Hastily, you’re tumbling out of bed to slam it shut. Heart still pounding when you take in the mess of flower petals from those congratulatory bouquets you’d gotten. Ruined. Only the stems left in the vases after that sudden, chilling wind.

“What-” Your eyes dart around to look over your dresser, where you always kept Satoru’s wild rose. And a shiver creeps down your spine when you realize it lay snug tucked behind your ear, safe and sound. Exactly where you didn’t keep it. “-happened?”

You couldn’t settle back into bed after that - couldn’t even think about it. So you find yourself reaching for your wardrobe of dresses, running your fingers along the intricate gown made for your engagement ball tonight. Your engagement to Sukuna.

If this was the nightmare, and tonight was to be the dream - why did your stomach turn so?

---

It was difficult convincing Nobara to let you keep the wild rose on after getting ready.

“But that’s so last season.” she bemoans. “No offense, your highness, but even old lady Ogami wouldn’t be caught dead wearing flowers in her hair these days.”

You’re giving her your best puppy dog eyes, “Please, Nobara?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you raid my exclusive wardrobe the next time you want to play dress-up?”

“...”

Which was how you found yourself shoved into a dress that was way too gorgeously palatial, barely even having the time to admire the lush gold and blue decorations around the sparkling ballroom before you were being ushered next to your father on his throne.

You fiddle with your ringed fingers, feeling more and more like a lamb sent to slaughter - a very opulent slaughter - with each step.

“I am so proud of you for this week, and you look absolutely divine, my love.” your father whispers into your ear once you’re up on the crushed velvet platform. “I hear from Ichiji that you know, I apologize we couldn’t go through with this marriage under better circumstances.”

You shake your head, giving him a calm smile - you’d already forgiven him, sometimes there was duty far greater than any man.

“My people, as promised, we are gathered once more to celebrate the joining of two hands - and two kingdoms.” The king projects his voice out to the eager crowd, “Together, these two young loves will face their duty. They will face the dangers. They will face our future.”

The thought had you clenching your fist into the soft fabric of your gown, looking down at your feet in a bow.

“As I did with my father before me - God rest his soul - the future king and queen will oversee their responsibilities to protect our people from those treacherous vampires. The elders-” he stops short, eyes widening at the empty seats on the balcony - where the table of elders always sat. Abandoned. Chilling. “...have decreed, in accordance with our princess, to introduce my daughter to you all as our future queen-”

Your father gestures a hand your way, and you step forwards to cheers, still not daring to look up. And all you could see were two, gold-toed boots stepping into your field of vision.

“-and our future king!”

“Look up, flower, this is the best part.”

Gasping, you raise your head - Satoru.

“Y-you?”

He smiles that pearly smile at you, one that makes your knees weaken, “Me.” Before leaning down conspiratorially, “Better get moving now, the king just declared that the big bad Northern king and the precious princess will have their first dance as a couple.”

It felt like you were moving through a dream as you slip your hand into his, flinching at the feeling of his cold lips meeting the back of your hand.

The crowd of whispering nobles part to make a path for the two of you, and Satoru is so gentle when he leads you into the middle of the dance floor. Weightless on his feet, swiftly placing a burning hand on your waist - just below where the elders would consider proper.

The other intertwining with yours, you barely even register the slow, romantic tune playing from the orchestra.

“I bet you have questions.” he whispers, breath fanning your cheeks.

You take in his tall figure, the rows of medals, gleaming only half as bright as the smile that makes its way onto your face. Hissing, “That doesn’t cover the half of it, King Gojo.”

“I-I apologize. I can’t apologize enough but-”

“Though, I did have a nagging feeling about the fifth time you talked yourself up.” you smirk.

Satoru throws his head back in a loud cackle, echoing through the hushed crowds - no doubt gossiping about this being the Northern king, that fearful beast that ruled over the Gojo family. “I know.” His hand comes up momentarily to brush over your sapphire necklace, “And I’ll spend our entire lives making it up to you, flower.”

Goosebumps dance down your arm, your spine, right down to where Satoru held a firm grip on your hip. You two waltz around the edge of the dance floor, perfectly in time. Through the crowd of grumbling lords, the orchestra, past the table of foods.

“And exactly how long would the rest of our lives be, Satoru?”

Slowing right in front of that huge, reflective wall.

You couldn’t see his eyes, but his biting gaze was all you could feel.

Lingering on the blue pendant nestled at your chest, the everlasting wild rose tucked behind your ear, the mirror to your right - where the twin image of you shone. Powerful, gorgeous, everything that a monster like him could never have because he wasn’t standing there right next to you. His kind never could.

In the back of your mind, you registered collective gasps sounding all around you - the rest of the ball attendees that’d also taken note of the lack of Satoru’s reflection. But your eyes stay locked on him.

A thumb hooks under his blindfold, and he grimaces. “You really were onto me, huh, flower?”

Tugging.

Your fingers tighten around his, unable to let the most fearsome of creatures escape from your grasp. “You must’ve been onto me, too, Satoru.”

Pulling.

All you see is a flash of a regal nose bridge, and the flutter of thick white lashes - before every single chandelier in the ballroom snuffs out at once. Cloaking the room in unnatural darkness, it sends every single knight and noble into a frenzy.

And then, he opens his eyes.

“IT’S HIM-”

“A body! A BODY FOUND IN THE ROYAL GUEST SUITE–

“VAMPIRE! STAY BACK-“

Oh, it’s blue.

That crystal blue.

And then it’s black.

---

SLAM!

“If you must kill me.” Satoru’s voice sounds from somewhere above you. You blink away the darkness, feeling your bleary gaze try and adjust to that unfamiliar high ceiling, the outlines of hauntingly beautiful paintings on it. His ragged breaths cut through your thoughts once more, hastily folding your hand to grip your pendant. “If you must kill me, then I prefer you do it with your own hands, princess.”

You can’t tell whose hand is trembling more - yours or his. Distantly, you realize you’re being pushed up against a luxuriously padded wall, one you’d never seen before in your life.

Where were you?

“The Gojo palace- Please-” he reads your mind, voice breaking at the end of his plea. Gasping - and you can discern two elongated teeth at his canines. Fangs, you realize with a shiver. “You may leave if you want to, you may kill me for what I’ve done. My life is in your hands.”

“Satoru.” you soothe in a hushed voice, despite the way your head was reeling. The Gojo palace? “I won’t kill you.”

“But-”

“Satoru, what does this necklace mean?” You beg, and at this point, you’re not surprised that the necklace is from him - because it was an exact replica of the two burning eyes staring back at you. The only source of light right now, glowing a blue you’d finally found after a lifetime. “Why did you-” you gulp, heart lurching. “Why did you hand me your…life?”

Soft lips play right over your rapid pulse, murmuring into your skin, “S’my soul.” A long, pale index of his plays with the pendant. “The only part of my soul that’s living, gilded into a necklace to be kept in the safest place I know. You.”

“But-” you cry out, trying to get another look at his eyes - but your fiancé only kisses deeper at your neck. Nibbling at the thundering beat just below. “But why did you give it to me?”

“Who else would I give it to, if not for my mate?”

Mates - there were a thousand and one books and official documents detailing everything from a vampire’s killing pattern to the aphrodisiac toxins found in their blood. But the research on a vampire’s mate was far and few between.

Perhaps owing to the lack of willing mates that can come out without persecution, or perhaps due to the vampires’ intense rumored mating rituals. But it didn’t go without its own gossip, you were no stranger to the ladies of the court tittering about how morbidly “romantic” it was that mates were akin to soulmates - how it was an invisible string connecting two people to share a life, a soul.

A vampire’s one and only mate.

Satoru was pinning you harder to the wall now, his pink tongue darting out to lick over your pulse. The fingers holding onto the necklace were now tilting your chin up at him, “Speak to me, flower.”

“I’m your mate?” you whimper, your lips ghosting over his. Already knowing the answer, but fuck you needed to hear it from him. “What does that mean exactly?”

He lets out a pained grunt, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It means you’re the other half of my soul. My only one, I was born for you.” Pressing a chaste peck on there - and you swear you could feel the nip of two sharp canines against your skin. “The one I’ll fight heaven and hell for, until the very last beat of my cold, dead heart.” Your fingers curl at his shoulders when his mouth moves to the shell of your ear. “The one I’ll kill for, take out every measly scum that thinks they can get with my mate.”

He huffs out a burst of cold laughter when your breath hitches, probably reading over the thoughts running through your mind - Satoru killed them. The guards, Kashimo, Naoya- fuck, maybe even Sukuna. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them. He killed them.

You shiver, “A-and all the wind? The whispers? I thought it was just you these past week b-but- All my life, that was you?”

You know. You knew.

Another kiss - this time to the corner of your eye, and Satoru licks a long, content stripe up the big fat tears unwillingly welling up behind your eyes. He groans at the salty taste of you, taking in a long, drawn-out breath. “Yes.”

All it takes is that single word for your entire body to collapse, thankfully onto an awaiting Satoru. He holds your entire body weight with one hand around your waist, the other coming up to swipe his thumb under those tears rolling down your cheeks now.

He kisses your cheek, “All your life.” The corner of your lips, “And all of mine.”

Run away run away run away run away-

But you can’t - you don’t want to.

Your lips wobble when he nuzzles down your face, leaving a trail of hot kisses with his cold, cold mouth. “As soon as I learned to use my powers - was just a brat you see - I just had to see my mate. To smell her scent.” He’s inhaling deeply again, hands groping over your engagement gown. “Lo and behold, there was you. A cute lil’ princess around my age, tuckered out and fast asleep.” Lingering at your jaw, the hand tight around your waist pulls you painfully closer. Satoru’s knee wedging itself between your trembling thighs, “Imagine my surprise when she took one look at me and cried. Scared me enough to teleport outta there as soon as you opened that smart mouth, flower.”

And the thought of Satoru - tiny and determined - teleporting halfway across the land only to be yelled at by you has you huffing out a shock of laughter.

“So when I heard through the grapevine about your potential engagement, fuck- I couldn’t have ran out of this palace faster. Was so excited I fuckin’ forgot to teleport, too. Even if you were afraid of the ‘cruel Northern king.’”

Fuck - that’s right. He must’ve heard your thoughts that time you met him in the library.

Satoru’s tone drops to a low simper, so close now that you could feel every slight curve of his grin. Every twitch of his fingers sweeping up and down your exposed skin, feeling the delicious thrum of your veins. He could bite you right now - easily. “And luckily, as I grew up, so did my ability to blend in with the darkness.” Eyes boring into yours, something so vulnerable in them now. “But you found me, you always did.”

“Satoru.” you angle your head upwards. “Kiss me.”

And how could he ever deny you?

You wince at the slight pinch of Satoru’s teeth - his fangs - as he crashes his lips into yours in a greedy kiss. Sliding his tongue over to taste those candied lips he’s been dreaming of for years.

“Fuck-” he breathes out through his nose, jaw sagging open further to kiss you deeper. “Fuck, princess.”

Strong arms pin you harder against the wall, and you’re blindly reaching out to reciprocate even a fraction of Satoru’s neediness. Just dragging your hips up and down his muscled thighs. Sinful.

Shit, it was so endearing to him seeing you struggle to touch him this way. And with a flick of a wrist, the candle chandeliers hung high above your heads are lighting up at once. “S’that better, flower?”

It takes every bit of will in you to manage to pull away, yet the thought of seeing Satoru - of really seeing Satoru is what spurs you to break the kiss. Delicate strings of saturated spit snapping in the non-existent air between you two, you take a long look at your new husband.

Fuck, he was so pretty.

You always knew he was.

But even with his face tilted downwards, within the soft light tinting those snowy strands a sunset yellow - you could make out the pretty pink flush all the way from his glossy, ravaged lips, up, up, up to his delicate cheeks - he looked like the last thing from a monster.

“No you’re pretty.” he hums, and you’re still not used to him reading your mind. Head nodding downwards, “Just look, grinding on my thigh like such a slut.”

What met you was a dark pool of slick saturating his trousers, just peeking out over the hem of your dress. It makes you give another lingering, experimental grind.

“Satoru—” you’re letting out a honeyed drag of his name, reveling in the way it makes him swallow heavily. “You can hear my thoughts, right?” Look at me.

Slowly - but surely - familiar blue meets yours. Half-lidded, pupils blown, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said there were tiny sparks of lightning at the corners of his long white lashes.

You’ve been haunting me my whole life, Toru.

And it was an accident - it really was, your freshly kissed brain too hazy to slur out Satoru’s full name. But the impromptu little nickname has him dragging forwards like he was magnetized.

A low growl escaping when he’s kissing you again. And again. And again and again and-

“Say it-” Two hands are tugging at those tedious ribbons tying your decadent gown together. Pulling. “Say it again f’me.” Ripping.

The more his lips are assaulting yours, the more the dress slips further and further down your shoulders. Tattered. The soft satin leaving goosebumps down your spine as it reveals your neckline - all that skin for him to ruin. To mark.

“Oh-” you’re squealing when one of Satoru’s fangs prick a bit too hard at your lip. Feeling a hot flow of crimson bleed out, the feeling has you so weak. So drunk. “Quite eager, aren’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” he groans again. Soft tongue moving from swirling around your own to lazily pool your blood on it. And you can’t imagine what about the metallic taste would be so euphoric, but he’s letting out his loudest drag of your name yet. Eyes rolling to the back of his head like he’s just tasted a personal slice of heaven. “Fuck- fuck you have no idea.”

You moan into the kiss when he bites down again on your already-bruised lower lip, “I’ve always wanted to do this-” Slow, slow hands kneading up your waist, at a dizzying tempo matching his mouth down your jaw, your neck. Hips bucking, you feel the outline of something so hard between his legs. “-to kiss you. To-” Tethering on the sensitive area of your pulse, “-bite.”

In a split-second, you’re sinking down into plush silk sheets, swallowing you whole in a king-sized bed you didn’t even realize was in the room before.

“S-Satoru, did you teleport us again?” you gasp, eyes adjusting to the intricate paintings on the ceiling that you hadn’t gotten to admire before. Of white-haired youths and roses, of cold, dark palaces and- and you.

You - when you were younger, sleeping peacefully while a little boy watches intrigued from the corner. You - passed out in the library after a long night of reading, two pale hands wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You - your brows furrowed, head cocked while you pushed past nobles to search for that flash of his blue. You, you, you.

You.

“I can hear the gears in that pretty head turning.” Satoru grins, still kissing you in a languid graze of lips. “And as much as I love it when you hah- admire my lonely paintings, I’d rather you pay attention to-” A low groan curdles at the back of his throat when he’s grinding his massive clothed erection against the syrupy spot at your core. “-me.”

There’s a dark little huff of laughter and with one last bite at the side of your neck, Satoru’s unapologetically tearing right through the middle of your gown.

And you know it’s made with the finest fabrics the country has to offer, you know that no normal man should be able to even rip a tiny shred through your dress - but Satoru is no ordinary man.

Your spike of disappointment is quickly overshadowed by cold breath hovering over your exposed tits. “Oh, so perfect f’me.” he’s groaning, deep and primal. Biting down on your hardened nipple, “Ya think those uptight elders your court has- ah, had would appreciate me desecrating their precious princess before marriage?”

Through gasps, you peek down at his wicked tongue, swirling around the sensitive spots of your areola. “Who- who gives a shit.”

“So feisty.” The peaks of your tits are left coated in him as Satoru pulls away. “So addictive.” Pinching your soft flesh between his teeth - just hard enough that you worry he’s out to draw blood again. “So- so-”

Words are failing Satoru’s sharp mouth as he kisses his way down your body. The valley of your chest, your stomach, your hips.

Down, down, down-

“Fuck, Satoru-” you’re hissing when he easily pulls the pathetic remains of your dress off and onto the floor. The rest of your inner skirts easily following afterwards. “Are you gonna…”

“M’afraid not.” he licks sloppy circles at the skin of your thighs. Tasting, nipping, leaving little marks with his fangs for later. Sloppily soothing his tongue over the tiny droplets of blood beading from the bites, he murmurs stubbornly, “Not until you address me correctly.”

Hesitantly, you reach out a limp hand to thread through his dampening white tresses. Tugging softly to lock those devouring blue eyes with yours, “Please, Toru?”

You get absolutely no warning when he kisses right through that flimsy excuse of your drenched panties to slide his tongue up and down your sopping wet slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you moan when he’s just dipping the very tip barely past your puffy folds. The fabric of your underwear still sticking to you, “Stop being such a tease, goddammit ngh-”

“Why?” Of course, he toys with your patience even now, addicted to those needy whines falling from your lips. “I jus’ wanna play with my princess’s pretty pussy. What am I getting out of it?”

You smirk, not even having to move your pretty mouth to know you had him in the palm of your hand already. I’d be your mate for life.

It’s all you can do to watch with satisfaction as the great Gojo Satoru gasps - gasps. Slick-glossed lips falling into a soft oh! Hazy eyes widening almost-comically, and at full heady attention while he takes a few seconds to mull over your words.

RIP!

In an instant, your soaked underwear is ripped clean off to bare your dripping cunt for him, wrapped tightly around Satoru’s fingers and disappearing down below to where your imagination couldn’t handle.

“Oh, such a pretty pussy.” he coos, thumbing apart your puffy folds to admire your lewdly winking cunt. Glistening and so so needy, you jolt when he bullies two long fingers past your sloppy entrance. With your greedy hole swallowing every slender inch of Satoru’s fingers easily, “So needy too. This all f’me?”

As if to prove his point, his pink lips wrap around your throbbing clit, grinding his tongue over the ravaged tip. The harsh texture of his tastebuds rolling over every inch of you he could reach.

“Y-yes-” you squeal, hips bucking down mindlessly to try and match his relentless tempo. “S’only for you.”

“Tha’s what I love to hear-” Satoru’s cheeks hollow when he sucks on your sensitive little nub - hard. “Sweeter than I even imagined, shit-”

Every pump of his merciless fingers in and out of your cunt drags along your gummy walls. Deftly curling to prey at those hidden sweet spots of yours he just knew would wrench out such throaty moans from you - and fuck, Satoru thinks- no, he knows that the sound is is favorite song.

“You’re makin’ me- hah making me fall in love all over again.” he gruffs out into your cunt. The pads of his fingers pressing into the cushiony ends of your pussy. “Because look how messy you are- how loud.”

You didn’t know if he had mind-control powers on top of mind-reading, because it’s as if you’re on auto-pilot when your lolling head is whirling down to look at the absolute sin made of you below. Satoru - running his mouth a mile a minute to send white-hot vibrations along your clit. His milky fingers buried knuckle-deep to stretch out your poor cunt. Your sweet sweet juices drooling all over them in such an obscene sheen down his palm, his wrist.

He whines, “Makin’ me wanna-” You jolt when he’s biting down so dangerously around your clit. “Wanna-”

Satoru doesn’t end up finishing his sentence - and he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s pausing his make-out with your clit to spit once. Twice. A thick thumb swiping at the intentional splatter of saliva marking your skin, before surging forwards even deeper - you didn’t even think that was possible. But Satoru has the tip of his nose rubbing methodical circles against your clit, jaw grinding at the base of your pussy, tongue flattening out your pussy lips.

Messy. Harsh.

“Oh- oh my god, Toru-” you’re keening at the feeling of his wet muscle trying to squeeze in past the fingers still continuing their assault on your entrance. “It- it won’t fit–”

“Shhh shhh, s’okay, princess.” he hushes, letting another round glob of spit wet your clingy pussy. “You can take it. You will - otherwise how are you gonna take your husband, hm?”

That little comment has connotations that make your plushy walls clamp down vice-like around his fingers - his tongue. And you’re angling your head just right, blinking away the lustful haze in your eyes to spy down at the rapid, jerky movements of his other hand. Devouring gaze dropping down to-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

It was difficult to even look at the sight below - your panties, soaked and completely see-through with slick and precum, wrapped prettily around what you could make out to be Satoru’s aching cock. Standing proud, twitching wildly with every drag of his fist up and down his glistening length.

“Fuck-” he groans, taking the opportunity to devilishly slip his tongue past your feeble entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- y’like this, huh?” Drawled out little praises now muffled as he fucks you on his tongue the way he wished he could with his cock. In and out in and out in and out. Pulling back to eye your gaping hole, “I can feel y’getting wetter for me is it because-” Before surging back forwards, as if he’s addicted. “Because-” Again.“Fuck don’t clench around me that way. Was hard enough trying not to fuck you stupid right there in the middle of the ballroom.”

You whine, tears flowing down freely at the sheer pleasure at this point. “Y-you-” you gasp, your five fingers splaying out over Satoru’s head. Pushing even harsher, “You hngh- talk too much- m’so close-”

Partially because you really needed those pretty lips back at your heated core, partially because every word tumbling from his mouth had you throbbing embarrassingly, your slick spreading a glossy sheen on the sheets underneath you.

“Oh yeah? Heh, anything for you, flower.” Satoru grins such a sly, sultry grin and you feel it against one set of your swollen lips. “Absolutely anything.”

In and out in and out. He has his brows furrowed now, concentrated on having every flick and divot of movement pushing you closer and closer towards the edge. Faster. Sloppier. You have half the mind to wonder whether it didn’t hurt - whether Satoru’s tongue wasn’t cramping up from how fast he was going, whether his fingers weren’t tired already.

Out of the corner of your spotty vision, you can see those stuttering squeezes of Satoru’s hand speed up. Trying desperately to match each bullying push of his tongue and his fingers into your overstuffed pussy.

The thought makes you whine, “Oh my god- Toru, m’gonna cum.” And shit, at this point it’s too much. You couldn’t think - you couldn’t even breathe. “M’so close please.” Barely able to even register anything but Satoru Satoru Satoru-

It’s why you don’t even realize at first when you’re finally cumming - Satoru does, though. He feels it in the way your heavenly walls are closing down on his fingers, clenching around him so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your orgasm. Waves of electric pleasure crashing into you and you think you’re drowning.

“Tha’s it.” he rasps. “Cum f’me like that, tha’s it- thaaat’s it, such a good lil’ wife- a perfect mate.”

The fingers stuffed deep inside your pussy are being pulled out in a flash - not letting you waste a moment of your heady high before he’s toying ravenously with your swollen clit. Pinching, and rolling between two soft fingers.

“O-oh fuck, m’-cumming? M’cumming m’cumming-” you moan deliriously, mind just now catching up. Your hips drag your sloppy pussy all over Satoru’s pretty face. Just drenching his noble features with your gushing mess. “Feels too ah- good, Toru.”

And he takes it like it’s everything he needs - everything he’s ever wanted.

Jaw falling slack to let your juices slide down his throat, tongue lolling out flick your spasming cunt through your high. Unstopping. Unwavering.

Even when your vision stops tingeing with black at the edges, even when you think you’re sane enough to form a coherent thought. Even when your climax is bating enough that every flick of Satoru’s tongue only sends almost painful thrums of pleasure down your spine.

“W-wait m’done-” you sob, tasting the salty stream of tears splashing down your face now. “S’too sensitive- ngh-”

When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon, you try again - this time thinking the embarrassing thought out loud. I…I really want you inside me now, Toru. Please?

And he pauses - jolting, as if some dark, primal part of him had just been called back to life. Tongue still hot on your cunt, fist still greedy around his rock-hard shaft.

“F-fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, flower.”

And before, you couldn’t get enough of those striking blue eyes, but now you couldn’t escape them.

With inhuman speed, he’s shuffling up the soaked sheets. “An absolute fuckin-” Slick-glossed lips meet yours, smearing along the combination of juices till the lower half of your face was as dripping wet as Satoru’s. “-minx, y’know that?”

“Wh-what can I say?” you tilt your head with a smirk, lips a bit too loose than you’d like - but it didn’t matter anyway, he was in your thoughts. Your mind. “I’m your mate, after all.”

He falls back onto his knees at that sinful little sentence of yours, throwing his head back in a guttural groan. “Fuck- you’re mine alright. See what you hah- do to me? See how this is all your fault?”

If Satoru expected an answer, then he doesn’t receive it. Because every snippy little retort on the tip of your tongue melts when you get a long, hard look at the angry shaft in his hand. So red and angry. Thick enough that you felt your cunt quiver already.

Delicate with prominent veins that glistened and throbbed down his long, long length with each slew of his vigorous fist. And his tip- fuck, blushed your favorite shade of weepy pink, slobbering a sheen of precum all down his wrist, his tufts of cloudy white.

And you realize with a jolt that he still had your panties wrapped around him - looking so tiny around Satoru’s massive cock.

Wordlessly, your hand replaces his.

“W-woah- fuck-” His toned waist flexes with the effort to fuck up into the soft cushion of your palm. “How the- ngh how the fuck does your fuckin’ hand feel this good?”

“You’re so big- fuck, don’t know how I’d- Wait you never imagined this?” you bat your eyes up with faux innocence. A thumb gliding over that deep divot on the very tip of his fat head. “Because I sure have, Toru.”

Satoru’s heavy balls smack against your arm when he shuffles down his pants even further, now fully letting you go ahead with your agonizing torture. “Shit-” he yelps, eyes screwing shut at the image. “Don’t- don’t say that, holy shit.”

You toy with your scrap of panties, massaging every ridge and curve with it. Just dragging your hand up and down. “Would you rather I think it instead?”

Within milliseconds, two sharp fangs are poised right above your rapid pulse, a hand around your throat. “No- no no no no-” Satoru gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. And it takes him a few blinks to realize his position, immediately moving his lips up to nip at your jaw. “Fuckin’ no.” Hard enough that another red pearl of blood drips out, instantly being sucked up greedily by your fiancé. “Gonna make me lose it before I-I ngh-”

With a pained growl, he suddenly has you sitting so prettily on his muscular lap. Your legs splayed out like such a slut, needy cunt slobbering all over where you were sat right on his demanding erection.

By the time you’re realizing your helpless position, it’s too late - and Satoru’s already shrugging off the rest of his pants. Buttons hitting the floor when he just tears his flowing dress shirt off.

“Sh-show off.” you breathe, hands mapping out every dip and curve of the plane of defined muscles displayed before you. So mouthwatering.

“Can tell that you- ngh think m’mouthwatering, flower.” he grins. One hand kneading and groping the flesh of your ass to steady your drooling cunt to kiss at his thick tip. The other keeping one of your palms stuck to his washboard abs, up, up, up to press at his sculpted left pec. “N’ I know m’heart’s not beating, but I’m much the same. Very- much the- same.”

And Satoru’s spent years waiting, yearning - so he doesn’t waste even a second more when stuffing his cock inside your snug cunt.

“O-oh. Satoru- Satoru please oh-”

The stretch - fuck, the stretch. The stretch is so much that it feels like you’re being split apart. Just the bare tip of his fat cock being bullied in short, determined half-thrusts.

And it takes only one, lucky collision into the bullseye of your g-spot and you’re already falling apart.

“Wait- wait wait wait m’gonna-” you gasp, your nails running down his broad, milky back in jagged red lines when you’re cumming once more. Toes curling, hips convulsing wildly on top of a smug Satoru. “Oh my god, ngh- what’ve you done to me, Toru?”

“Now, let me ngh- let me tell you a little secret, hah- princess.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gifting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. “The best thing about mates?” Sharp fangs catch onto your delicate skin, “They feel sex on a whole other level.”

And then he’s bringing down both hands to spread apart the globes of your ass. Your puffy folds are stretched to their limits when he thrusts up once. Muscled thighs flexing underneath yours. Harsh.

Ignoring your pleading keens and the slight resistance at the intrusion of his intimidating size, “Hold on, princess- hold- fuuuuck.” Lips latch onto yours, drinking up every heady whine when your poor cunt is being fed every inch by fucking inch. “You’re taking me so well.”

And that you were - your pussy lips bulging and struggling to accommodate Satoru’s monstrous size, but still taking him in so greedily.

“There we go.” he grunts out, punctuated with heavy rams of hips. Up, up, up until you could feel Satoru’s sobbing tip graze against your cervix - your lungs. “Theeere we fuckin’-” Pushing and pushing until there was no more, until your neglected clit was scratching against his snowy pubic hair. Ass coming to rest at his twitching balls. “-go.”

“You’re in so deep-” you’re blabbering, cockdrunk already. The last few dredges of your high still not wearing off, it takes you a few seconds of Satoru still trying to squeeze his cock even deeper to manage to raise a hand about midway up your stomach. Feeling for that vertical bulge that was him, “-can feel you right here.”

“Oh yeah?”

And like he was testing your theory, Satoru fucks up into your gummy hole in another bullying slam. Watching in wonder at the way that little divot in your stomach crashes around the same spongy cervix he was.

“Fuck- you’re right.” he hisses. Addicted now. Immediately rocking into you with reeling, long rolls of his hips. “You’re so- fuckin’ right.”

You can’t find the energy in yourself to even yelp in surprise when Satoru immediately changes your positions so that you’re now laying fucked-out on the mattress. His domineering hips pinning you down to use you like some little cocksleeve.

“God-” he pants into your open mouth, tongue swirling with your weighty one. “God- fuck fuck fuck if heaven is real then this is it.” Each little profanity is decorated with a smoldering crash of his tip into your sweet spot. “You’re the heaven I don’t ngh- deserve, flower.”

That neat bitemark on your thigh is being jostled with the amount of ragged movement, and you wince with pain when it starts flowing again.

“Oh- oh.”

Satoru’s like a predator that has cornered his prey, and is spending hours tediously unraveling every single bit of you.

Sliding two smooth palms underneath your legs, they’re urgently thrown over his large shoulders to fold you down, down, down into the meanest mating press you think you could handle - handle without fucking breaking, that is.

“So good t’me.” he breathes, long tongue easily licking up that sweet nectar of your blood. “Y’know your cute lil’ brain s’too scrambled to even read right now.”

“H-how can I think when you’re ah! Like- like this, Toru?”

The sudden change in angle makes you scream. It makes you clamor for the headboard, the sheets, your husband when that obscenely perfect upwards curve of his dick is massaging every nook and cranny of your cunt.

“Yeah? Feels good? Now now- don’t run- away” he’s dragging you down those drenched sheets by the legs like some ragdoll, stuffing you more and more with his painful cock. Fucking you so relentless, like he was trying to worship every little hidden sweet spot inside your dripping cunt. “Say it- no no no, not in your head. Say it.”

And you do - a little over fifteen times when his thick hilt pecks your pussy lips over and over with each thrust when Satoru bottoms out, hitting all the way into the back of your cunt - your cervix, your g-spot - like he couldn’t decide which one to bruise more.

“S’too good-” you’re gasping. Your overstimulated pussy being molded like clay to the girthy shaft kissing down your cunt. Stretching out your elastic walls until you could almost feel them take shape to his swollen cock. Feel every sensitive spot inside you being overstimulated at once with every burning massage against them. “You’re fuckin’ me way too- too good- ngh- can’t even think.”

But that wasn’t enough for him.

Dipping a thumb down to circle around your clit, white-hot pleasure shoots up your spine when he lets out a deep rumble, “Think I fell in love with you when I- fuck, right then and there when I first- hah saw you all those years back.” speeding up with the sloppy staccato of his rude cock. Satoru’s words slurring now, messed up and half-prepared like the accelerating half-thrusts being bestowed upon your ravaged cunt. Like he couldn’t bear to pull out completely. “The first time you saw me, you were so afraid. Look at you- fuck, jus’ look at you now, princess.”

Each word is like a brand onto your sticky skin, accompanied by harsh smacks of Satoru’s balls against your ass, his sharp hip bones digging into your thighs. Him.

“Toru–” is all you can manage to whine out, a limp hand pulling his face closer to yours. You’re jumping with each swipe at your poor clit. “Toru m’here.”

“And- and yet-” he’s still blabbering, still pussydrunk while he fucks you so menacingly. Fingers sopping wet with their assault on your sensitive nub, “And yet I just- fuck-” He cuts himself off to give your messy hole another thick stream of spit. Coating his long, raw shaft - rubbed red with the way your gripping walls were massaging him so right - making it easier to slide in and out. “And yet, I just had to see you, to see the gorgeous mate I don’t deserve. I couldn’t live without you.”

A single overstimulated tear glistens a track down Satoru’s pretty face - one you kiss away as quickly as it appeared. Nudging open those teary, blue gaze to bore down on you.

Oh, he looked an absolute wreck - white hair mussed up, stray strands sticking to his forehead. Glossy lips parted, drool pooling at the corner, broken grunts leaving him with each smash of his tip back into your cunt. So blissed out.

Jolting at your eyes on him, Satoru feels his balls tighten so painfully. Abs burning when his pace stutters with need.

“You’re haunting me, just as much as I was haunting you, Toru.”

The candles go out. Instantly.

And shit you’re feeling it first when when hé’s cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Flashes of white startling behind his closed, glassy eyes. “Shit- shit shit shit shit-” Hairs on your body raising as Satoru’s fingers draw circles on your clit so aggressively. Dragging out your high. Forcing it. “Take it- take it all, my flower. Let me paint this pretty pussy all white.” Violent, almost.

So, really, it makes sense that your third orgasm of the night was the same.

Just shivering, sinful tingles running from your overstimulated mind right down to where Satoru was stuffing thick white ropes of potent seed deeper and deeper down your tight channel.

Overspilling with each calculated ram, his cum is oozing out of the corners of your puffy lips with each furious clench of his balls. Too much.

And it’s all you can do to sit there and take it, feeling the sloppy dredges of cum make a mess slobbering down your thighs and his. Starting up blearily at the blurry paintings on the ceilings. The paintings of you - of a still Satoru that looked down at you with only half as much intensity and pure swirling emotion as he was right now.

Something that couldn’t be painted - but would make such a pretty picture, when his fangs bite into that racing junction at your neck.

You scream a soundless scream of his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as something warm fills your entire body.

Leaving your words unheard, your ravaged hole loose to let out slobbering squelches of Satoru’s cum. Blood racing and flowing right into Satoru’s greedy mouth.

“Princess-” he gulps. Tongue licking up every crimson bead his crazed eyes could spot, body aching when he dares pull away from that heavenly taste. More. “Princess princess princess- you- hngh you’re mine. All mine now.”

And he’s letting out more thick globs of cum straight into your waiting cunt. Body bowing even harder to let it seep into your elastic walls, your womb. So much more than you can take and he just keeps giving.

It seems like forever when Satoru finally pulls away - and within the glowing blue of his eyes, you can see the red staining his lips, dripping down those fangs, his chin. Staining the silk sheets below - staining you with so much more.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching up to catch his lips in a bloodied kiss. Your own elongated canines catching amateurishly on his lips.

Satoru hisses - but he likes it. And you can tell.

You can read every single hypnotizing thought whirling behind those crystal blue eyes - how he wants to ravish you again, how he wants to worship you. To make you his all over, to have you make him yours. The thought makes you smile as you whisper, “I’m onto you, Toru.”

“You’re onto me, flower.” Catching your lips in a sweet, sweet red kiss. “Forever.”

A/N. This was SOOO fun to write omg y’all have no idea. If you made it this far then you get a sloppy smooch from me mwahhhh.

Plagiarism of work not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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freakassfemme · 1 month

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chronically offline abby headcannons ✧˖*°

she is coping so well and thriving. i said i could fix her and i did

heyyyy so this is sort of kind of low-key a little bit of a continuation on beloved butch abby, the premise of the au and personality is the same. i got a request asking for more and i was thinking about this anyways and thought they worked well together

♫ above the chinese restaurant (laufey)

ೃ༄ abby is (unfortunately) a retired soldier, she's got a kid to look after, she runs a cafe downtown and she's got two dogs. all at like, 22. did we really think she has the time to go online for anything more than 🔍 thirty minute dinner recipes your vegan teenager isn't going to kill you over

ೃ༄ just kidding. she doesn't mind lev trying out new things lol. he is her whole fucking world, she's more than happy to spend time with him cooking something he remembers from home, giving each other grossed out faces when they fuck up the tofu again, and giving up and going to target 15 minutes before close to piece together some random junk food.

Manny will come over and cook with them sometimes, and that's always a fun time. he's got abby drunk before nine and she's just a laughing mess.

ೃ༄ she just loves being around Manny in general. they meet up for lunch a lot, go on runs together in the morning, work on each other's trucks, etc.,

now that she's living a normal life, she's able to take a serious Spanish class, and he's very supportive about it.

ೃ༄ definitely takes the dogs into the cafe with her. whenever someone complains about the pandora radio she puts on, she blames it on the dogs.

yeah she uses pandora until someone teaches her what Spotify is

ೃ༄ she's such a planner. she's got a huge chalkboard in the kitchen for the week and the month with both of their schedules drawn on it down to the hour if needed. hers is written in orange and lev's is written in green.

only watches tv once a week, and it's for a designated show that's so laid back, like the great British baking show.

"do you want to watch this show?" "no it's not Sunday"

ೃ༄ she's definitely the type to limit screen time, and lev himself isn't like partial to brain rot, but sometimes he says something that has her turning around like what did you just say eyes wide and everything

lev tells her to touch grass one day and she goes on a hike

ೃ༄ her favorite evening activities are taking the dogs on a sunset walk with lev, and then when lev's gone up to his room for the night, she will pack him like a little bento-type lunch. she'll cozy up in her lazy boy by the fireplace with Alice at her feet and journal away, sometimes until she falls asleep.

she's got BUCKETS of journals. it started in therapy after her dad passed, as like a coping mechanism to at least attempt to correct her thought processes, and it's always stuck. it's always made her feel like she's putting herself in order again.

after therapy, i feel like abby spent a lot of time thinking about religion. she never really found anything that clicks, but she reads a lot about buddhism and really appreciates the perspective.

ೃ༄ definitely has a weird phone setup going on. she's either got a really old like iPhone 7 with maybe 6 apps on it or one of those CAT flip phones lol. can you imagine flip phone selfies from her

ೃ༄ writes her grocery lists on a little piece of yellow paper that she'll tuck into her front pocket. carries specifically one of those bic ballpoint pens, has like 5 year old reusable grocery bags and a keychain for her Aldi quarter that she thinks is so clever and fun.

she definitely uses one of her favorite coins from her collection as her Aldi quarter.

ೃ༄ gets the paper delivered to her house. she prefers to read it that way, but she pays for lev to get a digital subscription to his kindle or something

ೃ༄ keeps her dads beat up, decaying quilt as a topper for her bed. she folds it up neatly every night and sets it in a rocking chair in the corner of her room, just to preserve it a little longer.

ೃ༄ knows how to get throughout almost the entire west coast without a map or gps or anything

ೃ༄ reading is HUGE in her house. lev's reading log was NEVER forged not once. she spent a whole summer building ceiling to floor bookshelves with a gorgeous trim and a mahogany stain. she loves to swing by the used bookstore after work every once in a while, the one where she can get a book for 25 cents or a big bag of them for two bucks.

every birthday, lev gives her a bag of books, and he always puts one in that he loves but isn't sure she will like. it's usually not her style, but she likes learning more about his interests and she thinks they're always very sweet books.

always secretly surprises lev with little books with transmasc characters or about real trans people. she will just leave them on his desk in their shared office or something with a little sticky note with a heart on it

ೃ༄ makes friends with the lanky manager of the record store with a weird fucked up tattoo when she's looking for more cassettes for her beat up truck.

"dude, you're the only person who has looked through this crate in like, six months. you can just take what you want."

"holy shit, really? it's the only thing i can play in my truck besides the radio."

"jesus, that's kind of funny. yeah, anytime you want, you can use my shit to make your little mixtapes. if I'm not here, just tell them Ellie said so."

ೃ༄ is definitely an active member of her local library, not only for reading material, but to check out music, and she loves to participate in the chess and book clubs.

really loves board games in general.

ೃ༄ I feel like abby loves Birkenstocks, but the clogs. she has a pair of sandals for the summer, but in my heart I know she's a clog girly.

ೃ༄ very simple, very minimalist wardrobe. I feel like she exclusively sticks to Levi's for jeans, and then she has like 8 black tee shirts and some thrifted sweatshirts and tee shirts.

would very much adore though if her girlfriend crocheted her a hat or a scarf or something <3

ೃ༄ speaking of girlfriends, I feel like abby really goes for opposites attract. she's so mild in appearance, that she loves someone that's a little over the top. maybe a little frilly, or adds odd little details to their outfits. she loves funky hairstyles and creativity in women.

ೃ༄ she loves making her own coffee. working at the cafe wasn't just convenience for her, abby loves the slowness of it. she loves packing the espresso, she loves checking on her sourdough every morning, she loved crafting her own tea blends. she definitely has a beat up metal French press, but she probably invests in her own espresso machine to keep at home too.

ೃ༄ i feel like eventually abby would coach for a sports team at lev's school. maybe he joined gymnastics or like, made the soccer team, and abby's packing-coolers-full-for-the-team and carpooling and excessive volunteering eventually takes her to leading after school drills and a best coach ever mug for the middle school boys soccer team lol.

this OR she becomes one of the most active parents any GSA has ever known to mankind

joins the pta

ೃ༄ is SO sentimental. has photos of people she loves all over the walls of her house, keeps tickets from movies and cuts out bits from the newspaper to keep in a little shoebox under her bed. she keeps her dad's medical journals and research on a special shelf above the fireplace.

her little flip hone has a blurry picture of her and Manny in the background

ೃ༄ Abby texts and types like this. She is a very formal typist. She will become very confused if someone texts her in lowercase or without punctuation.

#abby anderson #x reader #fanfiction #tlou2 #tlou #the last of us part 2 #the last of us #Abigail anderson #headcannons #smut #ellie williams

398 notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 8 months

Text

Bad Faith Part One

Masterlist | Part Two

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Rating: Mature (Part 2 will likely be explicit)

Notes: Not beta-read because when is it ever. Welcome to part one of two!

There will ONLY be two parts! If you ask me at the end of part two where part three is, I'm going to point you back to this notes section!

If you asked me where part three is and you've been linked here, hi!

Length: 8k

Warnings: Angst. Angst angst angst angst; reader is going through a divorce; Reader's married surname is Hayward; unhealthy coping mechanisms; lovers to enemies to allies to lovers....did I mention angst by any chance? Cause—

Summary: There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings.

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed.

It was a long, harrowing moment of silence as Jessica processed all that you’d told her. You fought not to sniffle into the quiet, but your eyes had steadily been leaking tears for the last twenty minutes. Jessica finally stood from her armchair, patting you on the knee and murmuring, “You need a drink.”

You spluttered a weak laugh, watching her stride over to her luxe kitchen.

“Gin and tonic?”

“I would drink the gin straight at that point," You failed to tease.

“Things aren’t all that desperate yet.”

Yet. How reassuring.

You looked down at the damp, crumpled tissues in your hand before you raised one, dabbing at the few remaining tears. It was another few moments before you heard the click of Jessica’s heels crossing back to you.

“...Thanks for holding back.”

She frowned as you looked up at her, taking hold of the glass that she proffered.

“Holding back?”

“The I told you so.”

Jessica’s lips pursed, her head tipping with what you could only assume was a blend of indignance and pity.

“I did, for the record.”

“I know.”

“I told you nothing good could come from tangling your entire life up with that man.”

“You know, I think those were the exact words that you closed your toast out with at the wedding.” You took a swig, wincing at the overwhelming tang of gin. “Christ, that’s strong.”

“Too much?”

“No. It’s perfect, actually.”

Jessica smiled, lowering herself to sit beside you.

“Do you have lawyers in mind?”

“For the divorce? No.”

“I’ll give you recommendations.”

“I appreciate that, but that’s not why I’m here.” You glanced doggedly toward Jessica. “I need your help…Untangling a few holdings. Things that I can live off of, or break apart and sell for scraps. I can’t even afford a divorce lawyer right now—let alone whoever you’d suggest.”

“What?”

“Steven locked all of my credit cards and froze our joint bank account. I tried reaching out to him, but he won't answer me, and the bank won’t unfreeze it. He seems to think that I’m going to drain the entire thing.”

“Why does he think that?”

“Probably because that’s what he would do.” You sniffled, looking down into your glass. “I have some money in savings, but not a lot. Not enough for me to live off of beyond a few months.”

“Holy hell,” Jessica sighed. You grunted, head hanging as you felt the weight of her judgement. “Do you have any idea which entities you want to go after?”

“Yeah.” You set your drink down, reaching out to where you’d set your bag down and drawing out a bland beige file. You’d spent the morning working up your courage to come over and tell Jessica the awful truth, and had also spent that time putting together the data to do it. You flipped the file open and passed it over.

“This is every single property and holding company that I have my name on. I circled the apartment buildings that I want to sell, and the companies that I think would be best suited to my purposes.”

“Is Steven on all of these?”

“Only the ones that I put an asterisk beside, but I wouldn't be surprised if he came after the others.”

Jessica hummed, nodding. “You knew exactly what I’d ask for.”

“Well, I know you.”

She smiled, closing your file and setting it on her lap.

“Then I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.”

The implication made your stomach churn with discomfort. You took the glass up again, taking a deep pull from it.

“I do,” You admitted, nose wrinkling again from the sharp juniper taste, “And I know that you’re going to say that it’s the best course of action—”

“The only course of action.”

“That’s patently untrue. You have more than one lawyer at your firm.”

“Not one that could handle a case of this magnitude.”

“Not even Louis?”

“Louis is like a french bulldog. Harvey is a pitbull.”

“You know, that’s actually a really harmful stereotype.”

Jessica’s brows lowered in chastisement, and you looked back down into your drink for safety.

“Wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?” You added.

“How could it be? You’ve barely spoken to or looked at the man in eleven years.”

Eleven years. Had it really been that long?

“I know that you and Harvey parted on bad terms,” Jessica offered softly, and continued over your disbelieving scoff, “But you need to come out of this with the funds and the strength for a good divorce lawyer. Harvey can give you that.”

“What if he doesn’t take the case?”

“He will.”

“But if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“Jessica.”

“He won't have a choice.”

“Oh, he’ll love that. There’s nothing Harvey likes more than being backed in a corner."

“That’s when he comes out swinging the hardest.” She plucked the emptied glass out of your hand, heading toward the kitchen again. “Would you like another one?”

You sighed, slouching heavily against the couch and scrubbing your tired eyes.

“I’d really just like that bottle of gin—and a straw.”

“Would you stop fussing? You look fine.”

“I don’t care how I look,” You grumbled, though that didn’t stop you from reaching down and adjusting the skirt of your dress. You didn’t want to admit that Jessica was right, though you both knew that she was. She always had you nailed dead to rights, and that morning was no different.

You had a slight headache from the drinks you’d had at her apartment the night before, but it was hardly the worst hangover that you’d ever had. You were already two coffees in and you were itching for a third, but you already felt like shit. A third one would just make your heart pound harder, your hands more sweaty, and probably send your anxiety through the roof. You were certain the conversation you were about to have would do all of that for you, so no additional coffee was needed.

You drew in a deep breath, standing and tugging your dress down again as you walked over to look through out over the city. You could hear the ringing of phones behind you, the clicking of heels, the chatter of conversation. You were just waiting for his voice, waiting for his bravado to enter before he did, to suck the air out of the room.

“...What’d he say when you told him?” You asked.

“I haven't yet. I thought it would be more effective if we told him together.”

“So not only is he being forced to take my case, but it’s an ambush.” You cast Jessica an unimpressed sidelong glance, brows quirked in disbelief. She simply gave a small shrug.

“I know my associates.”

“Mm, I bet.”

“I understand I was summoned? Have I been so terribly missed? Whaddaya say we play hooky, go to the batting cages?”

There he was—each question was just punch after punch after punch. Your mouth and throat went dry as your body seemed to divert all available liquid assets to the sweat beginning to wet your palms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had company,” He added.

“It’s alright. Harvey, you know Mrs. Steven Hayward.”

Hayward. You had always hated the name. Hell, you couldn’t even believe you’d taken it, but you’d been so damn afraid of putting a foot wrong, wary of having someone change their mind again about marrying you.

You turned to face Harvey, leaning back against the window and folding your arms across your chest, pressing your slick palms to your sides. It shouldn't have been so vindicating to see Harvey looking so gobsmacked, to watch the color drain from his face as his eyes caught up with his mind—as he came to realize, yes, that Mrs. Steven Hayward.

“Mr. Specter,” You greeted flatly.

“I—What’s going on?”

It’s nice to see you, too. You bit the inside of your cheek to silence your snide remark.

“Mrs. Hayward needs to dissolve and sell a few of her holdings, and I told her that I had just the lawyer for the job,” Jessica announced.

“...Is that lawyer in the room with us?” Harvey shook his head a little.

“You are that lawyer. You’ll be taking the case pro-bono.”

“Pro—Jessica, those cases are reserved for people that actually need help, not for multi-millionaires.”

That stung in a way that it shouldn’t have—but he was right. There were surely cases that were more worthy of his attention. Still, you couldn't deny the fact that you needed his help, and that your pockets weren't nearly as deep as they used to be.

“My husband is the multi-millionaire, not me,” You argued.

“Bullshit.”

“You wanna see my bank statements? I have a little over three hundred in checking, a few thousand in savings.”

“Mrs. Hayward needs this resolved as quickly as possible, and without any of your usual pomp and circumstance,” Jessica cut in.

“Why don’t you do this through a divorce attorney?” Harvey pressed.

“Because right now, I can’t afford one.”

Harvey pursed his lips, looking between you and Jessica. You watched his jaw tick, saw the thick bob of his adam’s apple shift his collar a little.

“You have a list of holdings?” He asked, glancing toward you.

“Twenty,” You nodded.

“To be chopped up and sold for scraps?”

“Yes.”

“Seems a little ruthless for you.”

“It’s what needs to be done.”

“And you expect me to do it?”

“I expect you to do your job. If you can’t get over the fact that it’s for me, then you’re in the wrong business.”

Harvey’s gaze narrowed, his eyes darkening irritation. Oh, you knew that look—like it or not, you had a flash of it like it was yesterday.

“...Where’s the file.”

Jackpot.

“On the desk.”

You weren’t about to hand it to him. Hell—you weren’t about to hand anything to Harvey Specter on a silver fucking platter. He walked slowly to Jessica’s desk, eyes dropping to the file that had been thickened with information on each of the holdings. He opened it, gaze scanning your original sheet before flipping a couple of pages.

“I’ll need time to look this over,” He argued.

“Obviously.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Great.”

“Number still the same?”

Bastard.

“My new number is on the inside of the folder.”

“Great. Is there anything else that I should know?”

“Just that Steven and his cadre of sharks will likely stick their noses in the second they smell blood in the water.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“Good.”

Harvey gave you one last look, one long, sweeping, analyzing look before he turned away, striding out of Jessica’s office. You slowly released a long breath, shoulders untensing as he got further and further away. You lowered your hands, shaking them out and blowing cool air across your shaking, sweating palms.

“Are you sweating?” Jessica asked.

“Are you not? It’s boiling in here." You yanked your collar away from your neck, fanning over your heating skin.

“You can relax. He took the case.”

“Because he had to, not because he wanted to.”

“He’ll get over it, and he’ll do his job.”

“He’s such a grumpy asshole,” You sighed, walking over to the chair that you’d left your jacket and bag on. “But if you say you’re gonna keep him on the straight and narrow—”

“I will—”

“—Then I believe you. I’ve gotta go.”

“Where to?”

“I have to go look at an apartment.”

“Work never ends.”

“This is personal. I need to find a new place. I've been in a hotel for the last few nights, and I can't afford to keep that up."

“Don’t you own your place?”

You shook your head, averting your gaze as you pulled on your coat.

“The penthouse is in Steven’s name.”

You’d had a few hours to forget the weight of Jessica’s judgement, but you felt it again in full force as she shook her head.

“...I thought you were smarter than this,” She said after a moment.

You looked toward Jessica, giving her a small, weak smile. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Do you want me to call you a car? On the firm, of course.”

“No! No, but thanks. I should reacquaint myself with the subway. I’m going to be using it more often.”

You managed to hold it together until the real estate agent gave you a moment to ‘get a better sense of the space’. She clearly had no idea who you were, which was a boon, and hardly looked away from her phone as she waved with one hand and typed with the other thumb. You turned to look around, heard the snick of the door closing, and just…Lost it.

Your tears poured out like someone had reached into your head and turned on a faucet. You buried your face into your hands, uncaring of the fact that your makeup was going to run together. You’d given eleven years of your life to a man that was throwing you to the wolves, as if you’d never meant a thing to him at all—as if you hadn’t put your blood, sweat, and tears into building his empire—into what you had once thought was your empire, too.

And what the hell did you have to show for it? You stood in a $3,200 392 square foot studio apartment of a six-floor walk-up in the West Village, wearing a $4,900 dress, standing in $600 shoes, a your $1,200 purse shifting on your arm as your shoulders shook with sobs.

You sniffled roughly, chest hiccuping tightly as you finally began to calm. You reached into your purse, drawing out a compact and flipping it open. You swiped at your run makeup, taking up the pressed powder puff and dabbing beneath your eyes, and over the tear tracks in your foundation. God, just pull it together for the snot-nosed realtor outside. Tell her that you wanted to take it, get the keys, and start figuring out how you could get your things from Steven. You would need to make money in the meantime.

You looked down, shifting rocking back on your heels to get a better look at your shoes.

You never did love this outfit, and you couldn’t have worn it more than twice. Resale couldn’t be too far below purchase, could it? Come to think of it, you had closets full of hardly worn designer outfits at the penthouse. You looked around the studio. You could spring for a few wheeled clothing racks, find a few reputable resellers. You could get good money for your dresses, your shoes, probably even more for the jewelry that you almost certainly wouldn’t be keeping. Steven always had brought you home a trinket from the trips that he frequently took without you—beautiful gems that you knew now were trinkets for guilt, or something like it. You were almost certain Steven didn’t really feel guilt, but he could play-act at it well enough.

But you didn’t have to worry about that at that moment. And as soon as Steven did rear his ugly head, he would have Harvey to deal with. Considering your history, that shouldn't have been a very comfortable thought—but you had Harvey and Jessica in your corner.

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath, deeper than you were able to draw before. You held it for one...two...three...And pushed it out slowly as your heated face began to cool.

Deal with the realtor first. Sign the lease, get the keys, and start getting your life back together.

“This isn’t going to be an easy one," Harvey warned.

“Of course it isn’t. If it was, you wouldn’t have agreed to take the case.”

“I didn’t take it, it was given to me.”

“You poor thing.”

It left you without any sympathy, your gaze stone-heavy as you watched him. He narrowed his eyes, a smile set in place as he rocked back and forth in his chair. He tapped his pen on his lips for a moment before he rocked fully forward. You watched his gaze skate across the file in front of him.

“The way I see it, there are four easy wins here,” He turned the file toward you, and you scooted forward in your seat to get a better look at them. “The two apartment buildings on the upper East Side, the one in the Village, and the brownstone in Park Slope. We can hack away at the other sixteen down the road, but we should move on these.”

“Okay.”

“The easiest win is going to be in the Slope. The assessed value is…” His brows furrowed, and he leaned over the file and squinted, as if he wasn’t quite seeing the number correctly.

“Seven million?” You filled in. Harvey’s gaze darted to yours, brows raised.

“Nice chunk of change.”

“I want it listed for ten.”

“That may be a little unrealistic.”

“I’m looking for 8.5 in cash, if possible, so I’m expecting some haggling. I already told the broker as much.”

“Alright. Which of these buildings are you staying in?”

“I’m not staying in any of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not staying in any of them.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m pairing down, staying somewhere else.”

“You could stay in any of these rent-free.”

“The HOA and utilities are more than I can afford right now.”

“We could bake the HOA into the contract.”

“If Steven found out I was staying in any of them, he’d find a way to tank the deal from the outside.”

Harvey’s expression tightened a little before he nodded: “Fine. I’ll need your new address for the paperwork.”

“May I use your pen, please?”

Harvey pushed the file closer, passing the pen with it. You could feel him watching you as you jotted down your address, name, and number. Harvey draws the file back to himself, sweeping over the information.

“Keeping your married name?”

“I’ve put in the paperwork to change it, but that could take at least a couple of months.”

“I have a friend that clerks for the Supreme Court of New York, I could put in a word.”

“That’s a kind offer but don’t worry about it. Is there anything else that we need to discuss today?”

“No, that about covers it. I’ll call you if our real estate department or my associate comes across anything that could be beneficial to your situation.”

“I may have just uncovered something.”

You turned at the sound of a new voice, catching sight of a young man standing in the doorway.

“This is Mike Ross, my associate,” Harvey introduced, standing and holding a hand out toward Mike. “Mike Ross, this is Mrs. Steven Hayward.”

Your name left him with a vinegary annoyance that you’d been hoping would be absent from this meeting. You stood, holding out your hand and offering Mike your first name.

“Would you prefer to be, uh..." Mike’s gaze darted between you and Harvey.

“I’d prefer you not to use my married name, if possible.”

“Got it. So,” Mike stepped between you and Harvey, opening the file that he was holding. “I’ve found an additional six properties where your name is the only one on the lease.”

You frowned, brow furrowing as you stepped closer to get a look at the file. “That can’t be right.”

“If Mike found it, it’s right.” There was an irritated thread of steel in Harvey’s tone, and you shot him a scathing glance.

“The comment was one of surprise, not distrust.”

“Maybe next time you can keep your surprise to yourself and let my associate speak.”

“Just like you’re letting him speak right now?”

Harvey’s jaw went tight, and you raised your brows as a knowing smirk curled your lips before you turned back to Mike and nodded:

“You were saying?”

Mike’s expression was riddled with confusion, but he snapped back into action.

“Right—There are, uh…Three complexes in downtown Brooklyn,” He shifted through the stack of papers and drew out photos. “They were gutted for renovation, but work was stopped before any further changes could be made. They cited funding concerns.”

That really couldn’t be right. Steven was rolling in cash like a pig in shit. You took hold of the photos, frown deepening as you got a better look at them.

“What is it?” Harvey pressed.

“I don’t recognize any of these.” You flipped to the next one, then the next. The walls in all of them had been stripped; the floors were torn up; the wiring of the ceiling was exposed.

“What about the other three?” You pressed.

“Uh—One house in the Hamptons, one in Cape Cod, and one in Gstaad.”

“You’re kidding,” You said flatly, looking at MIke.

“I am not. I take it you don’t know about any of those, either?”

“Not a one.”

“Would you want any of them?”

“Maybe Cape Cod.”

“Not Gstaad?” Harvey asked.

“Mm, not worth it. I don’t know how to ski.”

“Still?”

You rolled your eyes pointedly before you nodded back to Mike’s file. “Do you have the paperwork for the properties?” “Yeah, it’s, uh…” He set the file down, sifting through for the paper clipped documents and lining them up on Harvey's desk. “These are…All of them…Separated out by property.”

You went down the line, flipping through each of the pages and growing more and more frantic as you did.

“None of these are my signature.”

“He would’ve closed through a title company, I can hunt that down,” Mike commented to Harvey.

“We can throw these on the list of what needs to be sold, or put them in a living trust,” Harvey offered.

“...I don't know,” You leaned away, shaking your head. You felt so unsettled; after the rapid upheaval of your life over the last week you weren’t sure how much more of this you could take. After this, you had to worry about the divorce, the tabloids, whatever the fuck else you were going to do with your life—You felt your throat going tight with tears, and you cleared your throat harshly, trying to dispel some of the feeling. “If they were good investments, Steven would’ve used his name on them.”

“All the more reason for you to ditch them.”

“I want them inspected first. I’m not throwing these on the market until I know what the hell I’m dealing with.”

“We can take care of that,” Mike promised. You nodded, glancing toward him and offering a tight, grateful smile.

“Not that you’re paying us to.”

Harvey’s snide reminder was like having a bucket of cold water poured over you. Your hands curled into fists where they rested on your hips. You were just on the edge of slapping the guy—

“You can deal with me directly,” You offered Mike. “My number’s in the file. Thank you, for—” You waved your hand toward the file. “Uncovering this. I appreciate it.” You took up your purse and threw your coat over your arm, trying to hold back your rapidly rising tears as your face flooded with heat.

“You’re just going to go?” Harvey asked.

“It’s always worked for you pretty well,” You snapped. “Figured I’d give it a try.” You stormed out without another word, keeping your gaze staunchly set on the floor that you desperately wanted to sink through.

“I have…So many questions right now,” Mike shook his head as he watched Mrs. Hayward stride toward the elevators.

“You know where to start. Get the inspections lined up, and then start prepping the filings for forgery—”

“Harvey,” Mike raised his hands, chuckling with shock. “What—Was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. The whole ‘if Mike found it it’s right’?”

“Well, that’s true.”

“That thing about her still not being able to ski? How do you know her?”

“We’ve met, that’s all.”

“It’s obviously more than that.” Mike searched Harvey’s gaze for a few moments. “C’mon, what’s your deal?”

Harvey considered for a moment, his jaw working before he nodded to the right. “Close the door.”

He lowered himself into his seat as Mike did as he asked, then turned back to him.

“Mrs. Hayward and I…” Harvey’s expression tightened as he struggled with it. “We were…Involved for a while.”

“While she was married?”

“Before.”

“How involved?”

“We were engaged.”

Mike’s eyes widened drastically, his brows making a jump toward his hairline. “En—What?” He laughed breathlessly. “The great Harvey Specter was almost nailed by that ice queen?”

“Watch it,” Harvey warned; he was stunned as he felt a flair of protectiveness bloom in his chest. “She wasn’t always like that.” He glanced toward the property statements at the front of his desk, and he thought of the dismayed twist of her features. When she’d met his gaze, her eyes had been bright with tears. Maybe that was his fault, at least a little. He should’ve watched his tone a little more. He had surely made her cry enough, years ago.

“What happened?” Mike pressed.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“You broke it off?”

“...Something like that.”

Harvey’s gaze flitted nervously toward Mike, and he could practically hear the wheels turning overtime in his head. It only took a moment before Mike’s eyes managed to widen further, his jaw dropping open in shock.

“Oh my—There is no way.”

“I’m not proud of it,” Harvey raised a hand to stop Mike’s incredulous questioning.

“Let me just make sure I’m on the same page here,” Mike shook his head. “You left her at the altar, she married this guy, and now you’re…Making jokes about the fact that she can’t ski or afford a lawyer?”

Harvey’s heart sank into his stomach as he cut an irritated gaze across the desk.

“I’m not proud of that, either.”

“Didn’t stop you, though, did it.”

“Are you finished with your lecture? Because you have a lot of work to do.”

“On it,” Mike nodded, hopping out of his seat and restacking the paperwork into the file.

“While you’re at it, keep your ear to the ground on that Park Slope property. The sooner the wheels are turning on that, the better. Use that number,” He tapped the file, “To call her, and send any documents to that address.”

“Understood.”

Harvey listened to Mike’s retreating footsteps as he twisted back and forth in his seat, restless in his discomfort. He pushed himself out of his seat in annoyance, unable to stand sitting anymore. Why had he shot his mouth off at her like that? He knew that she was going through it. He just figured when he’d first seen her in Jessica’s office that this situation wouldn’t be quite so hellish.

Steven Hayward was a billionaire, a former Forbes 30 Under 30 recipient. Harvey had done his digging when the engagement had first been announced—just a few months after Harvey had made the decision not to marry her. He’d assumed then that if she’d moved on so quickly, she couldn’t have loved him much in the first place, and the idea had solidified his decision not to go through with their wedding.

Harvey had done his best to put her out of his mind, and he’d succeeded for the most part. But when Jessica had thrown this case at him, he’d gone back, done some more digging. There were so many resources about Steven Hayward from the last decade—interviews, profiles, filings. In all of them, Steven came off as a self-assured, cocky, pompous asshat, but a decent strategist. Those same profiles had described Mrs. Hayward as the trophy wife, the little woman behind the man, tending to the arrangements for their multi-million, 3,000 square foot penthouse overlooking Central Park. For as much as Harvey had forced himself to forget about her, he couldn’t forget her spirit, her determination, her desire to build a life, not to be handed one. None of the credit was given to her. None of the glory, none of the acknowledgement of what Harvey was certain were her blood, sweat and tears in that man’s holdings.

The tears that she had seemed set to shed in his office were all the indication that Harvey needed. He scrubbed his hand across his face, trying to compose himself as he pushed the wounded memory of her away.

Even footing. He needed to get the two of them on some kind of even footing. Every conversation couldn’t be a fight—it would just slow the both of them down. The sooner they sorted this out, the sooner they’d be out of one another’s hair.

“Donna!” He called out, turning toward the door. Donna popped her head in a moment later, brows raised expectantly. “I need you to look an address up for me.”

“It’s in the West Village.”

Harvey’s mouth worked wordlessly for a couple of seconds before he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, “Mike?”

“You shouldn’t have hired a super genius if you didn’t want him using that big brain.”

“I was hoping he would use it for good, not evil.”

“Oh, trust me, he is. Anything else?”

“Lunch?”

“It’s on the way.”

Of course it was.

“This is everything?”

“Yes. I checked and double-checked the list that you gave me before I left.”

You nodded, planting your hands on your hips and looking over six industrial-sized trash bags that contained what you hoped were your tide-over funds.

“The jewelry’s in there, too?”

“Hey,” Aaron stepped closer to you, resting his hand on your shoulder. “When I say I got everything, I mean I got everything. I was this close to snagging a couple of light fixtures.”

You laughed a little, nodding and leaning into the touch a little. You’d worked with Aaron Delaney for over five years at Hayward Realty. You’d hoped that he wouldn’t be in Steven’s camp in the divorce, and when you’d reached out to find out when Steven would definitely be at the office, Aaron had quickly jumped on your bandwagon. It had taken nearly three weeks, but he had come through. Not only had he told you when Steven would be out, but he’d offered to go into the apartment and get things for you. You hadn’t heard a thing from Mike in a couple of weeks, so you could only hope that everything was going smoothly on his end, but these bags would go a long way to bolstering your bitten budget.

“You want my help cataloging it?” He offered. You shook your head a little.

“No, god, you've done enough—and helped me lug this up six flights. Besides, Steven will be suspicious if you’re out of the office for too long—you’re too good an employee to be out of pocket for more than a few minutes. But if you’d like to be enlisted in mole duty going forward, I’m gonna need you to have your ear to the ground over there.”

“You’ve got it.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Will do, yeah. And thanks again, Aaron. Seriously.”

“Keep your chin up, hon.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled, turning back to the trash bags as Aaron headed for the door. God, you didn’t even know what was where. It was probably best to just go bag by bag, and hope all of the suits were together. You could hang the outfits up, take a picture, post it on the app that you were using to resell your luxury clothing. You could—and probably would—keep at least a couple of things for yourself, but you couldn’t go crazy. You’d need suits for your divorce settlement, and possibly for court…And for whatever the hell you wound up doing once this was all over.

Because it would be over, eventually. There was a life for you on the other side of all of this, and you had to keep reminding yourself of that. Things would get easier, but right now, it all just…Fucking sucked. You had moved the few things that you had into the studio apartment, including your dresser, a bookshelf, a few books, and your favorite Eames lounge chair and reading lamp. You’d had to get a new bed—a full was all that you could use without overwhelming the space; you got a metal frame on Amazon that would get the job done, and you’d bought and built three racks for your clothing. You still hadn’t found an affordable couch, but you had found a nice oak grain bedside table on the sidewalk, with a handwritten looseleaf sign taped to it that read, FREE!!

You hadn’t had the chance to paint or put any personalizing touches on the space besides your furniture—no art, or knick knacks. The space was nearing functional, but you were certain that unpacking all of your clothing was going to make that a hell of a lot more difficult.

You crouched down in front of the first bag, untying it and opening it. You could see some Scanlan Theodore, some Tuckernuck, some Bergdorf Goodman. This bag was already pretty promising. You sighed, taking the first dress out and wafting the fabric out. It didn’t need to be ironed or steamed, which was a blessing. You were already dreading how long this was going to take, but hell, at least it would give you something to do that wasn’t staring down the barrel of your dead-end future—

Okay. Okay, so not helpful, so not the time. You reached into your pocket, pulling your phone out of your pocket to find a podcast to listen to. There had to be something that you could listen to that would distract you from the monotony of filing and sorting your clothing out. You settled on one of your favorites before you began sorting through the first bag. You were right—a couple of Scanlans, two Tuckernucks, three Bergdorf Goodman’s–

Your sorting was interrupted by a knock on your door. You frowned, pushing yourself up. What else could be left? It had to be good if Aaron had lugged something else up six floors. You pushed yourself off of the floor, brushing the dust off of your sweatpants.

“Alright, Delaney, what’d you forget?” You asked as you approached the door and tugged it open.

The sight of Harvey Specter standing on your doorstep made your stomach want to violently unseat your lunch. His gaze swept over you critically, taking sight of you in your comfy clothes. Between the ratty old shirt, the sweats, and your fluffy socks, you were a far, far cry from the way that he’d become accustomed to seeing you in his office.

“Can I, uh…” He peered over your shoulder, nodding inside. “Can I come in?”

“I thought I was going to be hearing from Mr. Ross.”

“Mike is busy, and we need to talk.”

You couldn’t imagine what the hell you and Harvey needed to talk about. You didn’t want to let him in; you knew that what Harvey was about to see wasn’t what he was surely expecting. Your grip tightened on the handle before you drew in a deep breath nodding, “Sure.”

It was worse than you imagined. Harvey hardly got two steps inside before he stopped fully. Well, to be fair, there wasn’t a ton of space for him to wander around and explore; between the bed, the armchair, and the trash bags, there wasn’t much room for him to move around. You shut the door and pointedly cleared your throat, trying to jog him from his shock. As he faced you again, you could see him trying to mask his surprise, his brows drawing down over his eyes as he turned to a file in his hand.

“You have an offer on the Park Slope house.”

“Why didn’t I get a call from my broker?”

“I asked to deliver the news myself.”

You frowned a little, taking hold of the file and flipping it open. Your eyes widened at the sight of a check paperclipped to the top of the files—for frighteningly beneath asking price.

“I said I wanted it in cash.”

“...I know that,” Harvey spoke slowly, as if he was dealing with a particularly difficult and over-caffeinated child. “That is a good faith deposit from the buyer.”

“They’ve signed?” Your hands tighten around the file as your stomach flipped with excitement. “I didn’t ask my broker for a good faith deposit.”

“No, I had it baked into the contract.”

Your gaze flitted to Harvey, annoyance and admiration growing in equal measure.

“I…Appreciate that,” You finally managed. “But in the future, please run any changes like that by me before you speak to my broker.”

Harvey nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Understood.”

“Thanks.” You closed to file, certain that if you didn’t, you’d just spend your time staring at the check—at your first lifeline in this whole mess. “Anything else?”

“We need to get on a more even footing.”

“...I don’t know what you mean.”

Harvey gave you a chastising frown, one that would’ve made you wilt long ago—but now, you simply shook your head and shrugged.

“I don’t,” You insisted. “Unless you mean that you’ll stop out your thinly veiled barbs about what you think you know about me.”

“I remember more than you think.”

“I’m not the woman that you left at the altar, Harvey.” Your admission and reminder left a bitter taste in your mouth. You had to force yourself to hold his gaze, even as his expression flooded with discomfort. You could see him desperately trying to push it away as his retort bubbled up:

“And I’m not the man that left you there!”

“No?” You laughed openly. “Because this all looks pretty fucking familiar. You’re a shark, Harvey, and you’re a dick. Lucky for the both of us, that’s exactly what I need you to be right now.”

Harvey’s jaw tightened, and you could see his hands curling into fists before he shoved them into his pockets.

“Let’s get one thing perfectly clear,” He seethed, taking a small step closer, “What I do for you over the course of this case is purely because of my reputation in this city. I’m going to do my damndest to get you the best out of all of these properties, but do not think for a moment that the job I do comes from any interest, any compassion, anything worth a damn.”

“What compassion? Anyone with compassion would’ve at least had the grace to do better than a goddamn post-it note in my bridal suite that just said ‘sorry’. It didn't even look like your handwriting!” You loosed a hysterical laugh that had been building in your throat as he spoke. “Or did you not even want that in there? Maybe one of my bridesmaids scrawled it to keep me from just throwing myself off the fucking roof!”

Harvey’s expression flickered again, and you saw some of the color drain from his annoyance-flushed cheeks. You turned away, stomach roiling with embarrassment and irritation.

“Thanks for the file,” You managed, forcing a steadiness into your tone. “Going forward, I really do think it’s for the best that you communicate with me through Mr. Ross.”

“Gladly. Have a nice day, Mrs. Hayward.”

Three long strides, the creak of the door opening, and then slamming shut. You flinched at the sound, fingers tightening around the file, trying to focus on the check.

One hundred thousand dollars was an amazing start. One hundred thousand dollars could go toward your rent, your expenses, buy you some time. Maybe you could get a nice bottle of gin—or a couple of the cheap bottles the size of your head, the stuff that tasted like paint thinner and knocked you flat on your ass until morning.

Maybe you could sell your clothing during the day and quietly slip into oblivion in the evening. You had nothing better to do with your nights. Almost none of your so-called friends had reached out after the news had broken—likely making the choice to side with Steven. He was the one that still had the money, of course, the position in society. His name was on the door, not yours.

Your name was on a 12 month lease, and on a check for one hundred thousand dollars.

sorry

Lowercase, hurriedly scrawled, ink smudged. You could still see the slightly crumpled post-it that had been sitting on your honeymoon suite vanity when you’d returned after waiting at the back of the venue for almost an hour.

Harvey hadn’t copped to writing it. Maybe he didn’t want to—or maybe he really didn’t write it. Maybe he wasn’t sorry. Maybe he saw the shitshow that your life had become and was glad that he’d gotten out early.

You glanced around the apartment, eyeing the row of trash bags, the rickety furniture. At this moment, you couldn’t blame him.

You tossed the file onto your bedside table before walking back to the trash bags. Bag by bag, then steam what needed to be steam, then sort by brand. Plan of attack. You could get that man out of your head.

That man—which one was worse to think about just now—Steven or Harvey?

You shook your head, forcing yourself to dismiss both of them for the morning. You didn’t have any more time for what could’ve been’s. You had here, you had now.

And you had shit to do.

“Okay, two things,” Mike announced as he rounded into Harvey’s office. “One, the purchase agreement for the brownstone is signed and the payment is on the way to her bank account. There’s also an offer for the apartment building in the upper East Side. Two—“

“What do you mean, two?” Harvey frowned. “That’s already two things.”

“Fine, three—“

“Super genius and he can’t even count—“

“I got six emails from Steven Hayward’s representation this morning, disputing ownership of all of the twenty original flagged properties.”

“Damnit,” Harvey hissed. “Even the houses she didn’t know about?”

“No, so far, they’ve been conspicuously left off of the list.”

“Where are we with those inspections?”

“In progress, should hear back by the end of the week.”

“Good.”

Mike nodded, and Harvey returned his attention to his laptop. At least, he did until he realized that Mike hadn’t left the room.

“Something else that you need to say?” Harvey prodded.

“Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”

“Why would I need to know that?”

“Come on, Harvey.”

“She’s a client, Mike.”

“A client that you were going to marry!”

“And I didn’t marry her. What do you think that says about my wealth of feeling for her?”

Mike sighed heavily through his nose, muttering, “Alright.” He began to turn away, heading for the door. “Well, if you had asked, I would’ve told you that she’s putting on a brave face, but she’s getting to the end of her rope.”

“Well I didn’t ask, but thank you for that poetic and poignant diagnosis.”

“You have to go.”

“Of all of my priorities right now, the gala is not one of them,” You insisted. “I’ve got about a hundred more urgent matters right now.”

“Make this one,” Jessica insisted, leaning back against her desk, her arms folding across her chest. “You know how badly you’ll be lampooned if you don't turn up.”

“And I’ll be lampooned if I do show up. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Wear something you’ve worn before.”

“I don’t have most of those pieces anymore.”

“Then rent something.”

“You do remember that Steven is being honored this year?”

“All the more reason for you to show your face.”

“Jessica—“

“What’s your plan.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your plan—when this is all over? Are you going to go back into real estate?”

“…It’s crossed my mind.”

“You know that they will never let you back in if you slink out the back door and try to come in through the front again. They’ve rescinded your keys, honey. May as well stay in the house as long as you can.”

“This metaphor is beginning to exhaust me.”

Jessica grinned. “I better see your name on the RSVP list by the end of the day.”

“Since when do you have access to that information?”

“I have my sources.”

You heard two knocks, followed by the increasingly comforting sound of Mike’s voice: “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all,” Jessica waved him inside. “I’m hoping for a fruitful update.”

“Well,” Mike gave a small, nervous smile as he joined the two of you. “The good news is that purchase for the brownstone is moving through the channels, and there are interested buyers for the upper East Side apartment building. Unfortunately —“ The word made your gut swoop. “—Your ex-husband has come out of the woodwork. He’s trying to stake a claim on the properties, and on a hold co. We’re monitoring the situation,” Mike added before either you or Jessica could speak, “But I wanted to make you aware of what you could be facing sometime soon.”

You nodded, wringing your hands where they were folded in your lap.

“I appreciate the update.”

“Of course.”

“Why isn’t Harvey relaying this to me himself?” Jessica frowned. You raised your brows, glancing toward Mike, and fighting back a wave of amusement at his blatant deer-in-headlines expression.

“He had a—meeting,” He flubbed before jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I should, uh–”

Jessica’s brows raise skeptically, but she nods, and you bite back a laugh as Mike leaves the room with a measured hurry.

“...Why do I have the feeling that the two of you are keeping something from me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” You shrugged, pushing yourself out of your seat. “Now if you excuse me, I have some clothes to package—”

“And a gala outfit to find. I understand.”

You turned from Jessica’s smug grin, rolling your eyes as she tacked on,

“And don’t forget to get your nails done!”

You rounded out of the office, pulling up short as you slammed into someone.

“Oh! Fuck, sorry!” You breathed as their hands landed on your hips to steady you.

“...Don’t worry about it.” Harvey’s flat tone turned your stomach. You cleared your throat, stepping back and out of his hands.

“I’ll watch where I’m going.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You gave a firm nod as you skirted around him, face flooding with embarrassed heat as you strode toward the elevators.

The gala. You’d completely forgotten about the gala until Jessica had brought it up. Six months ago, planning the evening had been the center of your world. You’d put a deposit down for a custom dress, had it fitted. Steven had asked you to coordinate a cocktail party for the two hours beforehand—an intimate gathering for 150 of your closest friends and associates. You sighed, leaning back against the hard subway seat and gazing at your appearance in the window opposite you.

You could just see it now—the who’s who of New York’s real estate scene all swanning up to the penthouse, lounging fashionably, eating the hors d'oeuvres that you’d chosen and drinking the champagne that you’d ordered by the case…

…The champagne that you had ordered…

Come to think of it, those contracts all had your name on them, your contact information. Steven hadn’t been involved with a damn thing, save for the use of his credit card to put down deposits. He never did—he expected you to handle all of the coordination on the day as well; he would swan in an hour after the party started and do his scant duties as the host.

A devilish grin curled your lips. You were sure you still had all of the confirmations in your email. You could cancel all of it—the ice sculpture, the caterer, the champagne…Well, maybe you could divert one case to your new apartment, and cancel the rest.

Oh, you could really see it now—Steven seething as he frantically checked his emails for any hint of vendors, any phone number or email that he could call to find out what the hell happened to the party that was to-be. You were certain that the tailor still had your dress—and you had a check for a hundred thousand dollars that you could dip into for a manicure.

You stood as the train pulled into your station. You were suddenly looking forward to the gala.

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @gina239 ; @technicallykawaiisoul ; @coldheart-lonelysoul ; @kathrinemelissa ; @jacxx2 ; @pillowjj ; @chanaaaannel ; @avampirescholar ; @kmc1989

#Harvey Specter x Reader #Harvey Specter x You #Harvey Specter/Reader #Harvey Specter/You #Harvey Specter fic #Harvey Specter imagine #Bad Faith

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star-girl69 · 8 months

Text

Cowboy Like Me

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader

—-

Part One - The Last Time

Part Two - Cowboy Like Me

Part Three - Tomorrow Never Came (coming soon!)

Part Four - Living Legend (coming soon!)

Part Five - Pretty When You Cry (coming soon!)

—-

synopsis: 15 years later, you’re still climbing into clarisse’s arms and knowing she’s gonna leave.

a/n: personally i love life but idk about y’all and creds to @nvirskies for helping me w bits of this 🫶

Cowboy Like Me - Taylor Swift

warnings: y’all already know what’s happening

—-

“And I… I’m scared.”

You hum, adjusting yourself in your seat so your heart doesn’t break.

“It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared all the time.”

Jane is one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever met since becoming the Camp Half-Blood therapist thing. After your traumatizing years, watching Clarisse come and go, years spent in her bed- you found yourself wanting to tell someone.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to feel safe, especially when she was gone.

You wanted to tell someone that you hated Clarisse La Rue’s guts and also you loved her so much you weren’t sure if you could ever get over her.

So, you became that person.

“You’re allowed to be scared, though,” Jane continues. “I can’t. I’m a daughter of Ares, Y/N. If he sniffs out weakness then he’ll never love me.”

Your conversations with Jane have by far been the hardest sessions you’ve ever had. They remind you so much of what you went through 15 years ago. Of what you watched her go through.

“And you’re human, Jane. To fear is to be human. You’ll always be part human, the same way you are part god. That’s what being a demigod is,” you smile.

“It’s just… human?” she says, nose scrunching.

“All of the emotions you feel, the ones you hate, the ones that distract you- those are the ones that come from your mortal parent. Ares cannot take those away, no matter how hard he tries.”

You let the kids spread around the rumors that this room is magical and soundproof. In reality, the Gods just don’t care enough to listen.

—-

It took a long time to get Chiron and Mr. D to see the benefits of having an actual licensed therapist at Camp. They were hesitant, but you insisted, so they gave you a one month trial. It took even longer to get someone to actually come talk to you, but after Jane blew up on one of her siblings and hurt them, she came to you.

She came to you crying, saying she hated being like this, she hated being so explosive. And it was slow, but you helped her, and now she has coping mechanisms and now the entirety of the Ares cabin and a good portion of the camp scrambles for appointments with you.

Jane always comes at 6:30 on Fridays. She eats her dinner quick and runs across camp to your office at the Big House. Sometimes she cries, sometimes she squeezes a stress ball so hard she might actually crush it, but she always talks. She always opens herself up, she learns and she grows.

After that hour, you turn around and lay in your bed, and you think about Clarisse.

You think about when she comes back, you’re not so cold anymore but your heart is frozen over. You cry, she asks you not to cry, not when she’s here. She did the impossible, she survived.

But you see it in her eyes. The thrill. She will do it again and again for him and you will be left there.

And as much as your aching heart tells you to forget about her- she’s yours. You’re hers.

She calls you baby and pretty girl even though years of stress has caused crows lines around your eyes. You are still trapped with her, like some sort of wretched mirror- except you’re gazing into another world where you’re both still young. Where you’re both still happy. Where she didn’t leave.

You think about that alternate reality a lot.

You think about it tonight.

You come to your room and you lay on your cold bed, wrap an arm around your waist and imagine the pillow under your head is her chest. It’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing to love her so much that you pretend she’s still here. It’s embarrassing that you pretend you have all the answers- the campers look up at you like you do have all the answers, but you really don’t. You know absolutely nothing. But you’re good at pretending.

The first time she visited camp she came to your room, cockily leaned against the door, and said something about how she had to meet the woman all of her younger siblings were gushing about. That night ended with her crying softly against your chest while you ran your hands through her hair.

And before, you went to colleges only an hour away from each other. When you were stressing about exams, when you got a bad grade, when the nights were cold and you missed her- you drove an hour and knocked on her door, and she let you in, into her bed, into her arms. She didn’t have let you into her heart, because you were always there.

When her roommate left for a few days for a family emergency, she asked her friends to take notes for her and drove to you. She stammered when you opened the door, tried to explain that she just couldn’t be alone, not anymore, not without you- and so she spent the next few days waiting in your room while you were at classes. You would sit in her lap while you did your homework, or she would just stand behind you at your desk and play with your hair. And you would spend your nights in her arms.

The second time she visited camp she didn’t say anything when she knocked on your door, and you just let her in. You spent the night laughing and reminiscing until you cried and she smiled sadly and asked you not to, and you tried for her, but you couldn’t. How can she expect you not to cry when she’s the one making you cry? When she’s cried herself over what happened between you?

The third, fourth, fifth, all the times she came to camp she would come to your door and sometimes you would cry, sometimes she would cry- sometimes you both would cry. Because how cruel is it to be held by the woman you love and know it’s not the girl you love? How cruel is it to know change?

—-

It’s not that you choose to love Clarisse. If you could choose, you wouldn’t love her. You would forget all about her. You dream about falling and hitting your head, waking up with a blank slate that’s untainted by her.

You don’t choose to love Clarisse.

Your skin doesn’t love her, not anymore- your cells replace every few weeks. And it’s been 2 months since she last came to camp. It’s your bones that love her. It’s something fundamental inside of you. Loving her is like moving- it takes so many little nerves and neurons to make it work- but it feels like nothing to you. Your bones love Clarisse.

And your bones surround your heart, and they trick you into loving her.

Every time she comes back you’re shocked by the way she isn’t her younger self. She’s older, there’s lines on her face, and she cut her hair a few inches shorter a few years ago. She carries herself different, partly because she’s grown and she’s learned to appreciate life a little more- she walks softer. And almost because you know she hurt her hip years ago, and you’ve spent nights kissing it and saying that she’ll be fine if she just gives it a little longer to heal.

You like to think that the reason she’s still able to go on quests and do everything she does is because of your healing touch.

But you see it sometimes, the way she walks softer, especially now after a long day. Its not that it hurts her, she’s just scared of putting a bit too much pressure on it so it does hurt her.

You watch her from the window. Smaller kids run past her, she’s listening absentmindedly to Abby James, the current counselor of the Ares cabin.

You giggle as she puts her hand on Abby’s shoulder and firmly says goodbye, pushing her off into the other direction- Abby is probably the most social Ares kid you’ve ever met. She’s a chatterbox, not in a bad or mean way, just a fact. Her long black hair swishes behind her as she turns, crossing her arms, and you’re sure you’ll be hearing about it in your next session.

You move back to the small couch- right by the door of your room. You sit there like you’re not expecting her, and you wait until you hear her footsteps up the stares to fix your hair and breathe in and out slowly.

She knocks.

“Come in,” you say, throwing your feet onto the coffee table and picking up a book about the history of psychology.

“Y/N,” she says. The door shuts behind her, she leans back against it.

“Hi, Clarisse,” you say, reduced to a child now that she’s in your presence. Now that you can look at her and see that she’s not her. “How are you?”

She snorts, walking past you and sitting in the armchair you sit in for your sessions.

“I don’t wanna play that shit tonight.”

“Hospitality?”

“Whatever you wanna call it,” she smiles, her feet touching yours on the coffee table. You feel a little breathless. You close the book, you weren’t even reading it, throwing it onto the coffee table.

She stares into your eyes.

“How have you been?”

You roll your eyes, but that just makes the tears more prominent.

“How is that any different?”

“‘Cause it’s you. ‘Cause I like hearing your voice.”

She leans back in the chair and gestures to you, so you cross your legs and sit up. You bite back the tears like a hyena with a fake laugh.

“Uh, I don’t know. The usual. All of my sessions are going good, not that I can really tell you. Why don’t I turn on some music?”

“Sure,” she says, leaning her face into her hands.

You walk past her and towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall, body screaming at the way your bare legs brush against her clothed knee.

It’s an old record player, somehow making the cut as not electronic enough to attract anything bad.

You don’t bother checking what you were last listening to. You just put the needle at the start of a song and hear the organs, the grand piano.

“I like this guy,” Clarisse says.

“Jeff Buckley,” you chuckle, smoothing down your camp t-shirt, adjusting your pajama shorts.

Looking out the door I see the rain // Fall upon the funeral mourners

You stand there for a moment longer, pretending to adjust your bookshelf, because you know you’ll start crying when you turn around and look at her.

So I’ll wait for you, love // And I’ll burn // Will I ever see your sweet return? // Oh, will I ever learn?

“Come back,” she says. She was just watching you avoid her. You could feel her eyes on you. You stiffen. “Please,” she adds, softly.

“It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, wiping the tears away.

“I’m just as embarrassing then, seeing how many times I’ve cried in this room. We cancel each other out.” You don’t turn, you can’t do it, you can’t let her see how much this effects you. ��I don’t like it when you cry. Please, Y/N, come back.”

You take a deep breath and turn around, wanting to walk past her again, curious to see if she’ll reach out and pull you into the chair with her.

But she doesn’t get the chance too, because your eyes are blinded by tears, and the place where the rug curls up is always making you stumble. Except on days when she’s here, you’re so drained of everything, so you trip completely.

Your knees slam against the hardwood floor, Clarisse tries her best to catch you, but she was a foot too far to reach you- even with her fast reflexes.

And now you’re on your knees in front of her, crying even louder with burning knees.

“Y/N,” she breathes, and you drag yourself towards her, sobbing like a baby until you’re at her feet, resting your head in her lap. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s fine. I trip all the time.” You both know you’re not crying about that.

You press your face into the space between her leg and the cushion to muffle your loud cries.

You grab her legs, feral, nails digging through her cargo pants- but you don’t even reach skin.

“I love you so much, Clarisse,” you sob. “I love you. Don’t leave me tonight. Don’t leave me.”

She breathes out, it’s silent and you bite your tongue.

“I’ll stay tonight,” she says. “I was always gonna stay tonight, you don’t have to ask, baby.”

“Say you love me,” you whisper. “Say it, please.”

“I love you,” she says, her lips in your hair. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

There is a certain desperation with demigod relationships. And you feel it now, you feel the desperate hands and the yearning hearts as you cry at her feet. And you feel your knees burn as you kneel before her. You listen to Jeff Buckley croon about love gone while you cry at her feet.

You can’t be embarrassed in this moment. Part of you feels like this is all just Clarisse’s problem, for being so beautiful you still love her, for leaving you and never putting you first. She has to hold you and fix you, she has to deal with the wet pant leg full of your tears. But really, you just want her to hold you. You just want to pretend she never left in the first place.

It’s never over // She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

—-

“Are you hungry?” you ask when you finally let go of her, pushing her away as you wipe your wet face.

She studies you for a moment.

“Yeah,” she says, honestly. “What’cha got?”

You reach under the coffee table for the box of snacks you always keep incase someone gets hungry during a session. You’ve both moved to the couch for more space, Jeff Buckley is still going in the background- you’ll have to get up and flip it over soon, or put on something else.

She rifles through the bags of mortal snacks until she finds a bag of salt and vinegar chips.

“Thanks, baby,” she mutters, tearing into the bag. You lean against the couch and just watch her. It could be like this all the time. If she would just stay.

She tries to feed you one, but for some reason that feels too intimate and you shake your head. She shrugs and eats it, even though it was pressed up against your lips a second ago.

That’s the one thing you don’t do. You kiss each other everywhere, except for the lips. You touch her everywhere, except for her lips.

You cry in her arms and she kisses your head, she runs her hands down your body but doesn’t kiss you.

And you’re scared of it. You’re scared of kissing her. You still feel like you can leave, even after all the nights together, if you just don’t kiss her.

She gestures to the curtain that separates your bedroom from where you see campers. “I like the new curtain. Flowers,” she says.

You rake your eyes over the carefully crocheted patterns, pink and blue and yellow, purple and green and red, all turned into pretty flowers.

“A few kids from the Demeter cabin made it for me,” you smile, thinking of how proud they had been to give it to you. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” Clarisse says, but she’s not looking at the curtain anymore. “Jane was talking about you all day,” she says after a moment. “She really loves you.”

“I love her. If she hadn’t come to me, then no one else would have, and I probably would have gotten thrown out. I don’t even know where I would have gone.”

“You could’ve come to me. You can always come to me.”

You have her address pinned to a bulletin board next to your bed.

“Yeah,” you mumble, playing with a loose thread on the back of the couch. “She reminds me a lot of you, you know.”

“Really?” she chuckles. “How?”

“I can’t tell you, silly. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Well, you said she’s like me. So just tell me what I’m like.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thinking over every moment you’ve spent with Clarisse, every session with Jane. “Well, you have very big emotions. It’s hard for you to control them. But, you never really feel them. You never get to the root of the problem. So, when something actually happens, all you know how to do is recognize that you’re angry. You can’t figure out why.”

“You’re good at this shit,” she mumbles. You laugh.

“Hm, you forget that being a demigod means you’re half human, too. And you’re very loyal. You’re loyal to the wrong people, sometimes.”

She crunches up the empty bag of chips and drops it onto the coffee table.

“Don’t do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

She rubs her socks against your knees. “I jus’ wanna be here with you, right now. Don’t say anything else.”

“You asked me about Jane.” You scoff and she glares at you, but her feet are still touching you, and you sigh. “I’m sorry. I jus’ wanna be here with you, too.”

She stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. When she finally looks away, she’s rubbing tears out of her eyes. You move to sit on your knees, leaning towards her.

“Clar, don’t cry,” you say. “What happened?”

You take her face in your hands, so she can’t wipe away the tears. Staring into your eyes, she’s forced to let them fall. She puts her hands on your waist.

“Sometimes I jus’ think about how you’ll never forgive me.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Let’s not talk about that right now, Clar. C’mon.”

“Is this room soundproof?” she asks, suddenly. You frown at first, not knowing what that has to do with anything- but then you remember.

You let the kids assume it’s soundproof in your early sessions. But eventually, when they ask, you tell them the truth. You tell them it’s not.

And when they get scared and ask if their godly parents will hear them- you put your hand on their arm and say no. No, they won’t hear you. It’s not that they can’t, it’s that they won’t. They won’t care.

“No. It’s not.”

She shakes her head and laughs.

“So, what? You just sit here and tell these kids that their parents don’t love them?”

“Because they don’t. A God’s love is not a human’s love, Clarisse, why-why dont you get it? It’s different. It’s just different. It’s not necessarily bad, it’s just not what these kids need.”

“You make them think that their parents don’t care about them.”

“Because they don’t! Fuck. They don’t, okay!”

She stares at you for a long time after your outburst.

“What is wrong with you?” she mutters, not necessarily mean but more genuinely curious. She truly believes your wrong in your hatred of the Gods.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? I spend my entire day helping kids. I spent my entire day handing them tissues, hugging them, teaching them coping skills. I have devoted my entire life to making sure no one ever felt how I felt. How am I the bad guy for helping them place the blame on who it really should be placed?”

“How you felt?”

You shuffle, sitting up taller.

“Yes, how I felt. How I feel. You don’t know what it was like for me, Clarisse. You don’t know what it was like to sleep without you and know that you were probably gone-”

“What the hell do you think I did every night of that quest?”

“But I didn’t leave you, Clarisse! I didn’t leave you. I have been waiting for you for years. You are the one who leaves me over and over again. And you- you have someone. I have no one, except for you. No one.”

Clarisse has a father. She has someone to blame, if she chose. She has someone to pray to, to cry to, to guide her.

What do you have? The unclaimed daughter of no one? The only person you belong to is Clarisse. And here she is, staring at you like you disgust her.

The anger falls away, because at your core you’re still a lonely 16 year old who needs her to come back, who needs to be claimed, who needs to be loved.

You’re a licensed psychologist. You know that you have deep, deep abandonment issues. You know that Clarisse is at the root of them. But the part of you that’s just a girl, your bones that will always love her, she’s everything to you. She’s all you have.

“Please don’t make us fight,” you cry, hands pressed to your cheeks. “You’re making me cry, Clarisse. Don’t make me cry.”

You watch her change entirely. It goes from the woman who can’t understand you to the girl who knows only you.

“I hate it when you cry,” she says, softly, a gateway back into her arms.

You throw yourself against her, trying your best not to cry for her, but you fail. Her lips are in your hair, your head against her chest. She smooths down your hair and begs you not to cry. Because for some reason, this feels like too much. For some reason, this hurts her the most.

Clarisse is self destructive just like you.

She helps you to your bed. She touches the flower curtain as you walk past.

Clarisse knows she’s hurting you and she knows you’re hurting her. You know you’re hurting her and you know she’s hurting you.

She takes off her uncomfortable clothes and slips under the blanket with you.

Clarisse loves you the same way you love her. Not by choice, but by nostalgia, by hope. She loves you because of what might be. You love her the same way. You both hope that one day it’ll all work out.

She tucks the blanket around you and cups your face. She tells you she’s sorry and whispers “I love you” one more time. You put your hand on her hip, the other pressing against your chest. You say you love her too. You say you love her so much you’re reduced to this less-than thing in her presence.

Clarisse doesn’t understand you. You don’t understand her. She’s nobody’s son, and you’re nobody’s daughter. You try to go about your day without her but you think about her on you so much.

It’s hard to do well on these nights when you know she’s gonna leave you. So you cry, you pretend, you relish this one night in her arms.

“I promise I don’t mean to hurt you,” she whispers. “I don’t. I love you so much. I want you to be happy, but I can’t let you go.” She traces her nose along your jawline. “I can’t let you be happy away from me.”

And it sounds so horrible and cruel, but the way she hurts you is so beautiful you can’t be bothered. She only hurts you because of love. Because she loves you, because she loves her father.

“I know,” you breathe. “I know everything. I don’t mean to hurt you either, I know exactly how you feel.”

A single tear falls down her face. “I can’t help but hurt you. I can’t help but let you hurt me.”

“I know, Clarisse,” you mutter. You press your lips to her cheek and swallow the salty tear falling down her face. “It feels so good, I know.”

Clarisse is a sadist like you. Clarisse is a masochist like you.

Clarisse is addicted to the pain just like you.

—-

me when i’m in an toxic and cosmically doomed relationship contest and my opponents are clarisse and y/n: 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

let me know if you cried in the comments below! 😘

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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jasperxkuromi · 3 months

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Regressors that are (bodily) older, please interact!

Later 20s, 30s, maybe even older? I would love to hear from you and maybe even your stories if you don't mind sharing!

I want to meet more people like me and also show others that age regression doesn't just suddenly "stop" at a certain age

Some of us:

Didn't discover regressing/didn't understand their involuntary regression until they were older

Wasn't in a safe space mentally and/or physically to be able to regress the way we want to

Didnt "grow out" of regressing. I think a lot of people outside the community assume we will all grow out of wanting to regress at some point. Maybe some of us will, but some of us won't. Regressing can be a safe and healthy coping mechanism, no matter your bodily age!

And probably many other reasons I can't think of at the moment lol

I would love to get to talk to older regressors, or if there are any groups/discords, I would like to know those too :3

I'm gonna talk about my story a little under the cut, but I don't exactly recommend reading it if you are little right now! I am going to be talking about s3xualization of agere and children's media unfortunately.

I started age dreamer/involuntarily regressing when I was in high school without really knowing what it was. I was really into MLP FiM during its height popularity. I watched the show, collected and played with the toys, did coloring books, took my MLP blanket to school ever day. You get the idea.

I discovered regression here in Tumblr, but this was yeeeeaaars ago, like back when nsfw was still allowed. The line between ddlg and agere wasn't as solid as it is now. Or maybe it was just because I was a kid and couldn't understand better? Either way ... i ended up getting wrong ideas of what agere had to be and ended up scaring myself off. I also had adult roleplayers leaving really inappropriate comments on my posts that made me feel icky. I thought agere had to be s3xual and scared myself off.

We also unfortunately probably know the uhhh .. types of fan art that was popular of MLP. And it just ended up making me lose interest in the series. The stuff was everywhere and it was hard to avoid even if you were vigilant.

I never got a real chance to understand what healthy, voluntary regression was. I still was an age dreamer, but most times when I involuntarily regress it is out of extreme stress and it isn't fun or pretty.

I had a lot of bad things that happened to me last year and in turn I am having more health issues. Chronic conditions I already had getting worse, and new ones popping up. My mom (the one who birthed me) has been helping me a bit, but it has still been a lot of playing adult. Making phone calls back and forth, filling out paperwork, figuring out disability leave, paying bills, etc etc. I started age dreaming more and more often to cope with the stress. Like I randomly one day bought a DVD player and sets of Winnie the Pooh and Scooby Doo DVDs lmfao.

I also never stopped collecting stuffed animals and came back to collecting dolls again last year. It helps that I have friends IRL who I don't think are regressors, but still enjoy collecting with me. (my friends don't know yet, but I think they would be accepting if I told them, or they might already assume I regress tbh)

I have kinda had age regression on the back of my mind for several months, but was scared to look back into it. I was scared of going through the same thing I did back in high school. But also denying I am a regressor and that I still need to heal my childhood wounds was getting heavier and heavier on me. I am sooooo thankful I finally felt safe to begin exploring regression again ♥️😁

Side note: while I absolutely don't care if people do ddlg and similar stuff as a kink/fetish, I am thankful that the distinction between that and agere is more distinct now. It is important we protect minors and other vulnerable people from having the same sorts of things that happened to me (or worse) from happening to them.

#age regression #age regressor #agere #sfw agere #sfw little community #sfw littlespace #sfw regression #agere blog #agere community #age dreamer #age dreaming #autistic agere

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xmalereader · 1 year

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Miguel O’Hara x Bunny! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: I’ve had this idea in my head for a very long time now and couldn’t stop thinking about it! This is technically an OC of mine but tried my best not to make there characteristics too detailed or anything that gives away too much OC. This is also an inspiration from MLB, I don’t care if it’s a kid show I have a love and hate relationship towards it and had some things changed for the character, either way hope you enjoy!

Summary: Miguel was the protector of multi universes, what happens when he meets someone who isn’t a spider and is able to do the same, protecting the timeline and making sure that it doesn’t get destroyed, changing the future and clashing within Miguel’s line of work.

Warnings: Angst, reader is a hybrid, time traveling, semi crossover, not mucha of Miguel honestly, language, slight lore, betrayal, hurt no comfort, mentions of genocide, slight depression, enemies to friends but not lovers, slight magic use, miguel is a bit OOC, bunny ears and tail, slight fluff, coping mechanism, readers hero name is Bunnix.

Word count: 5.4k

—

In his universe hybrids and humans co existed. In his universe he was a rabbit hybrid born in a large family with many siblings, in his universe he was seen as a monster due to the things he was able to do as a hybrid. His sense of smell was stronger, his hearing better than others and faster that a normal human being. He had the features of a rabbit, long ears and a tail big enough that reached his lower back, who he tends to have issues with whenever it came towards buying clothes for himself since most stores didn’t have much clothes for hybrids that he worked for hours making a hole big enough for his tail and to make sure that it didn’t pinch each time he slipped them on.

He was a normal hybrid trying to survive in a world where he is hated and possibly taken advantage of whenever rabbits fall into heat. He worked at a normal job and had a normal family until at the age of twenty he received a gift, heirloom to be exact from his great grand father who he watched him grow an eventually passed away when he was only a teenage. Y/n would visit his grandfather as a kid, listening to him ramble on about his past life and the things he saw and did.

Due to Y/n being a kid he would believe his stories while his own parents, even his siblings wouldn’t believe their grandfather as he spoke about time traveling and seeing their futures. Everyone disregarded his stories as plain fairytales or crazy due to how old he was getting and growing delusional that no one listened to him, but Y/n.

After his grandfathers death he left his will to the rest of his family, providing his parents and siblings small things. He never received anything that day and thought that his own grandfather hated him and that the idea of leaving something behind to the only child who listened to him was ridiculous. Only to be proven wrong when his grandfathers lawyer approached him that day and told him that his grandfather did leave him something, but was not ready to receive until he got older.

After years he finally got that gift.

When the package arrived he was quick to claim the box into his hands and dart towards his bedroom, closing and locking the door. He knew his family should be around to see what he received from his late grandfather, but something inside him was telling him to do it in private. When getting the package opened he’s met with a letter folded on top of a small box that he picks up to read, noticing his grandfathers handwriting.

My dear child,

I hope this gift got to you at the proper age that I assigned.

And hope for you to take very good care of it.

All those years you were the only one who listened to my stories of my time as a time travel and wish to gift you my most prized possession.

A watch.

This item will show you everything you need to see. It was once my duty to take care of the future and to make sure that no interruptions were made and to decide the right path that our world must face. I know this duty will be hard for you, but I trust that you will know how to use it. I only advice that you do not let this power blind you and don’t let others tell you what is right and wrong of your duty.

If you accept this gift then you will be in charge of our future.

Y/n had opened the small box that held a silver pocket watch, picking it up in his hands as he examined the outside before popping it open. Instead of seeing a regular watch on the inside a bright blue light quickly surrounds him, seeping into his body as his grandfathers life flashes before his eyes, witnessing the pain and suffering he went through, the glee of saving a future, the hesitation of having to choose the wrong path in order to save another. He saw his grandfather at a much younger state and the power that he held in the palm of his hand.

Everything went by fast that when he opens his eyes he’s still in his bedroom, panting heavily knowing that his life changed forever that night.

He figured that he watch helped for this moment only to realize that the pocket watch worked as a safe for his power that was deep inside of him, feeling it coursing through his veins. He kept the gift from his grandfather a secret from his family, knowing that they wouldn’t believe him. If they didn’t believe his grandfather than why believe him?

The hybrid would spend every night trying to practice his ability, which grew difficult since his grandfather never really left instructions on how it worked. He didn’t figure out how to open a portal until three weeks later when he was playing around with a ball and bouncing it against the wall of his apartment, bored out of his mind that when the ball bounced off the wall and towards his open palm, all of a sudden white portal opens, startling the poor rabbit with wide eyes as the ball disappears into the portal.

When first seeing the portal he grows cautious, primal instincts triggering him as his ears fall flat against his head while he nervous reached inside the portal, his hand disappearing and when pulling away he is surprised to see his hand still intact. It took him a few minutes to finally gain the courage and step through the portal where he finds himself in a white abyss full of different portals that showed him the timeline of his universe, witnessing future events before his eyes and being able to see the various outcomes of a future event. He’s able to jump from one timeline to another, visiting different areas and seeing their world before he was even born. The amount of power he had was dangerous and now realized what his grandfather meant by how hard the job would be. Having to keep everything organized, making sure that everything is intact.

Y/n first started off small, seeing his friends future and fixing their life events, picking paths that worked best for them. He sometimes felt guilty for picking a path that didn’t work out for them, but didn't;t have a choice but to decide a bad path in order to get a better one with time. He had the control of the future in the palm of his hand.

It wasn’t until three years that he made his biggest mistake.

His world was going through a war with hybrids and humans and the human government had seen the hybrids as a threat, claiming that they didn’t feel safe living, eating, or working with someone who was different to them. Someone who could do things that no human could and were coming up with ways to exterminate everyone who they saw as a threat. Y/n was only twenty three when he witness the genocide of his people, watching as his family and siblings were separated from him, being taken away. He climbed inside his burrow that night, checking the different outcomes of his worlds future hoping to find a positive end to this situation only to find nothing.

His people were meant to die and he couldn’t save them.

That day, Y/n stayed in his burrow, watching his world kill his own people until none were left but him.

Leaving him on his own without his family or friends, without the comfort of someone like him. Y/n had mourned for days, feeling so alone as he watched his universe future thrive without hybrids, watching as humans celebrated the extinction. The image alone hurt and wanted nothing to do with his own world that with time in the burrows he figures out a way to travel through different universe, alternate ones where his family is alive and safe, ones where he and his family never existed.

Even though he was suppose to keeping things small and protect the future of his own universe he decided to expand his work and protect the future of all universe, traveling from one place to another, hopping from dimension to dimension. The hybrid spent six years learning new things and setting his own rules of balancing out the future.

Each time he visited a dimension he made sure to keep his identity hidden, wearing a black and blue neon stealth suit with a hoodie over that allowed his ears to pop out from the holes he created along with a domino mask over his eyes along with a hole in his suit for his tail as he worked faster in the suit whenever he needed to escape a universe before being noticed.

The hybrid would also spend his time in universes, either trying to coexist or to stay in for awhile since he couldn’t stay in his burrow forever. He mainly stayed hidden on top of large buildings or found ways inside empty apartments in order to get away from the harsh weather conditions. He didn’t think much of his disturbance when hopping from universe to universe until one night he met a flash of red and blue.

He was visiting a earth-4837, noticing an error in the timeline that he’d been trying to fix only for his ears to perk up at the sound of fast movements, catching him off guard as he’s suddenly pinned against the ground, gasping for air at how hard and sudden the push was and regain his breathing only to come face to face with a larger build that stood before him.

“Finally caught you.”

Y/n can only stare with wide eyes under his mask, ears falling back against his head in both worry and fear as he stares at the mask stranger before him. It takes a few seconds for his brain to respond back to him as he tilts his head to he side with furrow brows. “What, what do you mean caught?” He asks, clearly confused.

He can feel the other man’s grip tighten around his stealth suit, pulling him closer as his eyes narrow down at the hybrid. “I have been chasing you through universe and you are always escaping me. You keep disturbing the universes.” He clarified. “Now I have to take you back to your proper universe.”

At the mention of being returned back to his own universe caused a switch to go off in him, reacting quickly as he grips the others mans wrist, using his own strength to kick his feet up and kick him in the chest, sending him falling back with a grunt. The hybrid watched as the masked man coughs under his mask and groan, placing a hand against his chest as he slowly sits up. “Shit, that was a really strong kick.”

Y/n finds satisfaction in the mans words only to gasp when he comes charging at him, making him move quickly and ducking away from his grip, reacting quickly as his instincts as a rabbit take over.

“I am not going back there.” He hissed out, ears pinned back and tail puffing up in anger while the other turns around to face him, taking notice of the movement of his ears and tail. “Those things are real? I thought they were some weirds thing that went along with the suit you wear.”

“I could say the same about those.” Y/n nods towards the strangers hands, noticing the talons from his finger tips. “Thought they were fake, but I guess they aren’t if you have a good grip on that building.”

His words cause the stranger to look over at his hand, talons deep into the wall that he had struck after coming after the hybrid and letting out a small laugh as he detached himself from the wall. “Now you listen—“ When turning back he finds the rabbit gone, earning a disappointed groan.

“Lyla.” He speaks up as the artificial intelligences appears on his shoulder. “Yep?”

“Find me the rabbit.”

From then on, Y/n’s grew careful of his work now that someone as after him. Spending more time in his burrow and less time in other universe and whenever he was in one he would make sure to stay in alert while buying himself to eat and keeping his features hidden from the public, trying to blend in with everyone else.

He figured that he wouldn’t see that same masked stranger again until a week later. He didn’t know how he got involved, but one minute he’s working on keeping a stable future and the next he’s being tossed around by a man dressed in a rhino suit.

“You okay? Whoa—never seen you before.”

That’s how he met the cities hero known as Spiderman.

His suit was similar to the guy who was hunting him down for some unknown reason, but this one was far nicer than the other. The hybrid got a good feeling about the kid and was quick to jump in and help him out as the two take down the rhino, Spider-Man using his webs to keep him from running off while Y/n worked on getting rid of the suit in breaking it apart.

“We make a good team.”

Y/n can only give a small smile. “Guess we did.”

The kid can only tilt his head in questioning and asks. “What do I call you?”

Y/n hesitates, not wanting to give away his own name and doesn’t know how to respond. The hero takes notice of his hesitation and is quick to step in. “I guess you don’t have a hero name?”

“I’m not a hero.” He is quick to cut in, his work wasn’t seen as a heroic thing.

“No worries,” The hero holds his hands up as he suddenly blurts out. “Bunnix.”

“What?”

“Bunnix, can I call you that?”

Y/n thinks about the name and can’t help but feel comfortable with it, finding it fitting. “Sure.”

That day he was given a new name by the cities hero who he later befriends. Y/n doesn’t tell this universe Spider-Man why he was there and what he did, only following him whenever he needed help and fighting off the villains in the city while Bunnix did his work on the side. There’s moments where he’s given the opportunity to save a future while working alongside with Spider-Man, fixing them without notice and when checking his work he left in shock by how much he is able to do.

Things were working well while staying in that universe and once again he let his guard down this time he’s met with the same stranger after helping Spider-Man fight off electro. His body was already sore from all the fighting and tired and all he wanted to do was get back to his place where he could lie down and relax only to be picked off the ground which shocks him.

Eyes wide as he frantically squirmed and looked up to see the familiar red and blue. “You!” He points at him with a deep glare, yelping when he nearly slips from his grasp, the rabbit holds back a cry as he climbs the mans body, keeping his legs and arms wrapped around him. “Hey! I can’t see!”

“Put me down!”

“How can I do that when you are blocking my vision?!”

The two banter with each other while the spider swings through the city, unable to see where he is going as he pries the hybrids hands away from his eyes only to see a building up ahead. The two scream and prepare for impact, but Bunnix is quick to act, opening a portal as they fall through it and opening another at a building where they fall on top of.

The same stranger groans as he lands on his back with the hybrid on his chest.

“How—?”

Bunnix scrambled off his chest, stepping away from him. “You could have killed us!”

“Kill you? You were the one blocking my sight!”

“You picked me up out of nowhere! Rabbit don’t do heights!” He shouted back at the man who slowly stood and rolled his shoulders, easing the pain from the hard fall. “Okay, I’m sorry, but also not because I am still here to take you back.”

“I already told you I am not going back to my universe.” Bunnix groans out, shaking his head while rubbing his temples. “I can’t have you roaming around universe, your disturbing them and I am fixing up your mess.”

Bunnix ears perk up at this. “Wait…what do you mean by fixing them?”

“Look, I don’t know what it is that you are doing but each time that you end up at a universe you cause a disturbance that can destroy timelines, let alone canons so I have to fix them—“ Before he can go on, the rabbit cuts him off. “You can fix them too?”

The others raises a brow. “What do you mean, too?”

Bunnix doesn’t know what to think, the fact that someone else is able to do the same as him leaves him in surprise. The hybrid allows himself to take small steps towards the man as he explains himself. “I can travel through universes without issue, my job is to fix the future and to make sure that no disturbance is caused whether good or bad its my job to protect it. I can’t go back to my universe because…” He hesitates before finding the courage. “My universe co existed with hybrids and humans and a genocide occurred with my people, I tried to fix it to find a better outcome of our future but found nothing and had no choice but to watch as the people I love die. I escaped and continued on with my duty and if I go back they will kill me.” His voice is full of sorrow and pain, not being able to read the others reaction towards his past.

He hears the other sigh softly, hand on his hip as he thinks. “That explains everything, all this time I thought you were an anomaly but your not your—your something else.” He finally says, understanding that the disturbances are the outcomes that Bunnix choose in order to improve the universe, at first Miguel thought that he was only making a bigger mess and whenever he checked on a canon expecting some mess he had to fix, instead he saw the canon already fixed for him.

Which only raised questions to the older man, giving him another reason to come after the hybrid.

As the two stand apart from each other it’s Miguel who speaks up.

“I’m not taking out back.” He finally says. “But I would be interested in seeing your work, perhaps you can help me.”

Bunnix raises a brow. “Help how?”

“You fix futures and I fix canons, together we can protect the universe from being destroyed.” His words intrigue the hybrid as he stares at the man before him, eyeing him up an down before sighing to himself and agreeing to his offer to protect the universe. “Good.” The rabbit flinched in surprise when the man’s masked is removed, dissolving away to reveal his own face. “I’m Miguel.”

Bunnix swallows nervously, but gains the courage to speak up as he reached up to remove his own mask. “Y/n.”

Y/n ends up working with Miguel in his universe for two years, being the only hybrid in base while everyone else was a spider felt off to him. Everyone knew him as Miguels second hand since he was their from the very beginning. Everyone thought that Jessica was Miguel’s best spider only to find out that its Bunnix. A simple hybrid that didn’t belong in any universe, but powerful enough to change anyone’s future and seeing that they couldn't.

His time working with Miguel made him realize how much the other spiders feared their leader due to his short temperament and the fact that he too had a beast inside of him. He once caught Miguel taking a serum that helped control the beast within him. At first the hybrid didn’t think anything of it until he decided to test a few things out, noticing how Miguel was sensitive to the bight lights and often kept his own lab under dim lighting, the noticeable fangs whenever he talked and now he used them in order to paralyze the anomalies that struggled the most. He already knew about the talons on the base of his finger tips, curious about them that he once approached Miguel and without asking he takes the mans hand into his hand and checks out the talons.

Miguel stares with a raised brow as the rabbit only hums to himself before dropping his hand back down and jumping off the platform while he continued on with his discoveries. Technically Miguel was a hybrid himself, but refused to say anything about it, Miguels own animalistic features bring some light comfort to the rabbit, feeling like he wasn’t alone anymore.

From their time together the two have grown comfortable around each others presence that Bunnix didn’t fear Miguels temper and whenever he grew upset about something going wrong during a mission he would usually come to Bunnix and rant to him, letting his anger out while the rabbit sat back and listened, watching the bigger man pace around the lab as he grumbled on about one of the spiders not listening to him.

Other times Miguel had grown to admire the rabbits tail, noticing how it flicked and twitched with each movement he made that without even asking his large hand reached down to touch the tail, fingers finding the soft fur while the hybrid tensed up. He’s caught by surprise and should yell at miguel to not touch him without asking, but the feeling of having someone touch his tail after so many years only brings back old memories of his family. He expected Miguel to be rough with his tail only to realize that the man was gentle, stroking the fur while he also concentrated on his own work.

It became a habit for Miguel to randomly touch Bunnix’s tail whenever he felt stress, feeling better after playing with the soft fur.

Their routine together grew and their trust for each other deepened.

Y/n only stepped into the whole canon issue whenever a screw up occurred, stepping into his burrow and meeting with Miguel two days before the moment happens, providing him instructions on how to handle the issue and what to do to fix it. Miguel had grown used to such moments happening, where the rabbit is hopping from past and future to present again.

The two worked well together and treated each other with respect.

As the spider society began to grow, Y/n started to see how alike everyone was and how their canons aligned with each other. He never questions Miguel as to why the canon events must remain intact or what would happen if one were to be broke. He kept those questions to himself while he watched Miguel command different spiders into different universe and getting the job done while also keeping the canons together.

It wasn’t until Miles came into the picture, he noticed a slight change in Miguel as their time together grew. The taller man used to be so blunt with him until he started hesitating that the hybrid started to notice. It felt like Ike he was hiding something from him and didn’t want him to know, as irritating as it was, Y/n would sometimes feel the itch to check his burrow, in hopes of finding his answer his questions, but promised himself that he wouldn’t due such thing. He could never look at his own future or know what to expect.

Bunnix had been working in the lab when Miles and Gwen show up alongside with Hobie, glancing at the teenagers while he works on a few of Miguel’s new gadgets.

“Oh! This is Bunnix, Miguels most trusted hero.” Said Gwen while giving Bunnix a soft smile while the hybrid nods in return before his gaze shifts towards Miles, noticing how the kids eyes widen a bit in surprise as he noticed his state. “I can tell from your staring you’ve never seen a hybrid before?” Said Bunnix with a raised brow.

Miles stutters out a nervous laugh. “I’ve seen weirder things.” The kids admits, avoiding his eyes while Bunnix chuckled and got back to his own work and allows them to approach Miguel. Y/n looks over his shoulder and watched as the platform lowers, rolling his eyes at how dramatic the man can be when trying to show intimidation.

The hybrid sets his work aside and turns around it make his way over to Miguel as the platform lowers only to gasp when a trash bin is thrown towards the teens way, causing the hybrid to react quickly as he grabs Miles by the arm and pulls him to the side, away from the hit.

Miles stares up at the hybrid who glared over to Miguel. “Miguel what the hell?!” Bunnix shouts, letting go of Miles once he checks him over and then turns his attention back to Miguel who ignored him and continued with his own rant. Y/n has never seen Miguel react in such way before, yes he had a temper, but it was never this bad.

The rabbit walks over to Miguel and jumps onto the platform. “What is going on with you?” He whispers low enough for Miguel to hear only to get a side eye from the bigger man a sense of irritation in his eyes before turning back to the teens. His actions only worry Bunnix even more, knowing that something wasn’t right as he takes a small step back.

His instincts were kicking in, telling him to run to hide, but from what?

While Miguel is distracted talking to Gwen and Miles, he takes the opportunity to step out of the lab, getting away from the others as he opens a portal and steps through, stepping inside his burrow and closing the portal behind him.

He’s surrounded by various timelines and universe, swallowing nervously as he approached one of them and placed his palm over it. Watching the scene before him as Miguel explains to Miles about the canons, fast forwarding Miles finding out about his father needing out die in order to keep the canon from breaking, from Miles escaping and Miguel chasing down the kid.

“No, no, what is happening.” He whispers as he steps away from the timeline and approached another with Miguel and Miles, watching as he chased the kid through the city. He can see the anger in Miguel’s body language, talons digging into the buildings and it sets an alarm off in the rabbit. He fast forwards to see the outcome, only for an additional timeline to show up, raising his ears in surprise as he moves over to check the two outcomes.

His looks into both outcomes, noticing how a third timeline appears. He’s never seen something like this before and it interests him as he checks everything figuring out the good and bad the right and wrong of his own choices that he is to make. When he connects all outcome together to create a new future he takes a step back, knowing that his next step could possibly ruin the trust he had with Miguel, but knew that it was the right thing to do.

It was his duty to protect the future.

The hybrid lets out a deep breath, extending out the palm of his hand as he opens a portal, jumping through and quickly holding onto the rail of the train that everyone clung onto. He can see as Miguel held Miles down, pinning him down as he shouted to the kid about how much of a mistake he was and how he wasn’t suppose to be a hero.

He can see the hurt in Miles eyes when hearing Miguels words only for it to grow worse when he finds out that his own friends knew the truth the entire time and never told him.

Bunnix holds on tight to the railing his movement getting Miguels attention, noticing the opened portal above them and hardening his stare. “I can’t let you go back.” Said Miguel, looking back to Miles as his grip on his shoulders tightened. “Bunnix, take him back to the lab.” His voice is full of demand, expecting the hybrid to listen and to take the kid back only to see no movement.

Miguel looks up to Y/n with a hint of confusion in his eyes. “Bunnix.” He hissed out towards the hybrid who can only frown.

Holding onto the rial he used his back leg to push himself up, eyes full of guilt. “I’m sorry.” He says, using the strength of his legs to push himself forward. “I have to protect the timeline.”

Miguels eyes widen when he finally realizes what he means, reacting too late as the hybrid uses his legs to kick Miguel off of Miles, sending him flying back. Y/n is quick to grab Miles, not letting the kid speak before giving Miguel one last look and jumping through his portal and disappearing from sight.

Both Y/n and Miles roll through the burrow together. “What—“ Miles starts as he stands from where he lies, only for his eye to widen. “What is this place?”

Bunnix grunts, getting up and rushing over to the kid, covering his eyes. “don’t look.” His voice is low and dangerous. He couldn’t allow anyone to see what he sees, not even Míguel had the privilege to look into his burrow.

“Hold on!” Miles starts again, reaching out to try and pry Y/n’s hands off his eyes, but Y/n tightens his hold. “You can’t see this, if you do it will alter the future and I can’t have that. happening, not now.” He is guiding Miles around his burrow, checking the different timelines while the kid began to ask.

“Why did you save me?”

The hybrids ears raise at his question before they fall back, forgetting to explain to him. “I know what Miguel is only trying to do his job into keeping the canons from breaking, but…I also have a job of my own which is to keep the future safe. I saw the outcome of Miguel’s doing and I had to fix it.” His voice is soft while leading the kid around, keeping his hands over his eyes still until he finds what he is looking for.

“Wait, so you can see the future?” Miles looks over his shoulder while Bunnix sighs, knowing his next questions as he opens the portal to where he is to take Miles, stepping through and into the rain. The sound gets the kids attention and his eyes are uncovered, looking around in confusion and then turning back to Bunnix who stood before him.

“I know you want to know if you make it to your dad on time.” Said Bunnix. “I know what happens, Miles and it’s something I cannot reveal. I decided that this path works best, whether its good or bad its the right one.” Miles is staring at Bunnix with a look of determination and desperation wanting to know if his own father make sit out of the situation alive and if he’s able to save him before its too late.

As Miles opens his mouth to speak again he is cut off by Bunnix holding his hand up, stopping him.

Y/n gives the kid a sad smile already knowing that Miguel possibly hates him for what he’s done. “Your path goes on, mine ends here.” At this point their is nothing he can do for him, knowing that Miguel will be searching for him and the only way to stay hidden without getting caught would be in his burrow until everything is complete.

#male reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #Spider-Man #spider man into the spider verse #smitsv #one shot #AU #OC #oscar issac characters #Spotify #bunny male reader #Bunnix male reader #slight crossover #Bunnix series

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independentmother · 3 days

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Learned Trauma

I often wonder how much my learned safety habits my son learned from me. At one time they got me through traumatic events. They still linger onto my body consistently comforting me, letting my mind and body know that I am Ok. My body trying all so hard to bring my stress hormones down to a more reasonable level. Only now I see my son doing the same things I know all to well. Wondering if it is his body doing the same thing as mine, or did he learn it from watching me. Not knowing he was learning from my trauma.

At night he would sleep with pillows blankets and stuffed animals sometimes so many I wondered how he fit. Only falling asleep if he had one of our cats to sleep with or to exhausted from his day. Sleep would hit him as fast as his head hitting the pillow. I would wonder if it was from all those years only being able to fall asleep with hm in my arms. My learned safety mechanism to know that nothing would happen to him while I was sleeping. Never sure of what the drunk sweating body next to me would do next. Or was he just a kid and it was fun to sleep with so many things, like The Princess & the Pea.

At the end of his school day he would find comfort in creating his own little bubble, normality in the living room. He old play with his toys on the side of the couch, write story’s or work on making something for the cats all with a show consistently on in the background. Was this a trauma or something that just worked for him.

As a kid I would often shut myself in my room all day. I would make my bed into my bubble and draw for hours with a tv show on in the background. When I first left his father I would find myself doing the same thing. Only this time he was there helping distract me from the world outside my bedroom door and all I had to face.

Maybe they are all learned from me and I know they are there from my trauma. Or maybe I know enough about trauma. The reaction my body has to cope with it that I can recognize it in my son. Knowing all to well that the whole time he was in my belly and rolling around on the floor the trauma of his father and I arguing was seeping into his skin forever changing his wiring.

#what happened to you #trauma #independent parents

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approximateknowledge · 8 months

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beater syndrome or: "why people misunderstand vriska and kirito for the same reason"

so a little while ago i made a random shitpost that ended me up with this image

^cursed entity

and it's come back to haunt me with ungogly revelations which i will now share because i have to it feels important

context: originally i was just gonna make a post about kirito, explaining how people misunderstand the character and *why* (and why it's completely understandable); but then i realised there was a real pattern here and the subconscious connection that led to the above cursed image suddenly made sense in my mind

so here it is:

the reason kirito gets mischaracterised so often has entirely to do with the combination of:

a) most people only having watched the aincrad arc (<;keyword watched),

and

b) the fact the anime gives a twisted image of the characters due to the fact the internal dialogues from the light novel get cut out completely

the end result of this is that when most people talk about "kirito", they're actually talking about "the beater", and those are crucially *not the same*!

the "beater" is a *role*, and a very specific one at that; it's what happens when you try to "own up" to accusations and unreasonable expectations (internal or external) to such an extent you're always playing the same self-destructive part, and because it's fundamentally a defense mechanism you just get stuck in it until things change drastically enough it finally feels safe to stop playing that horrible role and try to remember who you really are, after everything's over

that's what's happening here; when people say a character is "a kirito" they're actually referring to the beater, and the reason those characters suck ass is because they unironically use what's actually a coping mechanism in a horrible situation for a character's actual personality; of course it sucks! because they're doing it wrong!

it's about trying to convince yourself being a loner destructive scapegoat is "cool" despite always having a nagging insecurity it might just not be, but given the circumstances you're in too deep and so the sunk cost fallacy compels you to keep going

it's not *actually* cool; if anything it's depressing

now i think it's becoming obvious how all of this applies to vriska as well, but there's one crucial difference: the death game never actually *ends* for vriska serket; even now in post-canon she's arguably the *only* character who seems to still be playing sgrub, or maybe she never even stopped flarping

except for one version of her. for (vriska) the game did finally end. and they're the same

the beater dies when the game ends, and we see it happen to both of them

(also they're both transfem i didn't know how to fit that in but they are and that's a fact)

#ak goes insane #sao #homestuck #long post #metaposting #beater theory #yes im giving it a name #this isn't a shitpost btw im dead serious #vriska serket #kirito #transfem kirito

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thecoolerliauditore · 13 days

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What are your thoughts on SL Gem? I’m genuinely interested to hear your take on her character.

So first off I haven't fully watched Gem's SL POV, nor do I feel totally confident talking about her in a traffic series sense since she's lacking screentime even more than Ren. So this one's gonna be less grain of salt and more. salt mines. do not take it seriously

Gem's character to me is defined by her bravado and natural affinity for leadership but also by her pseudo-crush on not Pearl, but Scarlet Pearl specifically.

I feel like I've made too many cynical jokes about gempearl being evil to me, I don't think they're like. Bad for eachother necessarily in fact incorporating HC into things they're one of the pairs in the series I personally headcanon as hanging out post-horrors (not necessarily in a fully fledged capital r Relationship just. they're hanging out).

But I do think there's something very fangirl-ish about the way Gem idolizes Scarlet Pearl and encourages Pearl to lean more into the character, when Scarlet Pearl has always been more of a coping mechanism. Like, whoa that thing you did to protect yourself and only made things worse is SO COOL. Which is both what is really genuinely awesome about gempearl and what is really scary about it. To me at least. Gem takes all the things Pearl hates about herself and thinks they're Awesome, Actually but doesn't understand why Pearl hates those things in the first place and how they hurt both her and the people around her.

It's all bookended really well too, since Gem despite all her efforts still ends up on the other end of Pearl's knife in the final episode and suddenly it's not so awesome anymore.

On the non-pearl-related side of things, Gem kinda lands in the same hunger games career-esque personality that I box people like Scott, Joel and Martyn into in that she's very much in her element in the death games (until she's not).

I've seen people say she reminds them of how the cast acted back in 3L and SL being her introductory season i.e. her having not quite yet experienced The Horrors would make that make a lot of sense. Especially when she takes death very lightly until her allies start permadying (e.g. her happily accepting Scott's sacrifice and even hitting him around for fun at one point and leading the zombie apocalypse task but being a mess when Scott asks her to kill him the last time). There's this great contrast with her being incredibly confident and capable yet very naive.

The misogynist in me wants to see her knocked down a few more pegs but at the same time she already kind of has. Idk I hope the asuka-coded behaviour rears full-blast next season instead of kind of being in the background. It would be awesome. character arcs and whatnot.

As for like. more miscellaneous headcanons. I think there's pretty much a bit of boy inside every girl but Gem especially I like to think over-performs aspects of femininity to "make up for" her uber-competitive personality. Everything she does is underlined with insecurity to me, apparently. She's also a lesbian.

#asks

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muriels-brainrot · 3 months

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Happy [Belated] Father's Day, everyone!

In light of Father's Day, I thought it would be fun to think of how Muriel would act as a dad. I only have one headcanon for it right now. But I hope I can add more scenarios in the future! I'd even be happy to do it as a request. But for now, this is:

How Muriel Will Act As A Father:

[Headcanon Scenes] [Post Upright Ending Muriel]

POV: You're the one giving birth to your child

Before being a dad, his only responsibility other than himself was you. The moment he learns that your baby is on the way, something in him snaps.

In the back of his mind, his coping mechanisms - though totally valid - meant that his trauma served as a big reason why he wouldn't go beyond his comfort zone.

But not anymore.

Interacting with people, cooking new foods, eating said new foods, going to the doctor, buying clothes, paying bills; he's taken it upon himself to get better at doing these things.

You never hear this from him, but there are rare moments you catch him walking into Julian's clinic or slipping into the marketplace by himself. When you follow him out of curiosity, you watch him try his trembling best to act out as being a normal participant in human society. It breaks your heart to watch him get discouraged when he stutters too much in dealing with vendors or staff, or struggle to even get the proper words out of his mouth.

But it warms your heart to see him step up and do his best. You know it's not your place to interfere, but you keep an eye on him anyway. Just in case. Sometimes Inanna goes with you, with her being just as curious as you are.

One sunny afternoon, you catch him slumped on a bench outside a store front. You'd never seen him look so disappointed - or ashamed in himself. Perhaps another attempt at talking with the cashier didn't go the way he expected it to - and he's had enough.

Before you could approach him, Julian walks by. Great. As if things couldn't get worse - or so Muriel thought as he tries to sink into his seat. But Julian notices anyway. You and Inanna share an amused look when the two men end up talking. Well, more like Julian talking at him. Though you can't make out the words that your red-head friend is making, Muriel slowly perks up, as if realizing something.

By the end, when they go their separate ways. A new goal forms in Muriel's mind and he makes a beeline towards wherever that goal is.

Within a few weeks, your shared home in the forest turns more into a house befitting of a small family. Though you knew some things needed to change, it's a surprise - as this much renovation would have taken a year's salary to accomplish this.

Muriel tells you that he did all of this with his two hands, from building the nursery to woodworking new dining chairs. Your heart squeezes with glee as he spares no detail in telling you how he got here. He looks so handsomely adorable in this rare moment where he talks this much.

It turns out that a certain someone told him to play to his strengths instead, and not get so hung up over his weaknesses. Whatever those weaknesses they may be, they may simply be what you, his partner, are better at than he is. And that's not a bad thing - but rather, one of the many luxuries afforded in a relationship such as the one you share with Muriel.

A few months fly by - and your child is born. Up until now, Muriel was a nervous wreck. Will he be a good dad? Can he ensure that he can carry his own weight in raising this child properly? Is he even sure that this child won't inherit the same fears and traumas he's had growing up?

It isn't until you gently place the small bundle in his arms. The first thing that surprises him is how warm the baby is in his embrace. The way their tiny chest rises and falls. Their skin is paper thin as Muriel watches their tiny heart beat for its life. So fragile. So small.

But baby doesn't like being away from you, the other parent. Opening and closing its tiny grasp, they fight against Muriel as they wriggle in frustration.

You expect Muriel to get flustered and pass them back to you. Instead, your partner's eyes soften with a kind of affection you only see him have for those he deeply cares for. He lets the baby use their tiny hand to grab their his big finger. A soft smile grows on his lips when the baby is soothed by that.

"It's okay", Muriel says, "You're gonna be okay."

Nothing warms your heart more than that. You watch him in quiet adoration as he and the baby spend a little time together like this.

And he was right. Everything turned out alright in the end

#I WANT MORE DAD MURIEL HEADCANONS I WILL GO FERAL #Muriel as a Dad is just Ron Swanson or Vander from Arcane I SWEAR #the arcana headcanons #the arcana muriel kohkuri #muriel kokhuri #muriel headcanons #muriel kokhuri headcanons #the arcana muriel kokhuri headcanons #happy fathers day 2024 #headcanon #fanfic ideas #alternate universe #the arcana #muriel the arcana

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loser-jpg · 2 months

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MORE LEONA RANTS AND RAMBLES PLS🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I WANT TO BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT TO YAP ABOUT IN SPECIFIC ARRUTGGHHHHH

uhhh how about the fact that i think it almost excusable how much of an asshole he is when you really think about his backstory?

like bro was a child who had to hear full grown adults like 20 to 30 to 40 years older than him talking mad shit about him when all he ever did was exist. he existed as a kid and they were bum hurt over that for some reason and he had to hear that thats gotta force some shitty defense mechanisms up. like i see leona as both the most prideful yet most self deprecating person ever. he thinks the absolute worst of himself while also thinking hes better than everyone. 100% his asshole demeanor is a defense mechanism to all the shit hes had to hear people say about him. and the sad thing is that exact defense mechanism leads to people still to the day talking shit about him to his face. thats part of why vil gets on my nerves sometimes, leona literally is just like that hes not fully purposely trying to be the worst but vil will still like only degrade him right to his face and take any opportunity to bring up how hes 'lazy' and all that. BRO HES JUST LIKE THAT LEAVE HIM ALONE. like all his 'laziness' and his rude personality are all the effects of how he was treated as a kid but people still treat him the same because of those traits. hes punished for the natural reaction he had to being mistreated as a child. hes punished. for the natural reaction. he had to being mistreated. as a child. this is most evident with kifaji, someone who had to have seen first hand how leona was treated, and still takes every opportunity to degrade him to his face. i hate kifaji because either he participated in the shit talking of a child, leading to that child developing nasty amounts of depression and unhealthy coping habits, or he stood and watched while it happened. leona has been mistreated by everyone in his life, and is mistreated to this day. he shouldnt have to 'be the bigger person' because almost no one he meets deserves kindness from him when they refuse to give it first.

#loser speaks #twst #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar

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anxiousnerdwritings · 1 year

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How is the family and everyone else coping after Joanna!Reader's poisoning and death? (Just a hunch but i dont think that they have healthy coping mechanisms)

Tw: Mentions of character death and unhealthy behavior/yandere tendencies

Cersei is the worst out of the lot. She is absolutely and utterly gutted, not only did she lose a child, her most beloved child at that, but also her second chance at having a piece of her mother back in her life once more. She would be much more heavily dependent on wine than she already was, rarely seen without a glass full in hand. It would take months at the very least for Cersei to even bring herself to try and feign some semblance of having pulled herself together. She’s distraught, she feels both numb and completely riddled with pain at her loss. She can’t unsee the image of holding her dying child in her arms and just being left to watch helplessly as they were torn away from her forever. Her hatred for Tyrion would be unmatched, it’s even more intense and overflowing then ever before. She blames him wholeheartedly, she blames him for everything. He was the death of her mother and now he was the death of her child. To her, he killed her mother twice and this time he wasn’t going to get away with it, she wouldn’t allow it. Cersei would often spend whatever spare time she had in Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s room, just needing to be surrounded with what was once their’s. Everyone would know not to disturb the queen during these times. This was her solace for the briefest of moments and you would need a damn good reason for interrupting her and taking her out of the only place that could give her even an ounce of comfort in her time of grieving. More often then not, Cersei could be found sleeping in her late child’s room, just wanting to be closer to them again. She would become incredibly territorial and overprotective of Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s room and everything in it. When it came to the servants cleaning the room up and keeping things in order, Cersei would be right their overseeing it all ensuring they don’t mess anything up and everything is in the exact same place it had been before. And she’ll know if even the smallest thing is off by less than half a centimeter, she’s memorized the room to a T after all.

Tywin would be the second worst out of the Lannister family when it came to Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s death. He would only be haunted with the remembrance of losing his precious Joanna all over again, the immense pain and grief flooding his entire being once more as he can do nothing but watch as his grandchild is writhing slowly and painfully, desperately clawing for some sense of relief from the pain and distress they’re in but to no avail. Tywin would completely shut himself off to anyone and everyone, even more so than usual. When it comes to Joanna!Lookalike’s funeral, Tywin would demand some time alone to say his goodbyes to send off his grandchild and in those moments he would allow himself to breakdown. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s cried, not since he lost his Joanna, and now here he is again just like deja vu. Tywin doesn’t lose himself in this moment though, he can’t let himself do that. He only gives himself the briefest of moments but it’s enough for him. After this he puts his venture focus on avenging Joanna!Lookalike and getting their justice against Tyrion. And similar to Cersei, Tywin puts his entire being into blaming Tyrion for tearing away his second chance at having a semblance of his precious Joanna again. He would do anything and everything in his power to see Tyrion punished to the fullest for the horrible fate that the Reader had to suffer through at his hands. Tywin was ruthless before but after losing his beloved grandchild he would only become all the more ruthless and apathetic. He can’t even bring himself to try and comfort Cersei as she grieves her own loss of the Reader, he doesn’t have it in him. He doesn’t have anything left in him to give to anyone, especially not now. Any small ounce of humanity that Joanna!Lookalike’s mere existence and influence had on Tywin was completely washed away after their death. He was left only colder and more heartless than ever before, any warmth that had mustered up within him was void now and nothing could bring it back. The only one who could was gone now.

Jaime feels absolutely useless and weak after the Reader’s death. Whether he was in attendance or not depending on which version of the Purple Wedding you want to go with, Jaime would blame himself for not being there or for not being able to do anything in the moment. He honestly can’t bring himself to fathom the thought that Tyrion really did poison Joanna!Lookalike, he knows his little brother more than enough to know he loved and cared for the Reader as much as they all did. He can’t bring himself to even try and force any kind of blame on Tyrion even if he wanted to. No matter how much Cersei and Tywin try to force their own intense hatred and wrath towards Tyrion onto him, Jaime won’t go with it. He can and will only blame himself for what happened. The loss of the Reader has him deep in regret and reevaluating himself and his place in the world as a whole. He can’t help but regret not being more involved in the Reader’s life when they were growing up, it’s not like he wasn’t there for them but Cersei definitely kept them close to her side even when he was right there and wanting to be a part of his child’s life as more than just an “uncle”. Unlike Cersei, Jaime wouldn’t be able to bring himself to go into the Reader’s room after their death. The most he can bring himself to do is stand outside their bedchamber door and just stare, to anyone passing by it would most certainly look like his intense and unwavering stare would burn straight through the sturdy wood of the door. That’s just how lost and in his head he was. After the loss of Joanna!Lookalike, Jaime would stray further and further from Cersei’s clutches. He wants to do right by his late child, he wants to be someone they would really be proud of. Someone they could be proud to call their father or at the very least acknowledge as their father. Jaime would vow to protect and care for both Tommen and Myrcella in particular after losing the Reader. Not only to make up for not protecting and keeping the Reader safe from their fate but also knowing that the Reader would have wanted Tommen and Myrcella safe above all else. And Jaime would do just that. That was an oath he would keep.

Tyrion would be a mess after the loss of the Reader. Not only is he being accused of it and is the direct target of his father and sister’s immense ire, all he could do while his niece lay dying, clawing and tearing at their throat seeking some kind of relief from not being able to breath was to just watch. He couldn’t hold them himself, he couldn’t even go near them. Tyrion never even got the chance to say goodbye, instead being thrown and left to rot in a cell until his father and sister could pin this whole thing on him. He hoped and wanted to believe that the Reader knew he didn’t hurt them, that he wasn’t the cause of their death. He would never do that, especially not to them. He loved them more than anything else. They were always good to him, loving and sweet, even defending him from their own mother. Why would he do anything to them when they were always on his side? How could he do such a thing to someone, no, to the only one who was truly ever on his side? He would never. He could never. He didn’t. To say Tyrion would not be in the best head space would be an understatement, I mean can you blame him? For a good amount of time after the Reader’s death he’s locked up for being the one who killed them even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. And with all that time, Tyrion is left alone with just his thoughts and feelings. And he’s going through it. He’s hurting from the loss of his niece, he’s angry with the predicament his father and sister have thrown him into. Tyrion can’t help but hate his father and sister for not allowing him to grieve Joanna!Lookalike, he couldn’t even say his goodbyes or be there to send the Reader off for their funeral. Now the whole realm is blaming him for their beloved princess’ demise, he’s become far more hated and loathed than ever before and all because his father and sister are so consumed with their own already festered hate for him that they want him gone for good now. But in a way he can’t blame them too much, sure he hates them for what they’re doing to him now but he does feel guilt for the Reader’s death. He knows he didn’t do it but he can’t help but feel like he had some part in it. He should have done something, surely there was something he could have done to save Joanna!Lookalike or maybe even prevent the ordeal from taking place at all. He knows it’s pointless to dwell on it but he can’t help but to do just that. After all he’s got nothing but his thoughts to keep him company while he’s in his cell. Whether Oberyn still ends up being Tyrion’s champion would depend but either way Jaime would still end up freeing him anyway. By the time that happens though, Tyrion is far from who he use to be. He’s closed in on himself, there’s no more mirth in his eyes or playfulness/sarcasm dripping from his tongue, he’s cold and hollow. I’m 50/50 whether Tyrion would tell Jaime that he did indeed kill Joanna!Lookalike just to hurt his brother and especially Cersei later on when/if she gets word of it. And in a way Tyrion at this point might believe to some degree that he actually did kill Joanna!Lookalike, even though he of course didn’t but that’s how his guilt is eating at him. He would still go through with killing Shae and his father before he leaves King’s Landing for good though. After everything since the Reader’s death, Tyrion feels like a little bit of revenge is the least he deserves. He may not have actually taken Joanna!Lookalike away from his father and sister but he would take his father way from Cersei and Jaime. After all, he wanted to hurt them. Once Tyrion is out of King’s Landing and on the run, he doesn’t care who he hurts or uses. He doesn’t want to feel anything, he can’t really feel anything. He’s numb and he wants to stay that way but every so often he gets a sudden wave of guilt and remorse. Tyrion would drink even more excessively than usual, he would whore around even more than normal just to escape from everything. He doesn’t want to think about or feel anything anymore. He couldn’t careless whether he lived or died at this point.

#anxious answers #yandere cersei lannister #yandere tywin lannister #yandere jaime lannister #yandere tyrion lannister #yandere game of thrones #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

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garfunklefield · 5 months

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hewoo!!!! could u write a yuji x reader SH hurt/comfort fic? it would really help me.. :>

One Minute At a Time

Viwer discretion is advised

GN!reader/Yuji Itadori Warning: No graphic description or direct mention of the type of SH, angst, hurt/comfort, Yuji will comfort you all :(, bath, bathing together Word count: 1055 DESC: Yuji will take care of you until you stop hurting

I hope you feel better ANON

REQUESTS and ASKS open!

You weren’t doing well and he knew it. Yuji had a way of knowing when you were upset again. And he had a way of knowing when you would relapse. You’d pull at the sleeve of your shirt and wear the same sweatpants for days at a time. And he hated it. He hated to see you suffer and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. You were gorgeous. You were the prettiest person he had ever met. With your weight, your bones, your hair, your teeth. Even if you hated all of it. Even if you found every single flaw within those things … he loved it. He loved you. And it pained him so hard to see you didn’t love yourself as much. Yuji knew you’d get better for a bit and stop. Then something would happen and you’d go back to the only coping mechanism you knew. He had a similar history. Instead of acknowledging his feelings he’d shove them down until one singular bad thing happened, and he’d blow up into a million pieces. He was trying to stop but it was hard. So he couldn’t imagine how hard it was for you.

Yuji tried to subtly hint at therapy or other ways to cope, but he never wanted to overstep. He knew you thought he didn’t know about your coping but he did. He knew from the moment it started. He knew you so well it was hard not to notice. So the day you came up to him with tears in his eyes, he knew things were going to change. He was sitting in his apartment when he heard a loud knock at the door. It was strange but he didn’t think much of it. Probably a salesman or some package he didn’t know about. He opened the door and saw you, hair a mess and tears flowing down your cheeks. You had on the same outfit he saw you in two days ago, but he wasn’t focused on that. Yuji was focused on the fact you were shaking and clutching your clothed arm. You didn’t need to tell him. You didn’t need to speak. And you didn’t need to look down or acknowledge it.

Yuji grabbed you gently and pulled you into his apartment, closing the door and pulling you into a hug. He leaned down and rested his face against your shoulder. He inhaled your sorrow and listened as you cried gently, explaining what had happened. He nodded and reassured you, taking the time and effort to make sure you were okay. That you were safe now. He would never leave your side again until you were healed and truly better. He’d take you everywhere with him if he had to. After the hug, Yuji made it a point to wrap your arm. Just to wrap it from infection and to help you avoid seeing what had happened. The last thing you needed was to see it again.

He took your hand and led you down his hallway to his bathroom, closing the door behind you two. You shakily sniffed and looked around, eyeing the bathtub, “Yuji…?” You asked, knowing what he was going to do. He lightly shhed you and turned on the tub, making the water nice and warm. He wasn’t sure how long you had been in those clothes, how long it had been since you took care of yourself. He didn’t care. He needed to help you now even if you felt a bit ashamed. Yuji didn’t mind having to wash your back delicately, dress you, or even feed you! He’d do it for a thousand years if it meant you were going to be okay.

“Let me do this,” Yuji murmured, stopping the water after it had reached a good height. He gently took your face into his large hands, staring down at you and then kissing your forehead. He kissed your forehead, then your right temple, followed by your left, then your cheeks, then your nose. A small sad smile played on your lips as he watched you, “I love you. Don’t ever think I don’t.”

“Thank you…” You mumbled back, looking toward the bathtub, “Can you come in with me? You don’t have to but…” You trailed off with a bit of shame rising in your voice. Yuji didn’t have to be told twice. He stood up straight, removing his hands from your face and taking off his shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes. He let out a signature laugh and got into the tub, laying back against the back of it and spreading out his legs.

You watched him warily for a moment before stripping as well. He could see from your eyes you were embarrassed of the marks surrounding your form, and how they littered your skin. All he could say under his breath was, “You’re beautiful,” and motion for you to sit in between his legs. You slowly stepped into the tub, with Yuji holding your arm and hip to ensure you wouldn’t fall. He’d never let you fall. Then he slowly helped you sit down and lean your back against his front, as his arms protectively snaked around you. You let out a small sigh and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. It felt nice. This felt nice.

“I love you,” Yuji spoke after a silent moment, “I’ll always love you,” you felt a warm kiss against your neck, then another kiss going up further to your jaw. You couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the tickling sensation as he continued to kiss you, trailing up your cheeks and towards your mouth. He peppered your face, hoping and praying you knew how loved you truly were. Before he stopped and delicately placed one kiss against your lips. Yuji then pulled you back against him, letting the warm water take hold of all your anxiety and melt it away. It was the perfect temperature and he was the perfect boyfriend. You loved him and he loved you, even with all the imperfections you saw about yourself.

Yuji would love you for a thousand years if it meant showing you how amazing you were. And he would love you for a thousand more if it meant stopping you from ever being sad again.

#jjk yuuji #yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #yuji x reader #yuji #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #yuji itadori x reader #x reader #x reader angst #hurt/comfort #garfunklefield writing

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 7 months

Text

Better Help

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: You go to therapy

A/N: I feel like this was a long time coming...

Warnings: angst, mentions of previous trauma (and men better off dead), violence

The taste in your mouth makes you grimace before you can stop yourself. Despite it being a few days since you’ve smoked any pot, you swear you can still taste it. It’s probably in your head, but this thought reminds you of how frequently you’ve been smoking and again, you cringe at the thought.

You figure you deserve to be stuck with the foul taste of marijuana since it’s the reason why you’re here. You look around with an inaudible sigh before shaking your head at your own excuses. You shouldn’t blame your situation on anything but yourself. You knew that your constant smoking was no longer just for fun. You realized almost immediately when you’d rolled out of bed at 3 in the morning on a sleepless night that your hobby had become a habit. A coping mechanism.

Your trouble sleeping wasn’t new, but for a while it had only been intermittent. With Wanda away from work, and your physical recovery behind you, you thought that things were looking up. Then you’d started to have nightmares and instead of trying to face those, you’d stopped sleeping.

Whenever a nightmare woke you up, you’d get out of bed and take your dog up to the third floor to smoke with you. You didn’t really see it as a problem until it happened on a particularly stormy night, but you’d still found yourself standing on the deck with the rain pelting your face.

Wanda had noticed it too because of course she did. She never was one to be oblivious to important things, and she certainly viewed her wife’s coping mechanisms as important. She tried to talk to you about it once and you’d brushed her off and insisted that you were fine.

Your dreams about being abducted, shot, and killed were the same ones you’ve been having since you almost died. You dealt with it in your waking hours by trying to pretend like it didn’t bother you. Yet every time you crawled into bed next to your wife, you took almost an hour to fully relax.

In the end it was a joint decision for you to go to therapy.

Despite knowing that it was the right thing to do, you’d delayed the inevitable for as long as possible. You had trust issues, and you didn’t want to talk to someone who could potentially get you or your wife in trouble. You also just didn’t want to have to face the whole ordeal again.

Yet, talking about what happened to you was the first step of feeling better. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Still, as you sat on the couch in your therapist’s office, you’re not so sure anymore.

You risk a glance up at the older woman and have to stop yourself from flinching when you see her eyes are on you. You’re beginning to wish that you had Wanda here with you. You had considered asking her to come with you, and although you knew she would have, you figure that this is something that you should try to do on your own. You had burdened her with this enough as it is.

“What were you just thinking about?”

You can’t help but smile a little despite the fact that your thoughts had been rather dark. You watch as Dr. Moore lies back in her seat but holds your gaze as if daring you to lie. It may make you die a bit on the inside, but you’d promised yourself and Wanda that you wouldn’t lie today. Wanda had thoroughly vetted the brunette in front of you, and you knew that anything you said to her would be kept confidential.

You shift a little before uncrossing your legs with a sigh. You have been here twice before, but you have only hinted at the incident that you believe has brought you to a therapist. You have to admit that despite your reservations, you feel calm in this woman’s presence. She exudes a quiet confidence, and competence that makes you want to trust her.

“The dreams I’ve been having.”

Saying the words unsurprisingly brings your thoughts to the two men that have starred in the majority of your dreams for the past year. You frown at the thought and the idea of giving them this power over you, but you can’t help it. You would love to be unbothered by the mere thought of them, and you would give up a lot to put the past behind you. If only it was that simple.

You can tell by her silence, that she’s waiting to see if you elaborate, and you will. You just need a second.

Your mind wanders to Vision and his pompous assholery. You sigh at the fact that such a person had somehow become such an important part of your life. You hate to give him that privilege, but well you supposed he’d earned the right after having you shot. Right?

You ignore the urge to look over your shoulder as you clear your throat with a grimace.

“I guess the reason why I am here will depend on who you ask, but I’ve been having nightmares for a while. They’ve only gotten worse recently.”

You feel as this is a fair assessment. The dreams first started out pretty simple. You would be sitting in that room again, tied to a chair, but you would be alone. This lasted for a few weeks before you started to hear something outside the door. The voices were muffled and you couldn’t ever tell who they were, but somehow you still knew. You would be shaking by the time you woke up to the door opening, but the dream would end before you had a chance to see who it was. It didn’t really matter because you knew who it was and by the time the dreams progressed to having both Rumlow and Vision walk through the door you’d started waking up Wanda with your thrashing.

You’d told her about your nightmares fairly early on. It wasn’t worth the effort to lie to your wife. She knew you too well for you to get away with it. For this reason, you began to stress about worrying her. When you began smoking before going to bed to try and calm down, Wanda started to worry more. She asked you about it, but you hadn’t given it much thought. You were just trying to sleep better, so she’d dropped it. After all it was only once a week that you did it. At least in the beginning.

“Do these nightmares keep you up or keep you from sleeping?”

You don’t stop yourself from smiling at the question. You sometimes wish you could be as smart as other people. Being a vet wasn’t easy, sure, but sometimes you felt like you had no commonsense. Then there were people who just blew you out of the water.

You’re nodding before you’ve decided what to say, but that doesn’t seem to matter today. You’re more loose- lipped than you should be completely sober, but you figure it will help you in the long run.

“Both. At first, I couldn’t stay asleep, but then I delayed going to bed for as long as possible.”

The perceptive brunette simply nods before she scribbles something down in the notebook in her lap. You swear it was ‘insomnia’.

You cross your legs again and sit up impossibly straighter as you try to ignore the dread that’s welling up inside of you at the thought of getting to the details of your dreams today. You are embarrassed to say that you hate to sleep now because you fear that you’ll be faced with your two least favorite men.

You take a deep breath, but feel your chest tighten anyway as you meet your therapist’s gaze with as impassive a look as you can manage. You don’t need anyone to tell you how unconvincing you look.

“How did you cope with this inability to sleep comfortably?

You don’t realize you’re digging your nails into your thighs until you go to clench your fists. You sigh in defeat as you think about how close you came to deciding to drink a bit more. This didn’t last long because you thought that would feel worse. You thought that it seemed like more of a coping mechanism than smoking did. It doesn’t make a lot of sense when you think about it now.

Smoking had been a regular thing you did for fun with Yelena for years. It wasn’t until you weren’t able to do it after your surgery and during recovery that you thought that maybe it would help you. It did for a while, but you’d been using it as a crutch, and after last week’s incident, you’d be surprised if Wanda ever let you smoke again.

“I used to smoke weed fairly regularly with a friend, but that stopped for about a year. I picked it up again a few months ago to help me sleep.”

It didn’t sound as awful as you were hoping it would. It certainly didn’t shock you and make you wish that you’d never done it, and more important scare you off from doing it ever again. You regretted your decision to start smoking for solely this purpose, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have the urge to continue. When you were high as a kite, you didn’t think about much of anything, let alone your nightmares.

“Did you find it helpful?”

You nod but then curse yourself when it aggravates your headache. You wish you were smart enough to make better choices. You don’t even really consider coming here a better choice since it was mostly a suggestion from Wanda.

“It helped for a while, but as with most things, overindulgence led to the development of other issues.”

Your doctor simply nods but doesn’t say or do anything else, which again, makes you think that she’s waiting for something. You hold back the urge to sigh as you make the mistake of reaching up to rub at your itchy eye.

“Shi-ow.”

You mentally kick yourself for your forgetfulness before closing your eyes and waiting until the pain in your face returns to a dull throbbing.

“How did that happen?”

Despite how embarrassing it is, you’d rather talk about this than the alternative, so you decide to divulge the truth.

“I fell. I was so high I tripped over my dog while trying to avoid a purple elephant or something and fell down the stairs.”

You have to laugh about it now because if you don’t you’ll just hate yourself. You feel better about yourself for a split second as you watch your doctor smirk at the thought. It’s gone so quickly though that you almost think that you imagined it. Not that this makes your black eye worth it.

“Was that the turning point that made you decide to seek other options?”

You want to say yes because certainly having your wife chew you out was enough of a reason for you to go to therapy. That said, you are well aware that Wanda was right, and that even if she hadn’t made you feel guilty, you would have ended up here eventually.

You knew Wanda was just worried, and having you nearly break your neck falling down ten steps likely took years off of her life. You weren’t upset with anyone but yourself for how you’ve been dealing with your stress. You liked to think you were smarter than that, but now you’re not so sure.

“Mostly. I also realized that if I couldn’t enjoy sleep, things would get worse fast.”

It was no secret how much you valued your sleep. You needed as close to 8 hours nightly to function, and to avoid being pissy. You’d had more caffeine in these past few months than you have in years, and still you were sleep deprived and cranky.

You watch your doctor write a few notes and you realize what’s coming next as soon as she looks at you again. You ignore how your heart starts to race.

“What are your nightmares about?”

Wanda sighs as she sinks further into the couch with a scowl. She’s staring at the clock above her just watching as every minute ticks by slower than the last. She’s wishing that she hadn’t sent you off on your own, but you had told her that you preferred it this way. She knew it was for the best, but she still felt guilty about it.

She feels guilty for forcing you to go to therapy. Well she didn’t force you, but practically blowing up at you last week had probably convinced you that you needed to go.

Although you were the one missing out on sleep, Wanda can’t remember the last time she’d been so exhausted. She was sleeping more than you, but it was never restful. She was constantly worried about whether you’d have a nightmare, or if you’d even be in bed when she woke up. She sighs again and watches as the dogs shoot her matching sad looks. You’d left Boone at home for obvious reasons, but given that it’s rainy outside, he really has nothing to do. Wanda half-heartedly pats the couch beside her and unsurprisingly the only one who budges is Rogue.

“Come here bud.”

She smiles as her dog comes up to sniff her before jumping up to sit next to her. She doesn’t mind sharing her blanket with him and she lies back and closes her eyes before trying to think about something other than how your appointment is going.

She hasn’t asked for many details because she didn’t want you to think that she felt entitled to an update. She worried about you, but she understood that sometimes you wanted to keep things from her for your own sake as much as hers. She knew that you didn’t want her to worry, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. When you turned to drugs instead of to her or someone else to cope with your anxiety, your nightmares, she couldn’t help but fear the outcome. She can’t say that she predicted something as drastic as you almost falling to your death, but luckily it seemed to wake you up.

Wanda opens her eyes again and groans at the fact that it’s only been 2 minutes since she last checked the time. She has at least another hour until you’re home, but she can’t think about anything else.

You can’t help but liken your story about Vision and Rumlow to someone telling their parents about being haunted by the thought of monsters under their bed. You feel embarrassed and even frustrated at yourself for feeling threatened by people that aren’t capable of hurting you anymore.

You stare at your hands and wait in silence as Dr. Moore processes what you’ve said. You told her the highlights of your history, but you didn’t name names or specify how you’d found yourself in the situation to be abducted and shot.

You’re not sure how much Dr. Moore knows about you. Wanda had only told you that she could be trusted, but what did that even mean? You suppose having her highly recommended from a mutual friend was good enough, but you still hesitated to speak freely around her. At least about certain aspects of your life.

You tell yourself that it’s mostly to protect Wanda and the rest of your family, but you do know that the idea of saying their names may be enough to send you spiraling. When the brunette across from you sits up and closes the notebook in front of her you frown in confusion. You’re not sure, but you have a feeling that your hour isn’t up yet. You don’t bother to look at the clock because the look on your therapist’s face tells you that even if it was time to call it a night, she wasn’t ready to end the discussion yet.

“Have there been others that have hurt you?”

You hadn’t been expecting this question but you don’t hesitate to nod as you think of the people that have come after you because of who your wife was.

You’re sure you’re imagining things when your scar starts to itch, so you ignore it while you consider the first time you were abducted. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, and you were only barely better off compared to the most recent time, but either way it came down to the same thing you supposed.

Wanda’s job had put you at risk, and despite acknowledging this and accepting it, you hadn’t been as prepared to deal with it as you’d originally thought. You realize now that you were often idealistic and too optimistic at times. You trusted Wanda completely which wasn’t a bad thing, but it left you vulnerable at times. Which wasn’t Wanda’s fault. You couldn’t put your complete trust in someone to take care of you. That wasn’t fair to them, and it was shortsighted of you.

You know it won’t be as much of an issue now that Wanda’s left her job, but you still are going to have to remember this for the future.

“A couple. This was the worst though. Since it was people that we trusted…at least one of them.”

You wonder how true that statement is. You never really asked because you and Wanda didn’t talk about what happened in depth. You didn’t want to dwell on it, and you hated Vision so you didn’t want to talk about him. You didn’t want to know how much your wife had trusted him only to be betrayed in the end. You think if she told you that she doubted him at times, that she suspected that he’d do something like this…that would have made it worse.

Dr. Moore seems to ponder this for a few minutes before she decides what she wants to ask. In that time, you’ve let your thoughts drift back to the time you’d spent days in a hospital bed barely able to breathe on your own. You think about how many weeks you had to take things slowly and stay at home so Wanda wouldn’t worry about you.

You look up at the sudden sound of someone clearing their throat. You realize that it wasn’t to get your attention and you quickly slip back into your slightly depressing thoughts. Wanda had made sure that Anderson paid for what he did, but in the end you couldn’t think about it. All of your energy went to getting better and you don’t think you even asked Wanda what she’d had planned.

“When did these nightmares start?”

Wanda’s still sitting on the couch when she hears the garage door open. Boone’s already on his feet running to greet you before she even gets a chance to sit up. She reaches out to scratch her dog’s head and nudge him off of her lap so she can stand. He whines in response, but he turns away so Wanda can move. She’s on her feet at the same time that the door opens and she turns to see you kneeling down to scratch your dog.

“Hi Boone. I know, I missed you too.”

Wanda watches as you stand and sigh before turning to her with a small smile. You can sense how stressed she is, but you’re exhausted and you could use a drink. Instead, you meet Wanda in the middle of the living room and drag her back to the unoccupied couch. You sit down and gently tug her down beside you before greeting her properly.

“Hey Wands. Miss me?”

Your wife can’t help but roll her eyes, but she nods nevertheless as she meets your lips for a quick kiss. She’d missed you the second you walked out the door, but she knew telling you that would only make you smug. More importantly it would give you something else to focus on when you both had something more important on your minds.

“Always. How did it go?”

You shrug as you lean back and rest your head against the cushions with a barely stifled yawn. You could go to sleep now since you hadn’t had any coffee today, but you know you have to at least finish this conversation. You know that Wanda doesn’t expect you to divulge everything that you talked about, but she does at least want to check in and see how you were doing. You felt as if you owed her at least that much.

“It was alright. I finally told her what the dreams are about, and she gave me an alternative to smoking when my anxiety is high.”

Wanda perks up a bit at this, and despite not looking at her you notice and smile in response. You could dwell on how guilty you feel about worrying your wife, or you could focus on trying to be better. You had been a little skeptical of the solution that your therapist had offered. It was only the beginning of feeling more secure in your life. Your smile widens at the thought of replacing drugs with something that you find more comforting. She had given you examples and told you that your homework was to figure out what you deemed an appropriate substitute.

“What did she say?”

You realize you misspoke, or at least misled your wife so you shake your head before turning to face her. You see how eager she is to hear good news, and you squeeze her hand with another shrug before offering what you hope qualifies.

“Well she didn’t tell me exactly what it was, but she told me to find something that I could focus on that made me feel safer, but didn’t pose the same risks as what I’ve been doing.”

Wanda frowns slightly but she nods slowly as she tries to think of what you’ll choose now that weed and alcohol are off the table. She’d already hidden your weed despite wanting to throw it out, but it was in the trunk of her car until she decided what she wanted to do with it.

“Did you come up with anything?”

You don’t offer a verbal response, but Wanda doesn’t protest as you shift slightly so you can pull her into your arms. You hold her for a few seconds before humming in response and kissing her cheek.

“I can think of someone, yeah.”

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