#chapter 5 is like wrapping all this stuff up and i just get a little sobby every time i finish a scene im not okay actually

[cloud-somersault]

i was working on chapter 5 and almost started crying????

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

sweeter than blood │ Spike x Summers!Reader

everything he wants 'verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Part 1 │Part 2 (Work in Progress!)

Returning to Sunnydale for the first time since Angel lost his soul—older, bitter, unprepared for grief—you never expected to fall for Spike. Through the eyes of the others, it's obsession, danger, betrayal. But to you? It’s the only thing that still feels real. (Set post-episode 14 of Season 5, "Crush".)

Hey, guys! Briefly showing up to post a short fic I wrote after getting whacked by the Buffy bug lately. Not going to be frequently updating or anything - I'm literally just posting this and popping back out. Couple notes: this is a three-chapter fic that I'm posting in one single hit. It's like, 22,250 words, so it's long. Also, it's mixed POV from pretty much all the main characters. Keep in mind that my writing style doesn't exactly fit in the Reader or in the OC category; best way I can describe it as nameless, vaguely-described OCs written in second person. Enough from either category to justify calling it both. If that's not what you're after, I recommend you don't read.

Buffy rolls her eyes when she recognizes who’s behind all the commotion by the door, turning away from Giles to give the intruder one of her meanest eyebrow-raises.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, fists clenched and knuckles white as she glares at Spike, tension etched into every line of her body. Her voice is a low, warning growl, her fingers itching to wrap around something sharp and stabby. Anything will do, really. “It’s the middle of the day.”

It’s been only a few weeks since bizarro entered Spike’s brain and he tried to tell her he loved her, and in that time it’s like it never really happened. Sure, he’s been loitering around the house like a pervert, glances lasting a little too long on her as she deliberately ignores him to unlock the door and retreat to the safety of a freshly-Spike-free zone, but his focus is all screwy. It’s like the tap of grossness has spun itself off, still dripping a bit but like… not flooding. Or something. She’s bad with figures of speech.

The evil bleached wonder sneers over at her, still furiously smacking at the smoke trails rising from his exposed skin and stinking up the shop. “None of your business, Slayer. Ain’t my bloody keeper. I can go where I like.”

“Does that have to be where Buffy is?” Xander snipes. “You know you’re never getting a shot with her. Why make us all put up with you?”

Dawn’s here, so Buffy makes a cutty-motion with her hand at him, warning him off the tangent he’s on. Even though Dawnie’s just as mad as the rest of them about Spike’s confession, she still gets huffy and moody whenever anyone spends too long mocking him for it, and Buffy totally can’t deal right now.

Spike shakes his head. “Look, I dunno what Buffy told you about that stuff with Dru―”

Giles advances on him, shielding her from view. “Spike, you’re not welcome here.”

“Yeah, and by the way, we’re working on a way to de-invite you from here,” Willow adds. Though there’s nothing super snarky about the indifferent way she looks Spike up and down, for Wills it’s positively cruel. “Even if it is a public place.”

Spike looks away, lower lip curling under his teeth as he scoffs. “Alright, maybe there was some expression of feelings, but ’m all―”

Whatever he was gonna say dies in his throat. He straightens himself up and runs his fingers through his hair, which, strange, isn’t slicked back like he usually wears it. Has he suddenly realized―re-realized, or whatever―that she’s there and is doing some uber-sketchy peacocking thing? She’s just about to ask him what the hell is up when you brush past her, bookbag swinging as you rifle through its contents.

“Buff,” you say, absent-minded, “d’you know where I put my―oh, hey, Spike. Nice hair.”

You look up and smile at him, a bit unfocused as you wander over to the table, scattering the items inside on its surface. Pens and textbooks go skidding across the wood as you dig through, muttering an aha! when you find your tube of chapstick buried at the bottom. Dawnie shoves at the stuff that’s rolled onto her homework, but you don’t seem to notice at all.

“Afternoon,” Spike says. Buffy narrows her eyes at him. “Settlin’ in alright?”

“Mm,” you hum, smiling, lips freshly glossy and reddened. “Stuff’s unpacked, classes all sorted… everything’s coming up me. How ’bout you?”

“Can’t complai―”

“Seriously, Spike,” Buffy snaps, folding her arms. “Clear outta here.”

She’s such a hypocrite for being so freaked by him basically ignoring her, she knows that. It’s not like she wants him stalking her, but she’s Puzzle Girl. She solves things, and the mystery is that Spike is acting stranger than usual. She hasn’t had time to figure it out, not between helping Mom, rearranging Dawn’s room—well, your shared room now—and grilling you about Hank’s way-too-young girlfriend. That doesn’t even begin to cover the stress of keeping Glory’s demon goons off Dawn’s back. Time is against her at the moment. And after Mom told you about the tumor? Yeah, no wonder you were all in for moving back.

“Wait,” Anya says, frowning. “I thought Spike didn’t know her. Why are they talking?”

“Introduced meself, yeah?” Spike’s stink-eye is ineffective as usual. “S’what civilized people do and all that rot.”

“If that’s civilized,” Anya mutters, too low for anyone but Buffy to properly catch, “then I’ve been using the wrong definition. Civilized people don’t pant like wolves in heat—”

“He’s nice,” you say.

“—yeah, most men pretend to listen,” Buffy hears her whispering to Tara. She tunes it out. “Vampires probably do it better. Less hormonal noise.”

Patting your sides down―looking for pockets, though as usual you’re wearing a dress that doesn’t have them―you shove your chapstick down the neckline before going back to sorting through the things you’ve discarded. Buffy watches Spike watch you, watches his eyes settle where the balm presses through your bra. Disgust curdles in her belly—but it’s not just disgust, and that’s the worst part. It shouldn’t matter. Really. He should look anywhere but at her. Still, the absence of his usual obsession lands like a slap. Her chest tightens, breath caught in her throat. Embarrassing. She rolls her shoulders back, forces her focus elsewhere.

“We talk sometimes,” you add. “He’s a good listener.”

“Thanks, pet.” Spike’s smile looks genuine enough to fool even her.

“Uh, he’s a vampire.”

“Good for you, Xan,” you say, levelling him with one of your are-you-the-dumbest-person-in-the-world? looks. You’ve always been good at that. “Your observational skills are A-okay. Congrats.”

Xander sputters. “He’s evil!”

“Not this again,” you mutter. Continuing in a deceptively mild tone, you say louder, “Evil’s relative, isn’t it? Is the lion evil for hunting and eating the gazelle? No, because you can’t moralize about the predatory drive of a completely different species with different—”

“He’s not another species, though,” Giles interrupts, taking his glasses off and scrubbing at them with his cloth. “He’s a demon.”

You cock your head, slight curve to your lip. “So, not human, right? Ergo, another species.”

“Okay, difference of opinion, agree to disagree!” Buffy calls out loudly. She really doesn’t want to deal with broken-brain Giles, and he always comes out when you prod at his whole Watcher upbringing. “We’re wasting time. Can we seriously get back to the whole April thing?”

Her resolve face is enough to get the Scoobies moving back to the counter, and though the conversation begins flowing in the right direction once again, Buffy can’t help but pay a little more attention to what’s going on across the room. You’ve sat down opposite Dawnie, tugging out the worn copy of Emily Dickinson poems that Buffy had to read when she was in junior year, too. You probably borrowed it from her closet, actually, where she keeps all her old high school stuff. That’s not the problem, though. It’s that Spike’s gone and swung himself across the seat right next to you, spread-kneed with arms folded and resting on the chairback. You shift obligingly, murmuring something just out of earshot to him, and he seems to be considering your words thoughtfully—for him, at least—gesturing to the text on the open page before you.

She watches Spike watch you as you’re preoccupied with getting your essay perfect. He used to look at her like that. In fact, he hasn’t so much as glanced her way like he would usually. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

“It’s weird, right?” Willow’s nervous voice interrupts her focus, and she turns to find her staring in exactly the same direction. “That. It’s like, all sorts of ooky.”

“Spike’s, um… he was a poet, wasn’t he?” Tara asks, uncertain. “It’s no–not that weird. He prob–probably knows a lot and wants to he–help with her assignment.”

Suddenly, you laugh, drawing their eyes back to you. Buffy’s stomach twists. That laugh—light, happy, normal—doesn’t belong here. Not in this context. Not with him. Spike’s grinning at you, unaware of all the attention on him. Even Dawnie seems a bit startled, her gaze darting from you to him and back again. And you… you’re looking back at him like he’s a good friend of yours. Like he’s safe. Like he’s normal, and not the soulless demon who’s caused so much hurt to so many people in the room right now, who would go on to cause even more pain and suffering if not for the leash in his brain keeping him from harming them. It’s like watching someone pet a cobra and call it a puppy. And Spike just… lets you.

“Yeah, right.” Xander huffs, scathing. “He’s probably thinking ‘gee, maybe the Slayer’ll get the lust on for me if I play besties with little sis’―”

“Unlike the rest of you,” Giles cuts across, adjusting his glasses, “I have little care to understand why Spike does what he does. So long as he is being useful and is leaving Buffy be, then by all means… Shall we return to the problem at hand?”

Buffy nods absently, mind still whirling as she tunes back in to the previous discussion. She can totally do two things at once. Xander’s right. Spike’s probably just trying to get her interest. Is it that you’re her younger sister, or is he trying to make her jealous? That won’t work. You don’t get involved in stuff like that. She’s wondered if you even notice boys sometimes, let alone get dragged into some messy demon-y love triangle. Line. Whatever. So it must be him thinking that you’ll get him on her good side or something, which ew. Talk about desperate.

It’s a good explanation. Perfect, actually. If only her chest didn’t feel tight in that way it gets when she knows, deep down, that she’s missing something. Not danger. She knows that feeling too well. This is worse. It’s something personal. Something close.

“… your thoughts, Buffy? Buffy? Buffy!”

“Huh?” Giles’s face is unimpressed. Buffy smiles apologetically, turning to face him properly. “Sorry. Problem-Solver Buffy, reporting for duty. Hit me again.”

For now, she’ll have to deal with the weirdness. She’ll figure it out later. There are more important things to worry about… like superstrong robot girlfriends causing havoc across Sunnydale. When did it begin?

Since you came back. The thought pops unbidden in her head as she tunes in to Slayer mode. Hm.

The muscle below his eye twitches as he watches Spike across the cemetery, moonlight tracing the sharp lines of his face. The graveyard is silent now, empty of mourners, the solemn faces of those in black who came to watch as Joyce Summers was laid to rest in the ground. Even Buffy is home now, numbed and tired from the hours spent cradled in Angel’s arms. Just faintly, his senses pick up the murmur of hushed voices: yours soft and raw, Spike’s a slow, gentle rumble. Of course he’s found a way to worm his way in, always lurking where he doesn’t belong.

You stand too close, arms wrapped tight around yourself and shivering despite the mildness of the night air. It’s the first time he’s seen you since you were sent away. Since Angelus. You were small then, too. Frightened, stalwart in your sadness over Buffy having convinced Joyce that spending some time with your father might make the night terrors go away. A cover that should’ve put you out for a month, maybe two, and instead led to years of isolation, all because of him. Guilt congeals acrid in the back of his mouth, from memory and from here and now, blurring together. He didn’t even think to check on you, so wrapped up in Buffy’s grief as he’s been. You look like Buffy did after the funeral. But not the Slayer version—the kid version. The girl who used to beg her mother for a later curfew. The one he couldn’t save from heartache, then or now.

He sees Spike shrug off his duster and drape it around you, fingers lingering on your shoulders. You tug it closer, inhaling deeply, the sleeves all but swallowing your hands. You look like a child in too-big clothing, hunched as though grief itself is sitting on your shoulders. Your eyes are puffy and red as you look down at the hole in the dirt, the place where what is left of your mother now lay, your cheeks streaked with the gloss of tears that glimmer under the glow of the night sky. Angel can hear the ragged edges of your breathing, the way you try and fail to even it out.

And Spike—

His posture’s casual, the type of relaxed Angel knows is deceptive, calculated. His focus is wholly on you, head bowed, eyes flicking over your face as if memorizing every twitch and quiver. His fingers find the crook of your elbow, stroking gently. Too practiced. Too careful. As if care could be learned by imitation. He’s never mastered the art of guile, for all that Angelus tried to beat it into him. Too soft. If not for the hair, the coat, Angel might mistake the demon ahead for the human he’d been.

It’s not just the way he looks at you that bothers Angel. It’s the way you look back. The small, anxious clutch of your fingers on his lapels, how you lean instinctively into the rumble of his voice, unguarded, drifting closer as though the space between you is a safety net. Spike’s too close, saying something low that makes your lips quirk up in a wobbly, trembling smile. His answering smile, lax around the edges, is unsettling—not the predatory leer or cocky smirk Angel’s used to seeing on his face. You step toward him, easily accepting the embrace he offers, and the way you fold into him makes the hairs at Angel’s nape rise.

He clenches his fists. It’s an act. It has to be.

Pushing forward, his bootfalls are deliberate and heavy, purposeful, and the noise draws your attention as he knew it would. The talking stops. You glance up, startled, and Angel takes note of how quickly you wipe your eyes, trying to hide the tears. Spike’s features harden, his mouth curved into a stubborn, disdainful sneer.

“What are you doing here, Spike?” Angel demands, crossing his arms. The chill of the air seeps through the layers of his clothing.

Spike smirks. “Nice to see you too, Peaches. Out for an evenin’ stroll?”

Angel’s glare doesn’t waver. “Get away from her. Now.”

You wince, but Spike doesn’t move. Instead, he lets his thumb brush the back of your arm, a gesture so brief, so casual that Angel might’ve missed it if he wasn’t watching so closely.

“Girl’s having a rough go, not that you’d notice,” Spike says arrogantly, “trailing after Buffy like you’re her bitch. Thought someone ought to check in.”

Angel’s eyes dart back to you, ignoring the barb. “You can talk to Buffy. Or Giles. Not him.”

“I tried, but… She’s got so much on her plate. She’s doing her best. I don’t—I don’t blame her.” You sigh, weary, pulling Spike’s coat tighter around you. “I just… I needed someone who could listen. Without trying to fix it.”

Spike glances down at you, the hardness in his gaze melting like ice in the heat. “Gotta let yourself feel it, pet. S’not weakness.”

You look up, eyes wet. It’s as though you’ve forgotten Angel exists. “It’s stupid,” you whisper. “I keep thinking she—she’s gonna just… walk in, tell me to wash my face, snap out of it.”

“Not stupid.” Spike’s mouth twitches. “Just means you love her.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a beat; two; three. Your chin dips, face crumpling, and Spike’s grip tightens, hand sliding to span the back of your head. You lean fully into him, forehead pressing to his chest, and he mutters something too low for Angel to catch. It makes you nod, knuckles clutching his red jacket. His hand drifts to your spine, drawing soothing circles, gentle and patient. It looks practiced. Habitual. Wrong.

“You’re using her,” Angel growls at him, feeling a bit of fang slip with the flare of his temper. “Trying to get to Buffy. It’s pathetic.”

Spike rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. Because I’m raring for the Slayer’s approval. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep, mate. Assuming you can.”

Angel’s jaw clenches. “If you think for a second that I’ll let you manipulate her—”

“Not manipulating anyone,” Spike snaps, snarling. His arm curls tighter around you, unconscious. You glance between them, wary. “She’s grieving. Thought I’d help.”

“Help yourself, more like.”

Spike’s eyes flash, his own fangs bearing down against his lip. “Don’t care what you think, sire. M'here here for her. So unless you plan to dust me, sod off.”

Angel hesitates. He’d like to. It’s bad enough that Spike’s been after Buffy. But she can handle herself—you’re too easy a target.

“It’s okay,” you say then, shifting in place. You press closer to Spike’s side, entirely unbothered by the appearance of his game face. “He’s… he’s my friend. He’s kind.”

Spike scoffs. “Careful, pet. Man’s liable to think I’ve gone soft.”

“Nah.” You shake your head, the side of your mouth curling up ever so slightly. “You’re evil, remember?”

“Too right.” It’s warm, indulgent.

The words land heavy in Angel’s chest, like stones in a sinking ship. He glowers. “This isn’t a game, Spike.”

He’s not talking about Spike’s sudden helpfulness. The meaning is clear. ‘Not her. She’s too good for you.’

Spike stiffens, drawing himself up to height. “Never was. That’s your problem, Angel—you think everything’s about you. S’nothing to do with you, or anyone. Just me ’n her.”

Angel’s scowl deepens. “If you hurt her—”

“Get in line,” Spike interrupts, all arrogant swagger. “A popular threat, where she’s concerned.”

Angel’s stare lingers on you, on the openness of your expression: face relaxed, eyebrows tilted upward, lax jaw. He watches the way you lean into Spike, nonchalant, his grip proprietary.

“You deserve better,” Angel says.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” You hold his gaze, unconcerned and unafraid, bolder than he remembers. Surely, it’s easy for you to front up to him when you’re tucked under the arm of someone like Spike. “Either way, it’s my choice to make.”

He eyes Spike, who glares back with an unspoken challenge. ‘Leave,’ he says without speaking. ‘Go back to where you came from. You aren’t needed here.’ Eventually, Angel turns away, shadows clinging to him. “If he lets you down—”

“He won’t,” you say, conviction lacing your voice.

The certainty makes Spike’s eyes widen, smile hinting at the edges of his mouth, a glimmer of something raw and unspoken to be read in the planes of his face. Angel’s frown deepens. How can you trust him? What has he ever done to deserve your confidence? Angel earned Buffy’s affection, her faith, and look where it got him: no girl, no love, no happy ever after. It’s as though Spike hasn’t even had to try, the resentment a sword to his chest all over again. He murmurs some vague attempt at goodbye, an invitation to reach out if you need anything, though you and he both know you’ll never do it. You’ll never need it. Spike, he snubs entirely, suddenly exhausted, not wanting to see the victory in the set of his frame. As he sets off, a shade in the moonlight, he expects some final dig to reverberate across the cemetery, some juvenile taunting yell that’s so typical of the other vampire. Instead, nothing. Angel turns, taking one final look at the pair of you, standing together so damn closely.

Cigarette smoke drifts up, curling in revolutions from Spike’s loose grip. “Brave girl,” he tells you, fond.

“Or stupid.” You sigh.

“Never that, pet.” Spike’s palm drops to the small of your back, spanning wide. He cards through your hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Never that.”

Angel swallows, flexes his fists once, again, and walks away.

He doesn’t hear what Spike says next. Doesn’t see the way you press your cheek into his shoulder like you’ve done it a hundred times before. He never sees it coming. That’s what hurts most of all.

The sun is setting, the sky colored in bruised purples and fiery oranges. Anya leans against the half-wall that separates the porch from the side of the Summers house where she slumps, watching as night falls. A storm is brewing. A metaphor, maybe, but it definitely feels like something’s up with the world. It’s like the Earth knows what’s about to happen. What they’re up against. Dawn’s in trouble, and they have to save her from the hellgod who wants to bring death and destruction to this dimension.

Everyone inside is tense: dealing out weapons, talking through battle plans, trading worried looks. Buffy’s on a rampage, taking everything anyone says the wrong way, as an attack on her littlest sister—especially Giles. He only suggested killing Dawn once, and he apologized for it, but Buffy won’t let it go. Willow’s busy trying to distract Tara from walking out the door until it’s time to fix the brain-suck Glory pulled on her, so she can’t stop them from fighting like she would normally. Xander’s the one trying that, and even though Anya loves Xander, he’s not the best at calming people down. So yeah, everyone’s freaked, driven to it by all the waiting, trying to pretend like they aren’t secretly hoping for some miracle.

Anya doesn’t believe in miracles. She’s lived for a thousand years. She believes in what’s real: power, blood, the occasional loophole in cosmic prophecies. She knows the sound of desperation, though, the smell of it, even if she doesn’t have her old senses anymore. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing now.

Spike’s standing in the front yard under the tree, far enough away that he probably can’t tell she’s out here too, smoking one of his cigarettes with a too-casual stance that only makes the tension on his face more obvious. He’s not alone: you’re with him, arms hugged to yourself like you can keep all your bottled-up worry and fear from exploding out. Anya’s watched the two of you skirting around each other for weeks now. She’s not the only one who’s noticed. Most of the others have. They’re just too determined to pretend they don’t know what it means.

She remembers the argument from earlier, how Buffy and the others tried to order you to stay behind, to leave Dawn’s fate to the rest of them. ‘Too young,’ they said. ‘Too helpless.’ Anya disagrees. She knows better than most that appearances can be deceiving. The fire in your eyes reminded her of a certain vengeance demon who once went toe-to-toe with hell lords and never flinched. She wasn’t all that shocked when you refused them, furious, but it was Spike’s support that threw her a bit. He sneered at them, claiming he’d make sure nothing happens to you. After you stormed outside, he rounded on the Slayer, reminding her how headstrong you were when you thought you were right, asked how she planned to stop you from following after. That exchange was ugly.

Buffy’s eyes narrow, lips pulled into a thin, furious line. “You think you can keep her safe?” she snaps, crossing her arms. “Like you kept Dawn safe?”

Spike’s jaw tightens, muscles twitching. “That was a trick. Can’t fall for the same one twice.”

“Doubt you’ll get the chance,” Buffy says, voice cold as a blade. “If you even think of letting her get hurt—”

“Yeah, yeah. Big, scary threats,” Spike drawls. “But if you think anyone’s gonna keep her from fighting, you’re wrong. Least this way, I’ll be there when the fists and fireballs start flyin’.”

For a moment, Buffy looks like she might argue, but then her shoulders sag, and she nods sharply. “Fine. But if she dies—”

“I’ll be dead first,” Spike interrupts. The promise lands heavy and solid, and Buffy’s glare softens, but only slightly. She turns away, shoulders stiff. He watches her go, tension simmering, then stalks outside.

Anya ducks a bit further down when Spike starts speaking, not wanting to get caught. Something’s telling her she’ll want to hear whatever it is that’s going on.

“I might die tonight,” he drawls, flicking ash to the ground. His voice is rough, a strange sort of fragility lurking underneath. Her brows arch. It doesn’t sound like his usual bravado.

Anya’s eyes flicker over Spike’s tense stance, and she huffs softly. She’s never understood him. A vampire with no bite, a demon mooning after a Slayer and now her sister. Pathetic, she’d say, but he fights for them anyway, chipped or not. Sometimes, she thinks he’s a fool. Other times, she wonders if he’s the only one who really gets it—that love comes with a cost.

You startle, brows knitting together as you frown. “Don’t—don’t say that.”

“Why not? Might be true.” Spike’s smirk is twisted, bitter. “Glory on the rampage, me all chipped ’n useless. But if—”

“Stop it,” you mutter, grabbing his sleeve. “Don’t give me your ‘if I die’ speech.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “Feels like the end, luv. Night like this—you say your piece or regret it forever.”

He tosses the cigarette, the cherry glowing and then fading in the grass. He doesn’t look at you, jaw tightening. “Bloody hell. Can’t believe I’m doing this. Stupid. Pointless. But when you’re up against a soddin’ hellgod and odds that make death look cozy, what’s the use in leavin’ things unsaid?”

He huffs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, agitation radiating off him. You stay silent, but the concern shows in your face, your posture.

“Suppose I should’ve said something sooner,” he continues, half to himself. “Not like I’m any good at this. Maybe never was. Back when I was… well, different story. Used to be all flowery words and grand gestures. Always had to prove meself.”

He risks a glance at you, eyes flicking away when they meet yours.

“Not much of a man now, am I? But the way you look at me… bugger me if it doesn’t make me feel like I could be.” He forces a chuckle, brittle around the edges. “Maybe it’s my own foolishness talking. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Spike stops, swallowing hard. “But if this is the end, I need you to know that… that every stupid poem I scratched out, back when my heart was still beatin’—they were shadows of what I feel now. For you.”

You take a slow, shuddering breath, eyes wide and lips parted in a soft ‘O’ as you stare up at him. The porch light’s come on, the glow shading warmth into your expression. His fingers reach out and touch, delicate across your cheekbone, down to cup your chin. “You’ve gone and wrapped yourself ’round me. Tight as sin, sweeter than blood. I can’t stop wantin’ more… Reckon I never will.”

You’re voiceless, your mouth opening once, then again, before giving up. Anya smirks to herself. Powerless in the face of blunt truth. You mortals and your weird little problems.

Spike rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Said more than I meant to already. Should shut up before I make an even bigger mess. Send you runnin’. Hell, maybe I deserve it. Always cocked things up when it mattered.”

You inhale sharply, staring at him. “Oh…” You swallow. “Spike…”

His smile widens, but it’s not a happy thing.

“S’alright, pet,” he says, stepping back a foot. Ash is smeared across your cheek. “Not expectin’ anything. Just wanted to say it.” He hesitates, gaze dropping. “Never thought I’d be worth a damn to anyone, not really. But you—hell, you make me feel like I am. Like I’m enough. Like there’s somethin’ good left in me worth savin’.”

He turns to go, but you stop him. “Wait―I―”

The surprise on his face might seem deliberately put there to anyone who doesn't truly get demons. Anya knows it’s real. He really wasn’t expecting a response.

“You are enough. You are. And I―” You huff, biting your lip and averting your eyes. “You weren’t supposed to… be this—this important. To me.”

He looks at you then, eyebrows drawing together. You twist at your fingers, looking as though you’re desperate for something to hold on to.

“You drive me crazy,” you say suddenly, words tumbling. “With the attitude, and the way you think you can just―just―say stuff like that, like it doesn’t mean anything. Except it does. It does, and I—” You stop, breath trembling. “I can’t―I can’t lose you.”

His eyes widen, mouth opening, but you plow on, words spilling over themselves. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. You make me feel… like I can breathe, even when everything is falling apart. And I know it’s insane, and I shouldn’t, and everyone will hate it, but I—” You take a breath. “But I’m already lost. I don’t want to find my way back.”

Something startlingly human spreads across Spike’s face. He cocks his head as he stares down at you, shy wonder making his features less cutting. It’s as though he’s just a guy and you’re just a girl, and this is just a scene out of an ordinary life.

Suddenly, you laugh, a short, small sound, but it breaks the oppressive atmosphere. “Damn. This is so cliché,” you say, shaking your head ruefully. “It’s like we’re in a movie.”

The mood shifts, and with it Spike’s distinctive brashness returns. His posture adjusts, less bumbling fool and more leonine hunter, tongue curling behind his lip in invitation.

“Yeah?” he asks, sauntering into your space, up close and personal. “Pretty sure the sort you mean ends in a kiss. Rounds out all the talk.”

He’s goading you, trying to recoup and save face, but it’s also an offer veiled by provocative words. Anya sees your uncertainty, the red flush working its way across your skin, and her anticipation begins to fade. Darn. She should’ve expected you to quail under the full force of his charm. She’s realistic enough to recognize that even she wouldn’t be unaffected by him. He’s very pretty for a vampire, and he knows it.

But wait—

After a moment of vacillation, you surge forward, fists grasping the collar of his duster to pull his mouth to yours. Spike’s eyes widen briefly before sliding shut, hand tangling in your hair. She watches your lips mash together awkwardly for a second before Spike takes over, tilting your head just so until you slot together like puzzle pieces, your bodies converging to match. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the taste of you, like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss anyone—and it might be. It’s intense. Desperate. Romantic.

You let out a squeaking sort of sigh, muffled, a sound answered by the bass growl of the vampire attached to you as his arm spans across your waist, raising you up on tiptoes and into him even further. The flickering globe lighting the front of the house paints shadows across your entwined forms. The corners of Anya’s mouth lift.

You look very nice together. The sex will be great, she’s sure—when you’re ready, of course. And you could do worse than someone like Spike, who definitely has decades of experience in giving pleasure. She’s happy for you. Quality orgasms are necessary.

But there’s an obvious catch. Buffy, Giles, Xander—they’ll hate it. Spike is nothing but a monster to them, a rabid animal on a choke chain. No way they’ll tolerate his increased presence, never mind the very idea of him even touching you. You might get Tara and Dawn on side—and if you have Tara, you’ll most likely get Willow, too—but the possibility is far-fetched. Even if you do, it’s easy enough to sway them. Anya’s seen it in action time and time again. She knows how it’s going to go, when this gets out: they’ll call it disgusting, wrong, the scheming of a soulless demon. She can already hear it.

In her heart, she wishes they were more understanding. Humans make love messy when it doesn’t have to be. Demons love simpler. When they want something, they take it. No wringing hands, no guessing games. But there’s something intoxicating about all the fussing. She understands why some demons get obsessed.

Anya crosses her arms, thinking back to Xander’s proposal—so clear, so certain, like he’d already made the decision a hundred times before asking. It’s a rare, beautiful thing, certainty. Not like the mess playing out on the lawn now. She thinks about the ring, nestled in the little black box Xander offered. She didn’t take it then—no point in promises if they don’t survive the night—but the offer sparked something bright and unexpected in her. Delight, disbelief, a warmth and depth of emotion she didn’t know she was capable of. A reminder that demons, ex or otherwise, can know love as fiercely and deeply as any human.

Watching as the kiss breaks, Spike’s forehead resting against yours, she sighs. When it blows up, and it will, she’ll inevitably be dragged into it. Great, she thinks. More drama.

But, as she sees you embrace under the steadily darkening sky, she can’t help but feel a pang of… something. Envy, maybe, at your audacity. Nostalgia. Or the bitter understanding that love is a gamble, and fools are the only ones brave enough to take it. But it’s a gamble worth fighting, worth losing, maybe even dying for.

Giles stands in the corner of the back room, pretending to clean a counter already spotless. The pretence is for your benefit, perhaps Spike’s too, but not his own. He knows exactly why he’s here. Buffy is dead. And you, her younger sister, are throwing yourself into the very life she died living. He tells himself it’s just concern. That he’s watching to ensure you’re safe. But it’s more than that. With Buffy gone, everything he failed to protect now rests in you. And Spike—compulsive, volatile—is the one you’ve chosen to help carry that weight.

The Magic Box is still and dim, cloaked in that aching quiet that has lingered since her death. The only sounds are the thud of your fists on the heavy bag and Spike’s low, muttered instructions. You’re quick, focused, but Giles can see it in the way your shoulders tighten, the way your mouth presses into a hard line. You’re angry. You’re hurting, and Spike is right in the middle of it.

Once, he stood in this very spot and watched Buffy move.

Not like this.

She was light, fluid, grace sharpened into purpose, a dancer in motion even at her most frustrated. He remembers the flash of her blonde ponytail in the air as she twisted into a spin-kick that sent the padded dummy reeling. How she bounced on the balls of her feet with a smirk and said, “Again?” even when sweat was dripping into her eyes.

He remembers correcting her stance, only for her to adjust slightly wrong on purpose to get a rise out of him. The way she’d laugh when she nailed something new. How she complained, always, but never stopped trying. Now, the echoes of those moments sit in the corners of the room like ghosts. But watching you move—raw, stiff, driven by pain instead of instinct—feels like watching someone drown slowly under the weight of her shadow.

You decided to train properly just days after her death. It’s understandable: each of you have found your own methods of working through your sorrow, Dawn blaring her uncomfortably loud music from within the confines of her room while you find yourself here, or away from the house, out at all hours of the night. The others are wrapped up in their own hurt, the wound too fresh to consider the plight of the Summers girls beyond the most basic of necessities. While Giles cannot make himself comfortable with the notion of you in any sort of battle, at least here he can keep vigil. For her.

You aren’t built like your elder sister: your frame is too slight, too small, and your punches lack the power to truly hurt. You’re about as threatening as a fly, but Spike does not coddle you.

“Potential there, yeah?” he said enigmatically when last Giles asked, smirking. “Something raw ’n fierce. She’s no Slayer, but she can surprise a nasty or two.”

When Spike offered to train you, he framed it as a way to keep you from getting yourself killed on the patrols you’d abruptly become insistent on joining. It is your way of honouring your sister’s sacrifice, Giles thinks, though he wishes you might choose some other means. With the Slayer gone, there were none suited to the task save Spike, and thus the proposition was reluctantly agreed to. The chip in the vampire’s head makes his sparring with you impossible, much to everyone’s relief, but he has turned instruction into drills for evasion, for striking with speed and precision, for using your size to your advantage. You’ll not make for a spectacular fighter, no, but Spike ensures you might hold your own.

“Footwork,” the vampire barks as you stumble back from a missed hit. “You’re dancing like a drunk. Move your feet.”

You scowl, breathing hard. “I am moving.”

“Yeah, like a duck. Gotta be faster, light on your toes.” His gaze flicks over you, lazy but appraising, lips curling. “All that talk about training—wouldn’t want to bruise anything too delicate, would we? Keep your face pretty. Gotta keep the goods intact, yeah?” He leans closer, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Though you might wear a bruise well, pet. Bit of edge suits you.”

You bristle, cheeks flushing and indignation flaring in the pout you level him as you obey, focusing on the way Spike glides predatory, almost elegant. He demonstrates a simple but effective series of moves, unnaturally fast, hands ghosting close but never touching. Giles can see your mounting frustration at your inability to replicate the finesse of the supernatural, limbs shaking with exertion.

You lunge abruptly, no rhyme or reason to it, throwing a punch that flies wide. Spike dodges easily, grinning. “That it? Come on, you can hit harder than a wet noodle.”

“Not like you can punch back,” you mutter, blowing a strand of hair out of your face.

His eyes narrow, playful. “Then make me dodge.”

You strike again, quicker this time, a low jab aimed at his ribs. He twists away, swift as a snake, but instead of stepping back, he moves into your space and catches your wrist in a carefully firm grip. Before you can react, his other arm wraps around your waist, pinning you flush against his body. Giles jumps, box slipping from his hands to the counter with a dull thud. Neither of you appear to notice.

“Close,” Spike is murmuring to you, voice a rough rumble, “but no.” His hand slides a bit lower, fingers splayed against the curve of your hip. His mouth brushes your ear. “Distracted, baby? Can’t blame you. Hard to focus when you’re all tangled up, yeah?”

His hand twitches lower―just enough to provoke, to threaten―before releasing you with an odd little twist to his lips. Giles stiffens, teeth clenching as he looks on, sees Spike’s regard intent and glimmering on you. For a moment, he thinks the vampire wishes to bite you, to drain you dry, but in an instant, the moment is past and you return to starting positions.

It is hard to watch. But watch he must, for it has long been his mandate to guard against the malevolent creatures who hunt and slaughter innocents. Not only that, but in Buffy’s absence―the pang each time the memory resurfaces of her lying there atop the rubble nearly bowls him over―someone ought to keep their eye on this strange development between the pair of you.

“Ready?” Spike’s tone is clipped, stance relaxed. “Again.”

Giles watches as you push harder, your muscles trembling, frustration mounting with every falter. Spike’s needling is mild but targeted, sustained, enough to build up the uncharacteristic anger in you. The vampire never raises a hand against you―he cannot, after all―but he pushes, demands, making you curse your own limits and curse him just the same. He’d perhaps be grateful for the efforts Spike is undertaking if not for the way his gaze lingers a fraction too long, or how carefully he listens when your voice cracks.

He’s tried to intervene. Truly, he has. It seems from the very second you returned to Sunnydale, armed with a superciliousness that can only come from having attended an institute like Thacher for near three years, you have met his every entreaty with a discourse on the intellectual failings of dichotomous thinking. Spike has no soul―one cannot unilaterally quantify a soul��s impact on the quality of personhood. Spike is evil―‘evil’ is subject to time, place, culture, any number of qualifiers that make it impossible to define concretely. Spike can only cause harm―then that is your cross to bear, and your lesson to learn. Interesting, certainly, but gullible. The accusation that Giles is in some way lacking rationality is galling, though he sees your point. However, he’s seen Spike in all his unholy glory, knows what he is capable of. You can question the basis of his suspicion all you like, but it does not change the simple fact that Spike has done things that even the most abominable human beings would shudder to behold, and he has rejoiced in the horror.

Ben, hand clawing at his arm, weakly trying to twist away—No. His thoughts turn back to you.

You protest Giles’s every exhortation, strong-willed, resilient and reckless in such an unassuming manner that it terrifies him. You aren’t a Slayer, but you are a Summers, and let no one tell you what you can and cannot do. You insist that Spike is helping. That you need the distraction, the outlet. That you need someone who sees you for more than the grief and the guilt that plague your waking hours. And perhaps that’s what terrifies him most: that Spike might actually be helping. That darkness, once cut loose from consequence, can learn the shape of meaning, wear it like a mask.

Over the following weeks, Giles observes from a distance, acutely aware of how your dynamic with Spike has changed. The vampire’s instruction has become softer, more invested. Confident, maybe, in the lack of challenge to his conduct. Spike encourages you, listens to you. Something protective lays in the way he steps closer when your voice wavers or when fatigue drags your movement. Giles sees it all.

The contradiction bothers him. Spike has no soul, his every innate impulse leashed by the metal sliver in his skull. And yet, here he is, teaching you, protecting you, caring. The chip keeps Spike in check, but it does nothing to curb emotions. Even a soulless vampire can develop fixations, obsessions that mask themselves as something softer, sweeter. Spike is a being of passion, his fascinations consuming. His almost violent preoccupation with Buffy has transmuted, found a new form in you as he reveals himself a man possessed, but it is the way you look back that worries Giles more. Longing, visceral and bursting. You cling to him like a tether, held together by someone just as lost and just as dangerous. He knows that Spike would chomp at the bit to take you in hand, to save you, possess you; though for what purpose, he knows not. It gnaws at him.

Giles lingers late in the shop now, a Watcher in a ghost town, listening to your sessions with Spike. He tells himself it is concern that keeps him still, ears searching for snippets of conversation―but the more he hears, the more he realises with growing dread that there is something more to your connection. Mouths too close. Bodies too familiar. Words too tender, hidden behind closed doors and from averted eyes. Spike is no longer a distraction. He’s become vital, like breath, like blood. A companion, a confidant. The full scope of it hides below the surface and out of Giles’s sight, save for the ripples of recognition that make themselves evident in gradual increments.

The question eats at him: what happens when Spike’s obsession inevitably turns darker, when fleeting touch and veiled intent no longer serve his desires? Will you recognize the danger before it consumes you? Will you even care? Though it keeps him up at night, Giles cannot bring himself to confront you. Not yet. Grief drives people to foolishness, the need for comfort outweighing common sense. He’s considered confronting Spike directly—pulling him aside, demanding he explain himself, threatening consequences if he oversteps again—but what good would it do? Spike would only smirk, lean back with that insufferable slouch, and twist concern into something vulgar. A taunt, a dare. He would make it a game, because that’s what vampires do. They play at humanity. And Giles is so very tired of playing.

The time for subtlety is drawing to a close. He must make you understand the risk, even if it costs your trust. Watching isn’t enough. Not anymore.

Upon an evening after your training comes to a close and you rest, smarting and sore as Spike prowls away to his shift on patrol, Giles corners you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he begins, the edge in his voice betraying his fear.

You look up at him. He sees it in your face when you grasp his meaning, your nostrils flaring just the once, frustration fleeting. “I know what he is,” you say after a pause, quiet and tired. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t choose to be more.”

Giles sighs. “He’s a vampire. Change isn’t in their nature.”

“Isn’t it?” you challenge softly. “He protects Dawn. He fights the good fight. He ca―He’s… trying. That has to mean something. Maybe he just needs a chance. Maybe everyone does.”

“Naive,” Giles mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Evil doesn’t change. It adapts.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” you admit, gaze unwavering. “But if people never get a chance to be better, what’s the point? Even you gave Angel a chance. Or was that different?”

Giles looks away, ashamed at how small the truth sounds when you say it like that. He absently pats the pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing the edges of a plane ticket he hasn’t yet decided to use. He doesn’t know if it’s cowardice, or mercy, that’s kept him from boarding it. “He had a soul.”

“And Spike has a choice.”

Silence hangs between you. Giles wonders if you’ll ever understand what he’s seen, what he’s lost. But the fire in your eyes is familiar. Unyielding. He thinks of Buffy, of her tenacity and persistence, and then of you: juvenile, grieving, determined to carry burdens too heavy for your shoulders. With her gone, he is supposed to protect you. But how can he protect you from yourself?

There is no future to be found here. Not with Spike. Not like this. And if Giles does not leave while he still can, he will remain stuck, resigned to watching the inevitable fall.

God help you both.

Dawn’s tears feel cold as they slide down her cheeks. She’s not sure if she’s crying because she’s angry or just tired—but either way, she’s so sick of them.

She doesn’t mean it. Deep down, she knows that. They’re trying. They get her up in the mornings, drive her to school. Pick her up, spend afternoons making stilted conversation. They help you with the bills, with dinner, with making sense of all of Buffy’s ID stuff so that Social Services still thinks she’s in the picture. Dawn sees the self-help books they hide whenever she enters the room, the step-by-step how-tos on helping their child cope with loss. There probably isn’t one on ways to fix a ball of mystical energy after her fake mom and fake sister die. She hates how they avoid it, how they won’t say Buffy’s name. The looks, the half-finished sentences, the careful choice of words. It feels like they’re all pretending. Months have passed, and nothing’s better. Mom’s dead. Buffy’s dead, and no one wants to say it out loud.

Tara’s soft voice echoes in her ears, gentle, soothing, so understanding it made Dawn want to scream. Willow’s hovering didn’t help either. It felt like drowning in marshmallow fluff. She had to get out. She needed air, space, somewhere she wasn’t the Key or a broken kid sister. Somewhere no one would baby her, hover, be in her face all the time.

It’s kinda depressing, but the cemetery has always felt peaceful to her. It’s familiar: the dirt beneath her sneakers, the rot of dying grass, the mildew dirtying the headstones that stick up like crooked teeth out of the ground. It’s bleak, but honest. The air feels cleaner here, cool and bite-y, a reminder that she’s still alive.

“The hardest thing in this world is to live. Be brave. Live… for me.”

Buffy’s last words hit her like a hammer, shocking her with a fresh wave of sadness prickling in the corners of her eyes. She looks up. The stars are out, cold and distant, glinting in the sky so far above her. It’s comforting, in a way. They’re all trapped in their own galaxies billions of light years away, never getting to meet each other. Alone in the dark, just like her.

Her vision blurs. She swallows hard, the lump in her throat thick and heavy. Everyone leaves her. Mom and Buffy, bodies in the ground, Dad and Giles an ocean away. She feels small. Insignificant. But at least here, the quiet feels less accusing, less full of expectations. She drags in a breath, shaky but grounding.

Shivering, she looks around as she nears Spike’s crypt. Everyone thinks she’s pretty weird for hanging out with him sometimes, but he’s the only one who doesn’t try to tell her everything’s going to be okay. He doesn’t try to make her talk. Sometimes, he doesn’t even say hello to her. He just nods at her, lets her sit there in silence until the anger and the hurt melts away. Spike is… Spike. He gets it. She remembers what he was like before: obsessed with Buffy, creepy and desperate, kinda vicious in his insistence that her sister felt something for him. The way Buffy looked at him—like he was disgusting, an ant under her shoe, like he was less than a bug to her—comes back to her. That was always painful to watch. But he learned from it, grew, turned his feelings into something else. He got less threatening and aggressive; pulled back, focused less on her and more on what was important to her, on you and Dawn. Showed Buffy that he could be someone to rely on, someone to help with the Slayer’s kid sisters.

Guilt eats at Dawn. She hasn’t come to see him a while. All the Scoobies have taken up so much of her time by dragging her through the motions, convinced that she’ll move on with her life if they remind her to do her homework and stick a chore chart on the fridge. She’s seen him plenty at home, but it’s always hard to tell how someone’s doing when they’re just visiting.

I guess I’ll find out, she thinks with a slight prickle of nerves.

As she draws closer, she instantly notices something off. She squints, taking in the sight of the stone outside. Is the door… painted? Yup. Still has that slightly funky chemical smell, so it’s gotta be pretty fresh. The stoop is clear for once, none of the crackly dead leaves announcing her presence under her feet, and there’s a broom tucked behind the pot plant. Weird. There’s even a flowerpot sitting next to the column, a splash of bright. The inside is cleaner than she remembers. Swept floors, no cigarette butts, the beer bottles gone. A faded throw is tossed over the back of the armchair Spike took from their house, and the moldy damp smell seems a little less intense.

Huh. Spike isn’t exactly Mr. Domestic. What gives?

It takes her a moment to realize that the trapdoor is open. He doesn’t usually leave it like that, whether he’s out or staying in. She’s heading for the ladder before she’s fully aware of it, careful not to make a sound as she goes down. Her steps are light, careful, not wanting to disturb Spike, or whoever’s in here.

Edging along the wall—not too close, because erghh and ick with the spiderwebs—she’s just before the bend when her ears pick up voices. More than one. Muffled, but clear enough to hear the difference. One is definitely Spike’s—gruff, low, offensively British—but the other one is… softer. Younger. Familiar. Her heart lurches before she can stop it.

What are you doing here?

Her curiosity outweighs her sense, and she peers just around the corner to see you. And Spike. You and Spike, together.

Her eyes widen. Spike lays in bed—a real one, not a ratty cot or a stone slab—bare-chested and propped up by kitschy pillows that match the new rugs on the floor. You’re spread out atop him, equally free of clothes, your chest pressed to his so that all she can really see is the span of your back and the way Spike’s fingers trace lazy circles across your skin. Your cheek rests in the crook of his neck, your hair messy. The rumpled sheets barely cover some seriously X-rated stuff, though Dawn can tell that your legs are tangled together, and that his other hand is on your thigh beneath the coverings. It’s obvious what you’ve been doing. The scent of it clings to the air: sweat, skin, warm and strong. Heat climbs her cheeks, but she can’t look away.

She knows this is a scene she was never meant to see. Something private. It makes a strange, painful knot form in her stomach, but at least she’s finally figured out where you’ve been going now that you’re not at home as much. You’re here. With Spike.

Privacy, boundaries, respect, blah blah blah, she thinks, intending to back away until you speak again, finally near enough that she can hear you.

“… and I—I can’t fall apart,” you say, voice thick with sadness. She finally takes in your expression: crumpled, eyes rimmed red. The kind of face you make when you’ve cried too much and can’t anymore. “Buffy’s… she’s gone. Mom’s gone. And I―”

Spike hushes you, gaze locked on you in a way that makes Dawn’s heart skip a beat.

Your breath hitches. “I’m supposed to hold it together. For Dawnie. I’m the oldest now. And everyone expects me to―” You stop, hesitant.

“You can say it, sweetheart. Go on,” Spike encourages softly. “Let it out.”

You choke on a sob. When you begin again, your voice is small. “I… I’m her sister. Buffy’s. Her real one. The one with real memories and real love, and I have to… I have to bury it all. Because if I don’t, who steps up? Buffy’s the Slayer, but I’m the strong one, and I can’t―”

Your words break, face turning into his throat as a noise unlike anything Dawn’s ever heard escapes you. She almost throws up. Wants to storm in, yelling, asking you if that’s what you really think of her, if you see her as just some thing instead of a person. It hurts something fragile and breakable in the very darkest parts of her to hear you say what no one else will: that she’s a fraud, a phony that doesn’t belong. Not real. Alone. If that’s how you feel, then why do you even bother?

But then, Spike’s arms tighten around you, holding you even closer, and she pauses.

“Not wrong for what you feel,” he murmurs. “Bloody awful mess. Not fair. And you’ve been carrying too much of it alone.”

Your fingers curl against his chest. “I hate feeling this way. I hate that I even thought it. Dawnie… I love her.”

Spike presses a kiss to your hair. “You’re allowed. Doesn’t make you a bad sister. Makes you human.”

“I… I miss her,” you say, unsteady and so, so young. “I miss Buffy. I miss… I want my mom. I want them back. How do―how can―how am I supposed to do this?”

“I know, baby.” His hand slides up to cup the back of your head. You grip him like a lifeline. “It’s rotten, the hand you’ve been dealt. But you’ll get along. You’re brave. And you’re not alone. Never alone.”

Dawn presses a hand over her mouth, backing away slowly. The quiet, broken sound of your crying follows her as she slips out, heart pounding. She makes it halfway home before her legs wobble, forcing her to sit on a crumbling stone wall.

The way he held you… Like you were something precious to him. She swallows back the lump in her throat. You and Spike. You and Spike, together. It’s weird, and part of her wants to be grossed out, but the look on his face sticks in her mind. He’s never looked at anyone like that before. Not Drusilla, not Harmony, not Buffy, not Dawn. No one. No one but you.

She gets it now. Why Spike’s around so much. Why she seems to always find him with you at the Magic Box, at the house, in the cemetery, the Bronze. She wonders when it all started. What she’s seen tonight isn’t random. It didn’t look like two people just trying to cope. It looked like… it reminds her of Buffy, how she was with Angel.

Dawn sighs. Sure, it stings, but she gets it. Her rage has left her, replaced by something stinging and bittersweet. She can’t unhear the pain in your voice, can’t unsee the way Spike held you like you matter, maybe more than anyone else in the world. She knows she should tell someone what she saw—maybe Willow or Tara—but the idea makes her stomach churn. It would hurt you, betray you. And Spike, he would never forgive her.

She rubs the salt from her eyes with the heel of her hand, then grips the edge of the wall like it might steady her. The choice settles into her chest, warm and a little heavy. She’ll keep your secret. For now.

The house feels thinner tonight, hollowed out. Smaller. Quieter than she’s used to.

Buffy’s away, dragged by Willow and Xander to the Bronze in the hopes that bass and bodies might shake loose the shadows she’s been carrying since her resurrection. Dawn’s at Janice’s, sleeping over, probably halfway through a horror movie and a bag of microwave popcorn, equipped with gossip and a parent who can pretend not to notice how late they stay up. And you—you’re usually the one who stays behind, always so gentle with Buffy lately, so patient with Dawn. Steady, in your own quiet, hurting way. Tara assumes you’ve gone to sleep already, or out again, whereabouts unknown.

For once, she can breathe. No awkward silences. No Buffy’s thousand-yard stare across the table. No tiptoeing around the tension that still clings to the walls like smoke. She’s been floating for weeks, a warm presence pressed into the background, not quite seen, not quite necessary. The only time anyone touches her anymore is when she initiates it. She can’t remember the last time someone held her like they needed to.

She moves softly through the hallway now, mug of tea in one hand, the intention simple: grab the spare quilt from the room you share with your little sister and curl up on the couch with a book. But then she hears it. A sound, soft and aching. A moan, breathy and real, the kind of sound that doesn’t come from pain.

Tara pauses outside your bedroom door, which hangs slightly ajar. She should walk away. She knows she should. But something makes her glance through the gap. She tells herself it’s concern, not curiosity, that the sound you made could’ve been from pain. Just checking. One breath. One heartbeat. Just long enough to see something that will never leave her.

She freezes.

You’re on the bed, bare from the waist down, hips tilted to the edge of the mattress and thighs parted in surrender. Spike is on his knees on the floor, shirtless, pants riding low and sagging, undone, skin pale as milk in the moonlight. His shoulders ripple with restrained tension, arms banded tight around your thighs as he buries his face between them like a man starved. The lamplight from the corner casts long shadows across his back, glinting along the ridges of his spine, the curve of his neck. One of your legs is slung high over his shoulder, trembling. The other braces against the mattress, and you're huffing, squirming.

Your head tosses back on the pillow, lips parting on a soft, drawn-out moan. He’s working you over with slow, luxuriating confidence, worshipping, hungering. His tongue traces slick, purposeful circles, every movement intentional. Tara hears him, hears the filthy little noises he makes when you twitch and jolt beneath him, the wet suck of his lips when he draws your clit between them, savoring you like sin.

“Spike,” you breathe, and he groans like it’s the only word that matters.

Her breath catches.

Spike pulls back only to spear into the furl of your entrance, pressing his nose in hard and inhaling. Your body judders helplessly, your fingers digging into the bedspread, into the air, into nothing at all. The muscles in your stomach flex, then tremble. You whimper, low and wrecked, and he makes a sound in return: primal, appreciative, entirely unashamed. It’s obscene. And yet, there’s a softness to it.

Tara’s seen Spike grin through blood and violence, heard him mock the pain of others. But this—this isn’t that. She remembers the tower: his hands slick with blood, the way he stood, shaking and hollering your name as a stray hit sent you reeling to the ground, afraid. Broken. She hadn’t known then what it meant. She might now.

His hands aren’t being cruel. His mouth isn’t taking. It’s giving. Something in him is folded open, gentle. Wanting. He moves, draws his tongue over your clit with careful precision, then slips lower again, teasing your opening before easing back in, slow and sure. One hand trails up to splay wide across your belly, grounding you. He growls, eyes half-lidded like it’s better than blood.

“Such a sweet li’l cunt. Heaven,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft and decadent, velvet dragged over grit. “Could die here, buried in you. Wouldn’t even mind.”

Tara flinches, face flaming. But you—you make a shuddering sound of agreement, helpless and high-pitched. Your hand fists in his hair, pulling without thought, and Spike laughs, low and delighted. Not mocking; giddy, like a man dizzy with luck.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, nosing along your thigh before dipping back in, tongue wicked and unrelenting. “Already twitchin’, beggin’ for more. Look at you. Bloody gorgeous when you come undone.”

Your hips cant forward, chasing his mouth.

“C’mon then,” he urges, licking slow and deep, practically cooing. “Lemme feel you break.”

Tara swallows, heart thudding. The room smells like skin and salt and something sweet, air balmy and thick enough to taste. She presses the mug to her mouth like an anchor. Doesn’t drink. Just holds it, fingers damp with warmth. Everything else goes quiet.

She should look away. But the way you move—hips lifting, breath catching—draws her in. You whisper his name like a plea, and he doubles down, suckling hard enough to make you arch off the mattress. Crying out, you twist the sheet in one hand and reach for him with the other. He catches your wrist and kisses your palm, never pausing.

Then—

“Oh god,” you sob. “Please, please, I—”

“Shh,” Spike soothes, voice ragged against you. “Give it to me. Let go, baby, I’ve got you.”

And you do.

You crest with a gasping, hitched cry, back arched and mouth open. Spike moans against you like he’s the one unraveling as you tremble, thighs clamped around his ears. Your chest heaves. Your lips part. For a moment, you look unmade: tears streak your cheeks, sweat glistens on your skin, and your breath comes in gulps, shallow.

He doesn’t pull away, his caresses softening, slow and adoring. It reminds Tara of how Willow once touched her wrist in a crowded room. She envies it, the ache turned to tenderness. To be truly seen, desired. She mourns how rare that feeling has become. There’s awe in it, and something worse. Need, maybe, or love. Ever since Buffy came back, the world’s been tilted slightly sideways—sunlight too yellow, silence too thick. But this? This feels real, loud, alive.

Spike presses his mouth to your thigh as you come down, uttering affection too low to catch. He licks up the mess he’s made of you, gentle now, like you’re sacred.

“Too much,” you whisper, blinking. “Can’t…”

He eases back, wiping his chin, then nestles into the cradle of your hips. His fingers trace the wet between your legs—not to arouse, but to relish in, the tip of his nose gliding along your belly, devoted. He lingers, lips brushing the slope of your mound like prayer.

Tara starts to move. She should leave. Any longer, and it won’t be an accident. If you see her, it becomes something else. A breeze shivers through the hallway and she stills, heart pounding, suddenly certain that if Spike turns his head, he’ll know; that if you catch her, it will live between you like a ghost. She tells herself it’s only curiosity, that it’ll vanish from her memory come morning. But she knows it won’t.

She stays. Listens.

“I didn’t mean to cry,” you mumble, throwing an arm over your eyes.

“I like it when you do.” He kisses your hip and climbs up over you, licking his lips. It doesn’t sound cruel. “Means you feel me. Means ’m not just makin’ this up in the dark, yeah?” He pulls you into the crook of his arm, palm cradling your cheek, thumb gentle beneath your eye. You sniffle. His mouth skims along your temple. “There she is. My brave girl.”

The way you melt into him, it’s not only comfort. It’s trust. Tara knows love doesn’t always look gentle. He coils around you like you might vanish, nose grazing your temple, hand stroking your back. You toss your leg over his, and he slides his fingers to touch where you’re still slick, to which you wriggle but say nothing.

“Still with me, kitten?” he asks.

You nod. “You didn’t have to be so—”

“Didn’t have to. Wanted to.” He nuzzles your hair. “Wanted to make you feel good. You always make me feel like I’m still… real.”

You bury your face in his chest. He exhales.

Tara never thought vampires spoke in anything but hunger—but Spike does. He calls you gorgeous. Brave. And the way you twine around each other… it’s not lust. It’s sanctuary.

“Love you,” he whispers. It sounds like confession, like surrender. “So much it hurts. So much I’d burn for it.”

Your fingers curl against his skin. “I know. I love you, too.”

That’s when Tara steps back. She closes the door gently, careful not to make a sound, her hand lingering too long on the knob before letting go.

She should feel horrified. She doesn’t. What she saw wasn’t twisted, wasn’t wrong. It was private, fierce, soft in a way Spike isn’t with anyone else. If Buffy knew, it would break something. If Xander knew, he’d burn it down. But Tara understands the truth of it—the strange, aching, imperfect truth. She saw you: the girl clinging to something fragile and fierce, and the monster who looked like he was terrified to let you go.

That truth belongs to you and Spike. Not the rest of the world. She walks away, silent and thoughtful, and decides she didn’t see anything at all.

Buffy will come home tonight with mascara smudged and shoulders slumped. She’ll shuffle through the door like a ghost who got lost on the way back to her grave, and Tara will hand her tea and ask about the music. Neither of them will mention how long it’s been since anyone laughed.

The house still feels hollow, but not lifeless. Something still beats beneath its ribs, reckless and messy and lit with want. Tara doesn’t know if it’s hope, but it’s something. She doesn’t know what it is she envies more: the hunger, or the way it’s fed.

He wants to tear his eyes out, rip his eardrums from his skull and swallow them all. Anything to escape the full-on assault in front of him.

Well. Not an assault. It’s pretty quiet, all things considered. But still. There’s a special kind of hell in watching whatever the crap this is. Your face is pretty much all Xander can really see of what’s going on―brows furrowed, mouth open, eyes hooded―but the uh. Bouncing. Yeah. That’s painting a pretty graphic picture. And the sounds. Wet, gross, thrusting sounds.

Your hands are clasped against the back of Evil Dead’s neck, fingers twisting and twisting away in the ungelled hairs at his nape as you make those haunting little wounded noises with each―oh god, yuck―drive of his hips against you, pushing you further into the wall of the dusty old crypt you’re hoisted up against. Xander’s eyes flicker down before he can stop himself―bare calves jolting with the rhythm, skirt hiked high—and snaps them back up just in time to see Spike’s mouth dragging along your throat. Hands flex on your hips, steering you squirming into each harsh roll of his body. Thank the Powers That Be that he’s still fully clothed.

Well―

Nope. Not thinking about what’s unclothed right now.

"Spike…” you gasp, high and pitchy, but whatever you were going to say is swallowed by a vicious kiss, Spike’s bleach-blond head blocking your face from view as he devours you. The sight jolts Xander’s heart sideways, but he can’t—can’t—look away.

You used to call him Xan the Man. Used to ask for rides home from school and come to him for help with the printer. Now you’re wrapped around a monster like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“The thing he’s doing with his tongue,” Anya whispers, wide-eyed. “She’s probably having multiple orga―”

He waves a harried hand at her, the universal motion for shut the hell up, Ahn, partly because he so does not want to hear the end of that line of thought and partly because he doesn’t want Spike to know they’re here. Also, to be honest, because he’s still kinda trying to process what he’s seeing. It’s like watching a train wreck: he can’t look away. Are you under a spell?

“Shh, shh,” he can hear Spike murmur then, voice low and coaxing, his nose dipping to glide along the arch of your throat as he hitches your legs higher. “Gotta stay quiet, yeah? Don’t want any beasties coming ’round.”

You yelp, and Xander flinches. The bleached wonder makes his own series of sounds, then, deep and growly, and his lips curve in a wicked smile against your ear. Fingers curl tighter against your hips in a way that should be making that chip of his fire off, make him scream in agony, stumble off and away. But nope, of course Xander’s not that lucky. You writhe closer, gasping.

His pulse pounds. A hundred bad scenarios run wild through his head—Buffy’s face twisting in rage, Dawn crying, you lying cold and broken after Spike gets bored. He feels sick.

“You want that, then, baby?” Spike croons, lips skimming your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “Want ’em to see you hanging off the Big Bad’s cock, slack-jawed ’n titties bouncing? Mm, give ’em the treat of their lives. Show off my girl and her tight li’l quim.”

“Oh my god,” Anya mutters. Her expression is fascinated and maybe a little aroused, but she doesn’t seem surprised, which is one to file away for later.

Xander’s stomach revolts. He’s heard Spike talk like this before—sick, lecherous, all swagger and filth—but hearing it directed at you is… it’s wrong. You’re too young, too trusting, too damn human. You’re Buffy’s sister. Dawn’s sister. Hell, you’re practically his kid sister, still fourteen in his mind, still asking him to reach the cereal from the top shelf. And Spike? He’s leering at you like a prize to ruin. But you don’t look ruined. You look… hungry. Yearning, with the bright flush spreading across your face and your arms winding tighter around his neck, ankles locking round his back like a limpet.

You’re shaking your head, but your lower body is curving off the stone to grind back down on him, keening out, “No, no―”

Spike grins, tongue flicking against your earlobe as his hips roll deeper. Xander wants to snap something—an insult, a threat—but he can’t risk it. “Course not. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Selfish, I am. Plucked you for my own and I’m keepin’ you, all mine. My good girl.”

‘A good girl.’ The phrase slithers down Xander’s spine like ice water. The edge in Spike’s voice freaks him out. Maybe… maybe we should’ve been more wigged out when he started spending time with her instead of sniffing around Buffy.

His gut clenches hard as you cry out, clearly in pain as the vamp staccatos his thrusts like he’s stabbing you through to your core. The chip still doesn’t go off and you’re writhing closer, not away, completely unbothered by the slamming of the hand by your shoulder and the rock that crumbles under superstrong fingers digging into the wall.

Xander keeps hoping the chip’s gone dead.

Because that’s easier than admitting you’re not fighting back.

God, do you even want Spike to stop?

Xander’s stuck, warring with his desire to burst through the thicket concealing him and Ahn and stake Spike for what he’s doing to you, but he can’t figure out if the chip’s malfunctioning or not.

“You gonna cum, kitten?” Spike’s asking, teeth fixated on the skin where your neck and shoulder meet, nipping and sucking like he’s getting ready for a feast. You’re clinging to his hair, crunching the gel all out of it, knees scrabbling but unable to find purchase against the leather coat until he hooks his arms under them. He folds you near in half so you let out a squeal, feet kicking. “Yeah? Feel you gettin’ hot for it, squeezin’ down all desperate … Come on, gimme it, get me all drippin’ with it, yeah―”

You seize up like you’ve been tazed, electrocuted, a sobbing whimper bursting out as he works you up and through it, pace frantic―

“Yeah, baby,” he’s moaning, “came like a dream―know it’s hurtin’, jus’ gotta let me finish, lemme―”

―and you wilt, limbs loosening to jelly so much so that Spike’s all but shoving you through the crypt wall. Your voice is fervent and cracking as you say, “Please, Spike, please—want it inside, want you in me—please, please—”

You whine high and clear while Spike pounds at you, animalistic, though you clutch yourself to him tight as he grunts and blusters his way to his end. Making little encouraging cries, you arch back obligingly as his chin dips and―hoo boy, that’s definitely more of you than Xander ever planned to see, thanks, never mind the tongue and teeth all over you. The movements slow and slow until there’s nothing more than a lazy shuddering roll of Spike’s lower body against yours. You tilt your head back, eyes closed and sighing.

“Wow,” Anya breathes. Yeah, wow’s right.

Xander feels like he’s been gutted. He’s seen plenty of things on patrol, but this… this is something else. Something private and raw and so, so wrong. No, not just wrong. It’s unwatchable. Buffy’s sister, tangled in Spike’s claws, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. The helplessness burns.

Spike kisses you again, touches you like he’s starved for it, his body cradling yours with sickening tenderness.

“Come back with me, sweetheart?” he asks you softly.

Huh, still with the nickname-y thing. Xander’s mind twists back to Drusilla, how she used to cling, how Spike would all but melt into her, feral and indulgent. The comparison knots something ugly inside him.

“Got you all messy,” Spike’s still saying. One of his hands disappears, and you make a noise Xander can’t really place until he sees the vamp stick his fingers in his mouth, lewdly suck them with a pop. “Can’t go off leakin’ all the way home.”

“If I had my panties back,” you say, laughing, “maybe that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Zipper sounds, and Spike lowers you with more care than Xander’s ever seen him use, fiddling with the skirt of your dress. Your knees are pressed tight together.

“Were you wearin’ any?” he asks with false innocence, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and following the plane of your shoulder, your arm, winding his fingers with yours. “Can’t remember.”

You laugh again. You keep doing that. “Spike.”

He tugs you from the wall, arms holding you like a vice against him. The expression on Spike’s face as he looks at you… Awareness feels like nausea.

This isn’t just screwing around, is it?

Of course. The way Dawn hovers. Tara’s looks. Giles leaving—not after Buffy died, but after something else. They all knew. They just didn’t say it. How long has this been happening while everyone’s looked away?

“Feel better when you’re with me,” he says, voice low. His forehead presses down against yours and you sway together, idle, caught in a spell. “Watchin’ you sleep, heart beatin’… Get to hold you, too. S’nice. How ‘bout it, hm?”

Too soft, too soft.

Your eyes are wide, adoring. “I’ll call home. Tell them I’m out for the night.”

Suddenly, Xander’s thinking back to all those times Buffy or Dawnie or Willow or Tara have mentioned you staying over with a friend, going out late and coming back the next afternoon, or the afternoon after that. How many of those times have you actually just been with Spike?

You shriek, nearly cackling as the vamp hoists you up into a carry, spinning in an arc so your hair flies gleaming behind you. “Oh my god, Spike!”

“Yeah, baby, say my name.” He stalks off into the night with you, no doubt to make good on taking you back to his crypt.

Xander stands there.

He wishes he never agreed to go patrolling tonight; wishes he decided to turn right instead of left; wishes he didn’t hear those noises and decide to stop, to creep up and scope out the source beyond the cover of bushes. Wishes he didn’t have to know that you and Spike are together, and that―worst of all―this isn’t just some fling. You’re in deep. Maybe he is, too.

He lets out a slow, deep breath, searching for his inner calm. “That was… disturbing as hell.”

“Why?” Anya tilts her head, frowning. “Because they’re in love?”

“Wha―No! No, that’s not the issue!” He rubs his face, trying to ignore the heart palpitations at Ahn’s use of the word love.

Her eyes narrow slightly, brow set in an even deeper furrow. “I don’t know why you’re so upset.”

“I don’t—” He stops. Don’t lash out. Inner calm. He sighs. Starts again. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

Anya nods, clearly not understanding. The great thing about her is that she doesn’t push when she doesn’t get it. “Okay. Should we―should we just go home for now? Maybe you’ll feel better about it there.”

If Buffy finds out and doesn’t stop it—if she looks at this and says it’s fine—then maybe the world’s already broken beyond repair.

Xander shakes his head, already pulling out his phone, scrolling to ‘B’. “Not yet. I gotta make a call.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s gonna say. Just that someone has to know. Someone stronger. Someone who can stop it before it’s too late.

Willow steps through the front door like she’s bracing for a spell to blow back in her face.

The house feels wrong the second she enters. Too still, like the quiet after a slammed door. The air’s brittle with tension, the kind of tension that’s made her call in sick to work and grab the first bus back across town. It’s been a while since this atmosphere settled, long enough for her to head back out, get her copy of Witchcraft from where she’d left it behind the counter at the Magic Box. It was Buffy’s request. She thinks Spike’s put some kind of love spell on you. No one has the heart to tell her that you’re not acting like you’ve been under a spell.

Tara’s waiting in the entryway, pale and subdued.

“She knows they know,” she murmurs, voice soft but heavy. “I called her.”

Willow nods, avoiding her gaze. It’s painful, seeing her so soon after she moved out. “Thanks.”

Dawn’s been sent up to her room. The conversation that’s coming isn’t one for her ears, though Willow assumes she’ll probably just hide herself in the hall upstairs so she can listen in. For once, though, she didn’t put up a fight against her oldest sister’s demand. There was something sad in the set of her mouth, like she knew what was about to happen.

In the living room, it’s a standoff. Buffy’s pacing like a caged animal, arms crossed so tightly they could splinter bone. Xander’s by the fireplace, jaw set and eyes sharp, practically vibrating with righteous fury, while Anya is perched on the arm of the couch, watching everything like she’s about to start taking bets. That leaves her and Tara, awkwardly dancing around each other. Willow doesn’t know what to think. She doesn’t have long to figure it out.

The front door opens again. You come in first, proud and tense, daring anyone to speak. You’re holding Spike’s hand, clutching it with knuckles white. He remains a half-step behind you, his usual leather and arrogance somewhat marred by the tired, guarded expression on his face, like he’s expecting a stake through the ribs at any second but will gladly take it if it means standing with you. You pause in the entry to the living room, hovering, indecisive.

Willow’s stomach flips. She doesn’t mean to stare, but she can’t help it. The way your fingers are laced with his, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world—as though you’re not standing in a room full of people who once would’ve bled to keep you safe from evil like him. It’s shocking.

Buffy’s the first to speak. Of course she is.

“Really?” she spits, voice like a lash. “You thought this was a good idea? Bringing him he―”

“We didn’t come for your permission, or your blessing,” you say flatly, raising your chin. A blaze burns in your eyes, threatening. “We came because I’m tired of hiding.”

Spike raises his eyebrows slightly, clearly amused despite everything. Willow wants to scream.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Xander cuts in, face red. “No one thought you did. But maybe you should have. Or, I don’t know, used the part of your brain that goes ‘hey, maybe I shouldn’t be having freaky sex with the guy who’s tried to kill everyone in this room?’”

Buffy whirls around to glare at him, but you beat her to it.

“Shut up, Xander,” you snap, the hostility so unlike you. Perhaps you’ve finally been pushed to the edge. Or maybe―just maybe―you’ve found something, someone worth the fight. “You don’t know a damn thing about us.”

“Please,” Xander scoffs. “What, you think that because he’s not killing people anymore, it makes this okay? He’s a monster! He’s—”

“He’s not!” you snap, stepping forward unconsciously. “He’s more human than half the people in this room.”

Willow finally speaks. “He’s a vampire with no soul. Do you even hear yourself?”

You look at her like she’s failed a test you thought she’d pass. “Yeah. I do. Better than you do, apparently.”

She flinches. That stings.

“You think this is some epic romance?” Xander scoffs. “This is Spike. He doesn’t love; he obsesses. You’re just the next thing he’s latched onto.”

Shaking your head, you say, “You’re wrong. He cares about me.”

Buffy’s in Spike’s face before Willow can blink. “Stay away from her. Stay away from my family. You touch her again and I swear to god—”

“Buffy.” Willow tries, she really does. But her voice is small, hesitant. She doesn’t know how to fix this. She doesn’t even know what this is.

Anya chimes in, voice low but unflinching. “This isn’t helping. Yelling at her like this. It’s not going to make her stop loving him.”

Everyone freezes for a moment, surprised. Anya shrugs, then folds her hands primly in her lap. “If yelling could fix love, none of us would’ve ever made a single relationship mistake. But here we are.”

The bite in the room is momentarily thrown off.

You’re shaking now, but not from fear. “I’m not some toy you can shove in a box when it makes you uncomfortable! I’m not yours to protect, or judge, or decide for. I’m the only one who gets to decide who I love.”

“Oh, god,” Buffy mutters, eyes wide with something between horror and heartbreak. “You really think this is love?”

“I know it is.”

Buffy’s breathing is sharp now, unsteady. She’s staring at you like she’s seeing someone else, someone she can’t recognize. Her voice, when it comes, is cracked at the edges. “Giles knew, didn’t he?”

The words land with more weight than Willow expects. There’s no venom in them, only something raw and wounded, almost betrayed.

You flinch, barely. “What?”

“That’s why he left,” Buffy says, eyes narrowing. “He couldn’t watch it. Couldn’t watch you… this.” She gestures to you and Spike like the very sight of you burns.

Willow stiffens, heart sinking. She knows Giles’s departure had nothing to do with you—at least, not directly. But Buffy’s not really asking for answers. She’s lashing out because it’s easier than facing the loneliness that’s been creeping closer every day since he left. Willow can see it in the clench of her jaw, in the brittle shine of her eyes. Buffy’s not stupid. Deep down, she knows the distance between her and Giles is her own doing. But tonight, she needs someone to blame, and it’s fallen on you.

“Don’t put that on her,” Spike says, low and warning.

“Don’t speak,” Buffy snaps, flicking her gaze to him. “You don’t get to talk. You’re the reason she’s like this.”

“I’m not some project he corrupted,” you fire back, shaking now. “I chose him. I wanted him. And he—”

“Stop,” Buffy barks, stepping forward. “Stop talking like… like it means something! Like this is anything but sick.”

The heat radiating off you is palpable. “You don’t get to judge me just because I love someone you couldn’t handle! You want someone to hate? Fine. Hate me. But don’t pretend this is about Spike!”

“Like hell it’s not,” Buffy growls. “You’re dragging him into this house again like he belongs here. Like you do, while you’re—you’re letting him crawl inside you like some… some thing.”

Willow doesn’t even have time to intervene before you go cold, your voice like ice. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare,” Buffy spits. “Because someone has to! Someone has to tell you how disgusting this is—”

“No,” you snap, sharp and clear. “You don’t care about what’s right. You want someone to blame. Someone to scream at, to shove out, so you don’t have to feel the way you feel. Because you’re still mad the world kept turning without you in it.” You gulp, unsteady, readying for the killing blow. “Because my vampire gives me what yours never could. Guess a soul doesn’t count for much after all, does it?”

Buffy raises her hand. Time slows.

The slap cracks across your cheek, the sound sharp and awful. For half a second, everything stills—and then Spike moves, shoving past Willow, fist meeting Buffy’s jaw with a brutal crunch. It sends her stumbling back against the wall.

“Don’t you touch her!” he growls, yellow eyes scorching as his human mask slips, revealing the demon below.

She’s already pulling a stake from her waistband. Tara moves at last.

“Buffy, no!” she gasps, her voice trembling as she reaches out instinctively, but she doesn’t make it far. She halts behind Willow, one hand outstretched like she’s forgotten what she meant to do with it. Her voice cracks. “Don’t do this. This won’t help. None of this will.”

It’s not loud. It’s not enough. But Willow hears it like a bell: clear, desperate, and already too late.

“Buffy, stop—” Willow adds, stepping forward, but you’re already in between them.

“If you kill him,” you warn, “you lose me too.”

Buffy’s hand is frozen mid-air, stake shaking. Like a puppet with its strings cut, her arm falls, stake clattering to the ground. “I can’t even look at you.”

“Then don’t.” You inhale, but it doesn’t steady anything. A strange look passes over your face, your shoulders squaring in some unknown resolution. “Isn’t that what Mom said to you? When you wouldn’t stop being the Slayer long enough to be her daughter?”

Buffy’s face crumples, just for a second. A tear falls. Then she whispers, devastating in its quiet: “Get out.”

No one breathes.

She walks away, slips through the back to the kitchen, and Willow hears the kitchen door slamming shut, the silence that follows unnatural.

You turn to the door.

“Come on,” Xander says, stepping a foot toward you. His hands are raised, his voice placating, like he’s speaking to a little kid. “Don’t… she didn’t mean it. She’s just angry. It doesn’t have to be a―a thing. Cut him loose. That’s all it takes. Let him go, and things can go back to the way they were.”

“That’s all it takes?” you repeat, quiet but deadly. “Toss him aside so Buffy feels better? Like he’s garbage I dragged in and forgot to take out?”

Xander shrugs, defensive. “I’m saying it’ll fix things. Make it right again. So we can… we can all move past this.”

Your eyes lock on him. “So you can all breathe easier. Buffy stops feeling grossed out, you stop feeling threatened. As long as I pay for it—right?”

Willow tries to interject, voice uncertain. “That’s not what he meant—”

You cut her off, sharp.

“It’s exactly what he meant.” You look back to Xander. “You, of all people, Xander. You’ve loved people you weren’t supposed to. What makes me different?”

Xander’s face tightens. Willow has no words.

“I love him,” you say. “He loves me. And there’s nothing any of you can say or do to make me give him up.” It rings with finality, lines drawn once and for all.

A hush descends for a beat. Spike’s voice sounds out, hesitant, uttering your name.

“No,” you tell him firmly, shaking your head. “Don’t even think it.” Your tone gentles, wavers, lower lip trembling. “Let’s… let’s just go, okay? Please?”

He wavers for a moment, searching for something in your expression. Willow sees the subtle slackening of his rigid frame, certainty propelling the nod he directs at you. “Yeah, kitten.”

A wan smile crosses your face. Without so much as glancing back, you let him open the door, hand on the small of your back as you both leave.

Willow casts around the room beseechingly. Xander’s all but shut down, staring at the space you just occupied with an inscrutable look. Anya’s folded in on herself, chin pressed to bent knees and avoiding meeting anyone else’s gaze. Tara clutches the banister, face deathly pale and eyes bright, distraught. A sliver of brown hair at the top of the stairs. Dawn. No one’s moving.

It’s up to her, then.

“Spike,” she calls out, rushing out onto the porch. One final attempt at ending this insanity. “Don’t―don’t let this happen. Don’t… there’s no going back. From this. If she goes now…”

You won’t even look at her. It’s like she’s ceased to exist. Staring up at Spike, you let him lay a hand on your cheek, let him nudge at your temple with the jut of his nose. Your arm’s tucked under his duster, held fast to his waist.

“Wait for me, sweetheart,” he says to you. “I’ll deal with Red for a mo’.”

He pushes you gently in the direction of the tree and you go, sinking to the ground with your back against the trunk. You stare out at the street, something horribly lost and afraid in the shape of your body curled up in a ball. Spike makes his way back up the steps, murder in his eyes. He does nothing―just halts. Stares expectantly.

Willow wavers. “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you hurt us enough?”

Spike barks out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“You know, I held back in there. Let my girl handle it.” He snorts, though there’s nothing funny about this. “Bunch of self-absorbed wankers, you are. S’not about you lot.”

“Then what?” She frowns. She wants to understand. “What is it about? Why?”

Just like that, the fight goes out of him. He sighs, sounding every inch a creature that’s spent the last hundred years scrapping for everything he had, everything he needed. It’s strange, coming from him. Resigned. Weary. Sad.

“Got used to takers, didn’t I?” he says at long last, soft and reminiscent. He’s gazing at you. “Dru. Buffy. Needed me, never wanted me. Never saw me.” His voice is low, guttural. “She… she sees me. She gives. It’s simple, with her. No proving myself. No trying to be something I’m not.”

His eyes flicker to Willow, not accusing. Honest.

“Thought I knew love, before her. I didn’t. Not really.” He taps his chest, softly. “She’s in here. Part of me. I’m not giving her up. Can’t.”

She’s speechless. Her throat is tight, her pulse thrumming with guilt and something else she can’t name. She’s seen people walk away before. But this feels different. Final.

He doesn’t add anything else. Just sighs again, presses his lips together like he’s steeling himself, and slinks back down the walkway that leads away from the house. You reach up to him, childlike, his grasp solid and gentle as he helps you up from where you’re sat. Together, your head against his arm, you leave.

This time, she doesn’t stop you.

Willow stands alone on the porch, heart hammering like she’s finally feeling the spell’s backlash, too late to undo and too late to stop. Her hands tremble at her sides. Some part of her, deep and insistent, whispers that there’s a way to fix this. A ritual, or incantation. A simple one: memory, clarity, obedience. A few words, and she could make this right again. She could make you see sense. Make Spike let go, make Buffy forgive. Make Tara come back.

Just a few words, the magicks whisper. So simple. So clean.

But she doesn’t move. She watches you disappear into the night and tells herself it’s not the magicks calling her. It’s grief. It’s fear.

She doesn’t believe it.

You didn’t mean to cry.

You wanted to keep your head held high, secure in the knowledge that it wasn’t you who broke in that messy, vicious confrontation that you’d known for a while was coming. But the second the crypt door shut behind you, Spike looked at you. Just a look: expectant, forlorn, waiting. You didn’t mean to, but one glimpse of that expression and you crumbled—violent, choking sobs, wilting like a flower left too long without water. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He just gathered you into his arms and let you bury your face in the curve of his neck, let you shake apart against him as you mourned for what could no longer be. And, afterward, when you’d turned into yourself, hollow and spent, he carried you like a baby to bed, nestled you up tight and wound around you like you’d float away if he didn’t.

Days later, he still treats you like glass.

The Spike who once barked sarcasm and wore his smirks like armor has been replaced by someone quieter, gentler, his fingers featherlight and his gaze fixed on you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. When he kisses you, it’s a confessional. He pours out all his sins into the open maw of your mouth like your touch can absolve him of everything he is. When he’s inside you, he moves slow and aching and careful, his words sweet and gasping.

“You’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever had," he murmurs on one occasion, voice thick with awe as he stirs against you, body covering yours. He feels hard and real in you, deep, grounding. His thumb strokes your cheek. "Dunno what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.”

Each thrust is a question, each brush of his lips a promise, his hands holding you like you’re made of silk, like he’s never been capable of destruction. When you call his name, he exhales like it’s a prayer. You both shake by the end, your fingers curled against his spine, his mouth against your temple crooning things neither of you will remember clearly later on.

It’s like he thinks one wrong move will make you bolt. You wish you had the words to convince him of your certainty, but he’s the poet. Words can be manipulated, used to lie and misdirect. He doesn’t believe you when you tell him that you’re staying, that this is for good—but you know he wants to. You know it has less to do with you and more to do with his past, with all the many people who’ve screwed him over and hurt him so badly, so you try not to take it to heart. You let him hover, let him treat you as though you’re a porcelain doll, easily breakable. You should resent it, probably, and part of you does. But mostly, you’re grateful. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask you to prove anything. He just stays.

That morning, he’s pressed against your side, bare skin against bare skin, fingers lazily tracing patterns over your lower back. Save for school, you haven’t left the crypt in days. The bed below ground is new—plush blankets piled over a surprisingly good-quality mattress that he’s dragged in from who-knows-where. He probably stole it, but that habit of his has never bothered you. Besides, you sleep better here than you ever did at home.

“You gonna go back today?” Spike asks. It’s spoken softly, vibrating low against your shoulder. “Get your stuff?”

“Nah.” You shake your head against the pillow, mussing your hair even further. “Last night, while Willow and—while the others were busy, Tara brought Dawn over. She packed my suitcase. Couple important things. Birth certificate, stuff like that. The rest… some other time, maybe.”

Spike was patrolling then, safe in the assumption that you were asleep. It’s not really that surprising that he hasn’t noticed the bags over in the corner.

Now, he hums, lips trailing across your neck. It’s aimless, casual in its intimacy. So like him, like all the love he has to give. Effortless.

“Dawn hugged me,” you add quietly, trying hard to hold back the tears. “Said she saw us. Before. Said Tara and Anya knew, too. That they’re on our side.”

Spike doesn’t reply—just tightens his hold a little. You don’t have to say what you’re both thinking: that support from a few doesn’t make the silence from the rest hurt any less.

You sit up eventually. The crypt can be cold and damp at times, but Spike’s done a pretty great job at softening it up, making it almost livable. There are little touches of normality now: rugs plastering the dirt floor, a mismatched set of mugs, a bookshelf that wobbles only slightly whenever you walk by.

“Come on,” he says, slipping out of the bed like a panther, naked as the day he was born so long ago. It’s a fantastic sight, one that not even low spirits can stop you from admiring: cut muscles, lean form, perfectly proportionate everywhere. He’s a god among men. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You grin. The makeshift shower he’s rigged up is more affection than function. A pilfered showerhead duct-taped to the end of the pipe, a clunky water heater that hums loudly and makes the whole wall clank. It’s not pretty and it doesn’t hide the fact that this really isn’t a place to be living in, but the water is warm. Mostly. He helps you wash your hair, fingers gentle, nails never scratching. You can tell he’s muttering his usual sweet nothings against your skin—jokes, compliments, promises—but as always, it’s impossible to hear over the heater’s groaning.

When the machine abruptly turns off—another short, probably—you can actually hear him curse under his breath.

“Time’s up, baby,” he says, quickly rinsing the last of the conditioner from his bleached hair. You’d helped him touch up the roots yesterday. “Gotta get dry before the pipes go cold again.”

He wraps you in a towel, glaring at the run-down thing like he can make it work through sheer will alone. If anyone could, it would be him, and the sight makes you laugh. It’s the first real one in a while.

Later on, you’re perched on the bed, your homework splayed around you. Spike’s horribly insistent on you getting a good hour a day on it, at least. It reminds you of how Hank should’ve been: razor-focused on your success. Unbearably proud. Insistent that you’re “gonna go places, just you wait.” Instead, all he did was ship you off to boarding school at the first opportunity. Even though you’re probably going to get valedictorian, that reminder always hurts. Like in all things, Spike eases the pain.

You’re about to double-check your references when your phone buzzes. Unknown number. Huh.

You answer. “Hello?”

“You’re living with him?” Angel’s voice is unmistakable, if crackly. The reception’s not so great down here. “Buffy told me.”

Hearing her name pinches something in your chest. You ignore it, rolling your eyes. “Hello to you too, Angel. Sorry, but I’m not interested in hearing your self-righteous opinion today, thanks.”

“You don’t know what he’s like—”

“Don’t care.”

Spike appears in the doorway. He takes the phone gently from your hand.

“Go on, kitten,” he coaxes. You catch the flicker of anger in his eyes, but his voice stays calm. “Finish your essay. I’ll deal with the poof.”

You watch him go, surprised by how civil his tone is as he says, “Oi, Peaches. Got nothin’ better to do with your time than bother my lady?”

When you stick your head upstairs after wrapping everything up, he’s still on the phone. Pacing back and forward, his words are too hushed to pick up. Damn vampire senses. It’s weirdly civil for an exchange with his so-called undead enemy, though you wouldn’t call it friendly—he looks as though he’s about ten seconds away from beating the wall in. Still. You wonder what’s making him so… controlled.

Days bleed together. School, home, school, home, the occasional patrol in places you know Buffy isn’t. You see Dawn in the halls at Sunnydale High, or sometimes when she stops by in the late afternoon with Tara or Anya. You watch Passions with Spike, though most of your focus is occupied by his reactions to whatever mess is going on on-screen. You get your schoolwork done, and you try to get used to this new normal, patching up the giant hole in your heart with these small little glimpses into your old life.

Spike keeps bringing things home like a magpie nesting: a tiny gas stove that sputters and clicks but usually works well enough to make dinner. A battered washing machine that walks a few inches every time it’s used. A foldable hanging line with half its wires snapped. He insists they’re all only temporary, but he never says what he’s waiting for. Neither do you.

Graduation looms nearer. Your final scores are out, though the victory is hollow. No one will be there to celebrate, will they? Or only some will. You wonder which option is worse. When school gets out, you begin the trek home in despondent silence. Usually, you’d hum a tune to yourself or maybe even read as you walk, but you just feel drained. Going through the motions, you stop by the bathroom next to the cemetery’s reception building. After, you meander through the grass, letting your feet take you along your customary route while your mind spins in circles, lethargic.

That’s when you see her.

Buffy.

She’s waiting outside the crypt, sitting on the stoop. Smaller than you remember. Her expression is weary, aged. She looks how you feel. When your feet crunch on dead leaves, her head snaps up and she makes eye contact with you. The corner of her mouth twitches in an almost-smile. That’s how you know she’s not here to duke it out again. Not intentionally.

Steeling yourself, you move toward her, step around her form as you dig through your pocket for the key to the lock Spike’s jerry-rigged to make things safer. The door swings open, too loud in the stillness of this moment. You enter, but don’t shut the door behind you—an unspoken invitation. She takes it.

You turn and watch Buffy look around with something like disbelief. She takes in the kettle, the electronics, the random décor. The laundry line, full as it can be with yours and his clothing. The half-dead pot plant Spike brought home because you mentioned you liked sunflowers. The photographs you’ve tacked to the musty walls of friends, family, of you and him.

“I thought… I thought this was just a phase,” she says finally. No hello, then. Her gaze travels back to you, wide and vulnerable. “I thought you’d leave him.”

You fold your arms, chin high—not combative, just done entertaining this. “I’m not stupid, and I don’t do things for the hell of it. You should know that.”

Something unreadable flickers in her face. A fight, maybe. But no—she sighs, a sound of complete and utter defeat. “I do now.”

Neither of you talk for a moment. Spike chooses this time to appear from the trapdoor, deliberately slow, telegraphing his movements like your sister’s a wounded animal backed into a corner. She stares at him as he approaches. He lowers himself carefully into the beaten-up armchair. You settle on his knee, in part to shield him from any attempt by her to follow through on her actions from the other week, but mostly because you can. You want to. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t comment on it. It’s awkward. Painful.

Finally, Buffy clears her throat.

“Come home,” she urges you. You blink. You weren’t expecting that. She pushes on, ignoring the snort from Spike beneath you. “I’m not saying I’m okay with—with this. I’m not. But I’ll… I’ll deal. Maybe he’ll grow on me.”

“Thanks ever so,” he mutters. His hand tenses on your thigh when she levels him with a withering sneer.

“No,” you tell her. “I’m not going to let you or anyone else try to trick me into giving him up. We’re a package deal. Where he goes, so do I.”

She frowns. “That’s—I’m not gonna try and break you up. I’m not that petty.”

“Well, then,” you say, “I guess I just don’t trust you anymore. How am I supposed to believe you?”

Buffy flinches, looking away. Her arms fold on themselves as her eyes begin to glisten.

“Ouch.” She takes a breath. “But… I deserve that.”

A pause.

“I meant it, Buff.” The words come out quiet, but firm. “When I said I love him. I know that it—I know you’re upset, but I’m not sorry for what I feel. And I won’t be made to believe it’s wrong. It isn’t.”

She raises her hands, a white flag. “Okay, okay. It’s just…”

Again, she glances around, but this time it’s like she’s looking at something particularly disgusting. You bristle despite yourself.

“What—what kind of life can he give you?” she asks, pleading as she turns once more to you. You notice that she’s not once stepped foot down the steps into the main area. “I mean… are you really going to stay here? What about a future—marriage, kids? How are you gonna support yourself?” At your scoff, she adds, “I’m just being realistic here. Somebody’s gotta be.”

“God, Buffy,” you snap, standing up. “Not everyone wants the same things you do. And who’s to say I’ll even live long enough to seriously consider stuff like that? It’s the Hellmouth.”

“Oi.” Spike taps the outside of your knee—the nearest part of you in reach—in reprimand. “Don’t say things like that. S’not good for my constitution.”

Buffy huffs. “You don’t have a constitution, Spike. You’re a vampire.”

“Do too,” he retorts immaturely. Then, all of a sudden, he coughs awkwardly, scratching his neck. “Dunno about the rest of it. But I—uh—I got a place. Decent, but not much. Has a proper bathroom, bedroom. All the fixings. Near the cemetery, so I can still keep my hunt. Near your bus stop, too, baby.”

This is news to you. “Huh?”

Spike raises an eyebrow at you, gesturing around. “What—think this here was my choice? Dru took all me cards ’n stuff when she ran off with that chaos demon. Order of Aurelius’s got a fair bit of dosh squirrelled away.”

Here, his chin tips up arrogantly, smug as any vampire with a lineage like his would get. Your nostrils flare, a smile tugging at your lips even in the tense atmosphere. Buffy’s not interested in discussing pedigree, though.

“Then why didn’t you just get it back?” she asks skeptically. “Not hard to call a bank.”

“Is when it’s a demon bank, Slayer.” He rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “‘Sides, gotta get permission for that. Most senior member, all that rot.” He looks down. “Didn’t want to give Peaches the satisfaction. Y’know, of asking for help,” he mutters. “Sodding wanker.”

Oh. Oh. That’s what he was talking about on the phone with Angel. Something warm and impossibly affectionate wells in your chest.

Buffy studies him. “What changed?”

The weight of his stare falls on you, full of significance. It’s an answer all in itself.

I love him, I love him, I love him, you think, heart full to bursting. You’re overcome with the urge to reach down, kiss him, thank him with everything you have for tearing up his pride and throwing it away just to give you a home. A real one—with him.

You see Buffy’s face change as she begins to understand. To see what you see. It’s dawning on her, that maybe she’s got the wrong idea about him. You’re sure the shattering of her worldview is as painful to her as her slap was to you. A strange sort of peace follows this realization.

No one says anything for a while. It’s strained, but not hostile. Not anymore.

“I’m—I’m gonna go now,” she says at long last. There’s no dejection in her voice now, but a quiet sort of acceptance instead. To Spike, she adds, “Take care of her. I’m… I’m trusting you.”

You know what it means to him to hear that—not just for your sake, but for everything he once felt for her. When he nods, it’s full of unspoken confidence. “Of course.”

She turns to you, and you’re heading toward her before you even realize it. Coming face-to-face, eye-to-eye—for the first time in a long time, it feels—a stone in the pit of your stomach starts to finally work its way free.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice breaking.

You step into her arms, hug her, feel the iron band of her arms squeezing you too tight, too much for your bird-bones. You feel them grind below your skin. It hurts, not only physically, but you do it anyway. You breathe her in—shampoo, sweat, and that familiar weight of the world she always seems to carry. She’s trying. You can feel it, the way you’re trying too. When she pulls away, there are tears in her eyes. You don’t wipe them away.

What’s broken isn’t fixed. Not nearly. But maybe, one day, it could be.

Spike waits until she’s gone to speak. “You alright?”

You glance toward the door, then back at him—this strange, stubborn vampire who’s built you a home out of scraps and love.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching for his hand. And this time, you mean it.

Spike loves his unlife.

He hasn’t always. There’d been a decade or two of repletion—rage and rot and revelry, blood from the veins of whores in Paris and cowards in Prague, nothing lasting, nothing real. The rest? Just endless nights and meaningless hunger, and the thrill of fear cracking open in a scream. Thought he had something, with Dru, ’til she pissed off and left him. Then Buffy came along, all fire and fury, and he thought, Yes. This. This is meaning. Purpose.

He doesn’t know. Not until you. Not until now.

Not until this: you on your knees, bent forward across the mattress, spine a taut bow beneath his palms, back arched as he thrusts into you with filthy, measured force. You’re folded down over the bed, your cheek pressed to the pillow and drooling, hands fisted in the sheets, body trembling beneath the relentless pace he sets. Your thighs are already drenched with both of you, his cock disappearing into your perfect, aching cunt over and over, the sound of it obscene, wet and sharp and constant.

The room is dim and hot, the air choked with sex and the smell of skin and sweat. Tangy, piquant. Gorgeous. The sheets are kicked down to your calves, twisted up under your knees. Your moans are high and bitten off, teeth buried in the pillow as you try to quiet yourself. Habit, that—leftover fear. For so long, you’ve both lived in the silence, in the shadows, sneaking and muffling and hushing every cry.

But not anymore.

“Go on, baby,” he rasps, bent over your back, his mouth dragging slow kisses over your spine. “Let ’em hear you. Nobody left to catch us now.”

You whimper, hips pushing back instinctively, greedy for more. He grins, sharp and delighted, bringing his palm down on your arse in a light slap, the sound echoing. Your whole body jolts. You keen around the pillow, voice breaking into something raw and helpless.

“Uh—Spike!”

“That’s it,” he says, all gritting teeth as you squeeze down hard, dizzying enough to choke the veins in his prick. The demon peeks out for a moment, control slipping. “That’s my girl.”

It still astonishes him sometimes—how much you like this. How much you crave being split open, filled full, stretched past your limit until you’re crying and shaking and still begging for more. Turns out the chip doesn’t fire when the victim likes the pain, and bloody hell, do you ever. You like it when he’s reverent, whispering soft, desperate poetry into your cunt, but you love it when he’s like this: filthy, possessive, shagging you like he owns every inch of your body.

And he does.

He watches the way your shoulders shake, the flushed skin of your back shivering each time he slams into you. Watches your fingers clutch the pillow like a lifeline. Watches your body bloom under him, red and marked, so alive.

“Bloody goddess, you are,” he growls into the crook of your neck, panting against the salt of your sweat. “Tightest little snatch I’ve ever had. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You nod frantically, breath catching on a sob as you try to speak. Can’t. The words never make it past the pillow, and you give up trying. Instead, you just feel, bucking back against him, desperate and loud now, your cries slipping free without shame.

“Say it,” he hisses, slamming into you harder, deeper. He feels the twinge of your answering wail in the back of his head, threatening, splitting his lips apart in a vicious smile. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, nearly sobbing. “Yours, Spike, ’m yours—”

Your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave. You yowl into the pillow, cunt knotting around him so fiercely it makes him snarl, hips stuttering for only a moment before he keeps going. You’re whimpering now, all breathy and high and wrecked from the overstimulation, your voice cracking every time his cock punches deep into your oversensitive walls.

“S’too much,” you whine, but your body never stops moving, still pressing back against him, still so greedy for it.

“Oh, you can take it,” he pants, mouth at your ear, voice low and hungry. “You’re so good like this—fallin’ apart for me, still lettin’ me fuck you through it.”

He’s obsessed. Obsessed with how you quake under him, how your cunt keeps fluttering and squeezing like it doesn’t want to let him go. He groans, driving into you harder, chasing his release with a fervour that borders on worship. You sob again, and he can’t stop himself. He wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you back, chest flush to your spine, shoving up into you at a brutal, punishing pace.

When he comes, it’s with a guttural shout, hips grinding deep, prick pulsing as he fills you. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even try to pull out. Knows you like it messy and trickling afterward, how it makes him mad with wanting.

You collapse to the mattress, winded and utterly stunning. He stays braced over you, breathing hard even though he doesn’t need to, pressing kisses to your spine and shoulder and hair. You’re trembling, still twitching beneath him. You don’t let him go. Instead, you reach back, grab his hand, pull him down to lie with you, still buried deep in the slick patch you’ve both made.

He rolls the both of you onto your sides, panting, trembling, your sweet little quim keeping him locked inside like it means something. Like it always has.

“Don’t go,” you murmur, voice hoarse and wrecked, fingers clutching his arm like a tether. Your face is rosy, flushed with exertion, and so bloody beautiful it twists something violent inside him.

“Not planning on it,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

The bed is new. Big. Expensive. Mattress so plush it makes him want to roll around like a pampered tabby. The apartment is still shite in a lot of ways—rickety fridge, a coffee table with one short leg—but it’s his. Yours. And Glinda’s out for the night, enjoying her life instead of staying on the pull-out sofa in the living room as she has since realisin’ she’d got too used to the peace of rooming off-campus. There’s all the time in the world to lay here, linger, or at least it feels that way.

You’re still wet around him. Still clenching, pulsing every few minutes with aftershocks, like your body hasn’t quite gotten the message that he’s finished. Greedy. Filthy, greedy girl. His baby. His sunshine princess, all aglow with love and lust.

Spike’s cock twitches in response, and you both feel it. You tilt your head, meet his eyes. He kisses your collarbone before raising a brow, smirking.

“Fancy round two?” he asks, sick with the feeling racing in his veins. The need. A constant, thrumming thing, near breaking him into pieces.

You laugh, breathless and delighted and gorgeous.

Things have settled into something approaching normal; or, well, a new normal. Spike’s never had a normal quite like this before. Little Bit’s over all the buggering time, mostly to steal your clothes and pilfer through his things and fill the place with her junk food and loud music, but she likes the apartment. Likes the big window in the living room when the blackout curtain’s pushed to the side. Likes the sitting area, big telly showing MTV in crystal clear graphics, and the way his stuff looks less ramshackle and stolen and more deliberately incongruous. She really likes the bathroom, with its big tub and generous vanity. It’s why he got the place, to be fair: something nice for his girl, forced to walk into the chill of night to use the loo for all those months. None of that here.

The rest of the lot trickle in too, one by one. Always awkward, always uncertain. Like they’re not sure if this is a visit or reconnaissance. Red’s come by twice, once with baked goods she barely managed to make eye contact while offering. No one else wants to put up with her right now, so he entertains it best he can. Demon girl stops in randomly with opinions about the wallpaper and detailed suggestions about spicing up your sex life. You laugh, Spike doesn’t. Bint’s awful presumptuous, thinking he needs help getting you off. The Slayer shows up, digging into every nook and cranny like she’s trying to find a reason this won’t work. She offers a strained smile at the end of her visit, unsatisfied. Bitch. Even the boy shows up once, a six-pack in hand and his mouth pressed in a tight line, nearly disappearing off his ugly mug. He doesn’t say much. Doesn’t have to. He looks at you—glowing, happy, curled up against Spike’s side in that ratty old blanket—and nods. Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t start fights. For now, that’s enough.

And then there’s Peaches.

He arrives like a thundercloud, tall and grim, taking up too much space and too much air. He walks the apartment like he’s cataloguing faults, eyes landing on the ghosts of water rings on the coffee table, the mismatched pillows, the scuff on the wall from when you’d tripped and knocked over the lamp. He doesn’t say anything outright, but the judgment radiates off him like heat.

Spike doesn’t bother pretending. Your legs are slung over his lap, and he strokes lazy circles into your calf with his thumb, teases his fingers under the hem of your skirt. Loves your dresses. How wicked it makes him, copping a feel of all that innocence. You shift closer to him, head resting against his shoulder, fingers tracing patterns over his collarbone, casual and affectionate and utterly his. Spike feels like a king. Tall, dark and forehead scowls the entire time you make harmless small talk. It’s glorious.

Later, after you disappear down the hall to dig through the pantry or put away some other sundry item—Spike’s not even sure—Angel finally makes his move. He waits until your footsteps fade, until the apartment quiets. Spike doesn’t look at him at first. Just listens to the silence. Then, slowly, his gaze returns to his grandsire.

Angel’s arms are crossed, his brow a storm cloud. He looks like he’s swallowed a lemon. Wanker. “You really think this is going to last?”

Spike leans back into the couch, cool as sin, folding one ankle over his knee. “Dunno. Been plenty long already. She’s still here, yeah? Still laughs at my jokes. Still screams my name. That’s gotta count for somethin’.”

Angel winces like someone’s sprayed holy water up his arse. Spike savours it.

“You’re reckless,” the big, strapping hero mutters. “You always have been. This—her—she’s not just a fling you can—”

“Watch your bloody mouth,” Spike snaps. The amusement’s gone in a blink, replaced with something cold and lethal. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. Not after the way you dangled the Slayer on a chain like she was the only thing between you and damnation.”

Peaches opens his mouth, then shuts it again. There’s no defense.

Spike leans forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low. “She’s not some passing fancy, mate. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if you can’t see that, maybe it’s not her you should be worried about.”

Angel looks away. “She’s not like us,” he says finally. Quietly.

Spike’s smile softens. “No,” he agrees. “She’s better.”

The silence hangs for a long beat. Angel doesn’t have anything left. Nothing worth saying. He looks like he wants to argue, wants to do something, but there’s nothing left to fight. Spike’s not giving him anything to push against. Then you come back in, grocery list in hand, all nonchalant in your ease.

“Honey,” you say, “I’m heading out. You want more Weetabix?”

Spike beams. “Yeah. And maybe those little marshmallows?”

Your grin is blinding, waving the list about like he’s guessed correctly. He knows you’ve already written it down. “I know what you like.”

It hits him like a sledgehammer, then. How you see him―not the vampire, not the body, not the snarl, but all of it. And you love it anyway.

He reaches into his wallet, pulls out his brand-new credit card—the one Captain Forehead set him up with, the only thing he’s ever been good for—and hands it to you. “Take this, yeah?”

“I’ve got money,” you say, stubborn as ever, but smiling.

“I’ll spank you if you don’t let me pay,” he teases, voice low and fond. “And don’t pout. Gonna get that lip if you ain’t careful.”

You giggle, step in close, lean down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Pervert,” you whisper, your lips lingering a second longer on his skin.

“Only for you.”

And then he watches, all dumbstruck and dopey, as you take the card, tuck it into your purse, and head out the door.

The silence that follows is thick. He doesn’t look at Angel. Doesn’t need to, because—for the first time in a long time—he doesn’t care what the poof thinks. He’s got everything he wants, and the poor sod knows it. The satisfaction in shutting the door on his slack, stupid face makes Spike want to laugh and laugh until his dead lungs crumble to dust.

His days pass in a blur of disgusting bliss. Truly, it makes him think sometimes that he should hang up his post as Big Bad. He’s got to be testing some cosmic force, being so unbelievably happy with his lot, but he doesn’t get struck down by a flying spell, or staked, or zapped into some other dimension. Nah, he keeps kicking. He gets to be with you.

Attending your graduation day is hell: sunlight everywhere, too many people, a mish-mash of scents that, if he were living, would make him gag. But he does it anyway. Sneaks in through the sewers, creeps up through the sub-basement of Sunnydale High, taking his awkward place by Little Bit and the others in the bleachers.

It’s all worth it when he sees you. Radiant, cap tilted, gown a little too big.

You cross the stage with that bright smile he loves, all cheeks and squinted eyes, shaking hands and collecting your little rolled-up paper. And, when you step up to the podium to give your big first-place speech, it’s like you were born to it—clever, kind, full of biting humour and practiced to perfection. The whole damn place hangs on your every word, and he feels pride well up like it’s his own achievement, seeing you up there.

His clever girl. His light.

Afterward, he lingers with your sisters, with the odd assortment of people you’ve chosen as family. He sticks out like a sore thumb, so clearly not part of the group, but that’s never bothered him before. You rush to them, beaming, diploma in hand and cute little cap askew as they take their turns congratulating you, voices overlapping in their relief and pride.

Spike doesn’t bother with platitudes. When you turn to him, he does what he does best and shows you how proud he is by tugging you into his body, mouth pressing down against yours. Long. Hungry. A little too much tongue. He overhears someone nearby make a fuss about it, but he doesn’t give a fig, and neither do you. The world is your oyster now, and he’s too excited to see what you make of it now that you’re free.

That night, he takes you dancing.

The Bronze is a hole, always has been—one day soon, he’ll take you to the real spots he’s seen on his jaunts through unlife—but it’s what passes for a good time in this sorry town. He lets you spend a few paltry minutes with your friends, decent bloke that he is. Besides, it means he gets to relish in the look on their faces when they realise for the thousandth time that your presence is only temporary, that soon enough, you’ll head back to where you truly belong. To him. So he nurses his beer as you laugh with them, dance with Dawn and the Slayer, bounce around like a stoned rabbit with Lackbrain and demon girl and Glinda, and he waits.

Eventually, you come to him as you always do.

He doesn’t need to be asked. Taking you in his arms, he presses close and sways you about to some pathetically sappy slow song that you probably don’t even like. But you’re warm, and happy, and he can feel the eyes on you both.

Spike’s always felt them.

They’ve all seen you together at some point. By accident, by circumstance, through open doorways and down dark hallways. They’ve seen the truth of it: the way you cling, the way you gasp, the way you let him worship you with teeth and tongue and desperate hands. He doesn’t give a single rat’s arse. He’s evil.

And god, Christ and all the saints he’s ever remembered the names of, he loves you.

He never expected this. Never expected you. You were cute. Smart. Sharp. He thought you’d be a momentary distraction, a splash of intrigue while he waited for Buffy to make her mind up about him. Buffy: a splash of color in his grey, dismal world. But then—you. Accepted him, listened like the stuff he said was important, like he mattered. Defended him, never shied away, never called him a thing or a demon or a monster, even though that’s what he is, what he’ll always be. You crept up on him, quiet and subtle-like until he caught sight of you across the room, laughing at something Xapper was saying to you, and it hit him over the head like your mum with that axe all those years ago. You happened, and he realised the truth. You have his dead, unbeating, black heart in your hand, and it fits there like it was always meant to.

He knows now. You’re the Gem of Amara in bitty, beautiful human form. Not just colour, but a supernova, blazing and teeming with vitality. Being with you is like feeling the sun on his face every goddamned day. Spike’s whole world is brighter with you in it.

Still, even now, there’s a flicker of doubt in his chest. A shadow. The part of him that’s been broken too many times. This can’t last, it whispers. This is too good, too soft. Things like this—things like her—don’t stay.

Then you look up at him, eyes sparkling under the Bronze’s lights. Your arms loop around his neck, your forehead presses against his. You breathe him in like you mean to keep him, and you say, “I love you, Spike.”

He closes his eyes, and just like that, the shadow’s gone. Everything’s still.

“I love you, Spike.”

He closes his eyes, and for once, the world is quiet. There’s only you.

It’s always been only you.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64333024/chapters/165146395

[novemberheart]

{overview} It is finally time to meet Simon.

{warnings} Female reader, a/b/o dynamics

Chapter 3 <- Chapter 4 -> Chapter 5

The cafeteria was nice. Each corner had an area to get food. Two of the corners were offering the same thing, burgers or pizza along with some sides. Kyle explained one corner was for specialized food or allergies and the other corner was for drinks, vending machine snacks, and desserts. You decided on pizza, with fries, a fruit salad and some water.

John carried your tray for you.

It was interesting to see how people reacted to them. They moved quickly out of their way, staring at you in slight disbelief. You could pick out a few omegas just by the way they looked, none of them seemed very friendly.

As you sat a purr erupted from a nearby alpha at your scent. To your surprise Kyle was the first to react, quickly moving between the two of you, a commanding growl leaving him before you could even begin to feel unsafe. Kyle didn't even need to look over his shoulder at the alpha. A beta overpowering an alpha with just one noise wasn't something you got to see every day. It was clear why people steered away from them.

Lunch was relatively silent, most of the conversation between Kate and John was about logistical stuff. She asked if he had looked over the files she had sent him concerning things about you. He nodded, quickly recalling your birthday, where you were born, and your height.

“I didn't even know I had a file,” you added absentmindedly.

“I'll show it to you sometime,” John promised.

After lunch, Kate began to bid her farewells. You gasped softly, your hand instinctively gripping onto her arm.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” John said, leading Kyle around the corner with him.

“Don't you feel a bit better?” Kate questioned. You shook your head.

“Can't you stay for a bit longer?” you practically whined.

“Honey, I'll still be here on base. I just need to finalize some paperwork. I'll call you tonight to check on you, promise.” Her tone was soft like you were a frightened alley cat.

“I don't think I'm ready to be alone with them. What if something happens?” You pleaded, the smell of lemons starting to flow off of you.

“None of that,” she whispered encouragingly. “Remember what we talked about in the car. Nothing will happen to you. I would never put you in harm's way. Now be the good little omega I know you are, okay?” She ran her hand up and down your arms to ground you.

With a slight wobble of your chin, you finally agreed. Giving her a tight hug, you took a deep breath and rounded the corner where John and Kyle were resting against the wall. You wondered if they had heard you. You gave one last look back at Kate who gave you a tough ‘you can do it’ glare.

“Ready?” John asked, causing your attention to go to him.

“Yeah.” You said softly.

Medical was a daunting place. It smelled sterile, and the air was blasting to filter out all the different scents going on. The lights were bright and the furniture sharp and clinical. As you walked you couldn't help but move a bit closer to Kyle. You went up then around then up again before you finally stopped.

“Tavy.” Kyle greeted. You didn't move from your place behind Kyle. Kyle handed him a wrapped-up burger he had taken from the cafeteria.

“Thanks, mate.” His voice was deep, just like all of them. It held a pleasant growl in it that sent a shiver up your spine. “Where’s the pup?” you heard him ask. Kyle looked over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile on his face. He took a step to the side.

He was handsome, of course. Although it wasn't the first time you had seen him he looked even better here, despite the harsh lighting and obvious lack of sleep he's had.

“Pretty thing aren't ya?” His tone wasn't condescending or even malicious. It was sweet, sincere, and softer than before like he knew you were on the edge of being startled. “How was the drive-in?” it was the first normal question you had been asked since your arrival.

“Good, thank you. Started to rain pretty hard,” you answered. He offered you a small smile, before plopping down in a seat. He patted the one next to him, prompting you to sit.

“John Mactavish. But most people call me Johnny." He didn't want you to call him ‘Soap’. Soap was who he was out there. You weren't to be associated with that. You introduced yourself softly. He dug into his burger asking you questions throughout. Kyle sat next to you, while John decided to step into what you assumed was Simons's room.

“Where are you from?”

“What do you like to do?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

It was all surface stuff but it slowly began to etch away at your nervous scent.

“Kyle was right, you do smell good,” Johnny smirked. You could feel Kyle tense from next to you. You shifted in your seat a bit embarrassed.

You don't know why your scent is extra powerful. It always has been even when you were little. It was one of the things that gave away your status before you had even grown into it. All the doctors you've had haven't been able to figure it out either. You would just chalk it up to luck but you weren't quite sure it made you lucky.

John stepped back out of the room.

“He's asleep.” He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“He woke a bit earlier. Wasn't angry, just grumpy but that's normal, aye?” Johnny chuckled.

“Do you want me to go in?” You spoke up. You weren't stupid. You knew the main reason you were here was for this very reason.

“Only if you feel comfortable,” John checked. You swallowed down the nerves that Johnny hadn't fixed yet and got out of the hard blue seat.

“You’ll stay right outside?” you asked, focusing your attention on Kyle. He was the one you felt the most comfortable with at the moment. He quickly nodded his head, moving to sit in the seat closest to the door.

“You'll be fine, yeah? He wouldn't hurt you, even in a dazed state.” Kyle assured, giving you the last little bump you needed.

You slipped inside the door, closing it quietly behind you. The man was massive. You could see that even from the door, his hulking frame taking up all of the hospital bed. His chest rose and fell softly. He wasn't hooked up to any machines, but his bones seemed heavy. He must be pretty medicated. You took a seat next to the bed.

You weren't quite sure what to do. There wasn't much to look at. He had a medical paper mask covering the bottom part of his face. He had dark ginger hair and light lashes. You wondered what color his eyes were. Maybe a green? Or maybe brown?

Suddenly the door opened. Your head whirled around to see John still standing there stepping out of the way for a nurse. She closed the door behind her. She smelled heavily of pheromone blockers. She must've just put some on before she entered.

“You must be his omega?” She hummed softly in greeting.

“Oh well-yeah.” You decided it was best to just agree.

“You must be new around here. I usually work up in the Omega ward and I've never seen or smelt you before.” She chuckled softly.

“It's true I am new to this. All of this.” you sighed your eyes wracking across Simons's large frame. “You wouldn't happen to have any pointers would you?”

“Are you two bonded?” she asked, making you shake your head. “I figured. Well if you were bonded, physical touch is usually what's recommended. I would project your scent and talk to him. It sounds silly but I also think patients can listen to you even when they aren't entirely there.” She explained, taking his temperature. “Low grade fever. That's progress.” she sighed, writing it on a chart. “Let me know if you have any other questions, hun.” She smiled at you warmly before heading towards the door.

You slumped in your seat, eyes still trained on the rising and falling of his chest. “Probably have a fever because you're all covered up,” you muttered. You stood, working slowly at pulling the blankets away from his shoulders and down to his stomach. “Nice tattoos.” You complimented. You grabbed a hold of his hand, lifting his arm so it was above the covers. You moved around the bed doing the same to the other side. “Should also have a cool towel on your head.” you groaned, looking around the room. You went into the bathroom, found a small hand towel, and ran it under cold water.

You hesitantly placed the cool towel on his forehead. You half expected his eyes to snap open and attempt to take a bite out of you. Instead, a gentle rumble shook his chest- it felt almost like a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” you replied in a whisper with a short smile on your face. The rumble disappeared as soon as it came, but you got the meaning behind it. With a sigh, you plopped back down in your chair. “I’m here for you, y’know.” You don't know where it came from, but it suddenly felt easy to talk to him. “They are all worried about you. They all have bags under their eyes and they take turns keeping watch outside your door. So I hope you're working on getting better and not just taking a holiday. Even though I'm sure you deserve one.” you added.

“You don't look like a Simon either. Not that I can see your face all that good. Don't worry I won’t take off your mask.” You assured him even though it was eating you away wanting to know what he looked like. “You seem more like an Axel or Diesel. Something tough. Not that Simon is bad.” you rambled. “When I was little I had a hamster named Simon. He lived quite a while, but he passed away after my dad slammed a door a little too loud. Poor thing.” you muttered, resting your feet against a small ledge below the bed. All was quiet.

‘Project your scent.’ the nurse's words repeated in your head.

“If it's too overwhelming, twitch or groan or something,” you warned. You shut your eyes imagining your scent as a soft white light escaping your form. It was something they taught you at your omega-holding house. The room began to fill with the smell of peaches and vanilla. You wondered if Simon would have a similar reaction to John. You didn't have to wait long to find out.

It wasn't exactly a growl but it wasn't a purr either. It was baritone and instantly made your omega swoon. You tried your best to ignore it and just focus on the task at hand. You continued projecting for another minute, before deciding to stop before it became too much for either of you.

The gravelly rumble continued. What surprised you was the accompanying scent. It was a smokey leather with an end note of black licorice. It was warm, masculine, and slightly overpowering.

“Touché.” you sniffled, scratching at your nose. It wasn't a bad smell, you just weren't used to male alpha musk. All the men you knew were omegas and betas. It also seemed wearing scent blockers was popular at the base. You couldn't blame them, all the different scents in one space could drive even the most trained people insane.

“Don't dish it out if you can't take it.” it was strained and crackly. You sat up in your seat, watching for his next move.

“Do you want me to get someone? A nurse? John?” you questioned lowly.

“No.” he groaned. “Just give me a minute.” he rasped.

“Okay.” you breathed, sinking back down into your seat. You suddenly realize he must be thirsty. You remember seeing some refreshments by the door. You grabbed a paper cup filled it with water and finished it off with a bendy straw. “I'm going to lift your mask just a tiny bit for the straw.” he didn't disagree or pull away. Your fingers trembled slightly. His lips were chapped. Maybe later he would let you put some chapstick on him. Your eyes crinkled at the thought.

You held the straw up to the corner of his mouth and he finished the cup in two gulps. “More?” you asked softly.

“Please.” his voice didn't sound as hoarse. This repeated two more times before he finally began to feel satiated. “Thank you,” he muttered. He had yet to open his eyes. You gripped the corner of the mask pulling it back down. You also flipped the cold towel on his head to the other side. His brows relaxed as the chill began to set in.

“You know my name?” he asked suddenly.

“Simon,” you responded quickly. “My name is”-

“I know your name, pup.” he cut you off. “Johnny and Kyle haven't shut up about it.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Depends if you like having your ankles nipped at.” he had a smirk in his voice. You giggled quietly.

A few moments passed of comfortable silence before you decided to push your luck.

“Can I ask what happened to you?” You asked hesitantly.

“You just did.” He responded bluntly. “Don’t remember too much honestly. I remember hearing an explosion, feeling hot then feeling the floor disappear from under me.”

You winced.

“That must’ve been scary. I’m sorry.” You said sincerely. His lashes fluttered open. Brown. His eyes were brown. But closer to the golden end of the spectrum.

“My fault. I signed up for it.” he sighed.

Hi friends! Hope you are enjoying the series so far! See you in two days for chapter 5!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The happy ending of Chapter 7 somehow makes me scared. It feels like something bad is going to happen next...

You can read my thoughts on the book 7 conclusion here!]

Calm before the storm... I just hope whatever’s next isn’t even LONGER than book 7 💦

At this point, there's no official confirmation for what's coming after (what I expect to be) book 8. However, I've been seeing a lot of... doomposts worrying that Twst will shut down as soon as the main story wraps up, which is just silly and plain untrue. (It makes me wonder if such comments are coming from people who are new to gacha games? Or if these comments are being made while the poster is running very high on emotions and not thinking rationally.) Let me tell you: that's NOT how any of this works. Gacha games DON'T terminate service as soon as they finish their main story. Live service games will generally only shut down if they have insufficient interest or revenue to keep it going, and that is most likely not the case for Twst seeing as how it has tons of merch, as well as several ongoing adaptations (anime, manga, light novel, etc.). Like, I'm pretty certain Twst regularly brings in several million yen a MONTH. One way or another, there will almost certainly be a follow-up to this first "arc" of the main story.

How long do we have to wait for the next main story update? No clue. It has varied a ton for Twst; there's no set schedule. For reference, here's the amount of time we had to wait between the end of a book + the start of the next book (you'll notice that the time spent waiting between each book drop increases/correlates with the length of the book):

books 1 + 2 end and book 3 start - 12 days

book 3 end and book 4 start - 39 days

book 4 end and book 5 start - 122 days

book 5 end and book 6 start - 337 days

book 6 end and book 7 start - 469 days

It's not a line said in the update, it's just a popular meme format. Not sure about where exactly it comes from, but all you do is say "This truly is/was our [insert title of the media here]."

I believe it's meant to be a dry way of commenting on endings in the same way you might go, "Yup, that just happened" or, "Maybe the real treasure was the friends we made along the way."

Sebek's for real such a softie 😭 HE CRIES OVER HAPPY ENDINGS, HOW IS THAT NOT CUTE????? Make me think he gets all emotional when he reads a good romance novel too...

asdsjvasvufoyefefai I still laugh in disappointment that the Dawn Knight is just a Silver recolor 💦 We could have gotten such a cooler design!! AND POOR LEAH, she gets no representation in her son's physical appearance 💀 even though she's such a stunning and gentle-looking woman...

***New character design + outfit spoilers below the cut!***

LIKE C'MON SKBFHLDFILBAFDBIAF ARE YOU REALLY GONNA SIT HERE AND TELL ME SILVER'S MOM DOESN'T AHVE IT GOOING' ON??????? ? ??? 🤡 Takea away the tiara and fancy gown, put her in a potato sack, and she'd STILL look amazing.

Of the two new outfits for the Diasomnia boys, I think I definitely prefer Silver's look! It's simple but very classic and regal. I love how the collar of the cape is half folded down and the pattern on the inner lining...

Malleus looks cool too, but personally I find it a little overdesigned, even when compared to the outfit Maleanor had. My eyes are pulled to his horn ornaments and jutting shoulder pads, or the thorns that snake around his boots. I get lost in all the stuff in the middle... What really bugs me out though is that... V-neck... for his top. It looks weird on Malleus because I'm so used to seeing his skin there covered up. sadbhliabsdabsp Draconia cleavage jumpscare to cap off book 7 💀

[ruesol]

catalyst - chapter 5

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x fem!reader)

fanfic masterlist

The frantic knocking on your door made you jump out of bed. “Sukuna, what are you—is that blood?” The tall man moved past you. You rubbed your eyes and followed him to your bedroom, body warm and still delirious from sleep.

You tried to grab onto his arm to get him to look at you, but the man was swift with his movements, shuffling around the room in flashes of pink and red. His leather jacket hanging off of his lean and broad shoulders. “Sukuna, what’s wrong with your face? There’s blood everywhere.”

 “No time to answer. You still have my stuff, right?” You almost didn’t notice the duffle bag he was carrying. It seemed like he was going on a short trip. 

“Yeah, but what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

No answer. It was like he was in his own world, turning your closet-sized room into a hurricane while looking for his clothes. You felt like a lone tree standing within the storm, wavering with every gust of wind blowing through your branches. 

Sukuna hastily shoved in whatever was left of his things and finally turned to look at you. Eyes blank, face battered. “Let’s end this.” 

Your blood ran cold. Your roots were beginning to lift out of the ground. “What?” 

“Let’s break up. We haven’t seen each other for weeks anyway.” 

Your legs wobbled as you tried to navigate across the cobblestone, heels in hand, alcohol in your system. Everything was a blur after you ran away from the party. The last thing you remember is pushing Gojo’s smirking figure away while Sukuna calls you out. You couldn’t be near him. Not when he had been dangling a veil before you for so long. Underground fighter–when did he have the time to become one?

Seeking sanctuary in your old apartment was out of the question, considering that you had broken your lease to live with your ex/boss. So you decided to go to the next best place–the park next to Sukuna’s apartment complex, not near his space enough to be consumed by him but far away enough to comprehend the information you received. 

You ignored the sharp nips of the cold December wind against your bare arms. The park felt haunted. At least, in the summer, you could hear the loud chirps of cicadas and crickets, feeling like you had company even when alone. But now, you could only hear the eerie sway of the leafless trees. You had forgotten to pick up your coat in your flurry of emotions. You hugged yourself, trying not to cry over how miserable you felt. 

You thought being his girlfriend meant being important enough to know about his life's deep, intimate secrets, but apparently not. Not in his mind. Where your heart sought answers for his secretive behavior, there his mind pushed you further and further away. 

You were hoping it was all just a ploy to shield you from all the violence.

“Thank God, I thought Sukuna was finally going to experiment with his new punches on me,” a familiar voice said as you were enveloped in jacketed warmth. Yuuji plopped beside you on the bench you were sitting at and wrapped an arm around you. “I ran out from a party for you. What’s wrong?”

“Sukuna sent you after me?”

“Yeah, told me you ran away from the charity ball like some kind of Cinderella. I thought you’d be somewhere here since it’s so cold. Speaking of which, I should probably text him that you’re safe,” he answered as he pulled out his phone.

Conflicted. It’s all you’d been feeling since meeting him after so long. On one hand, you resented him for pushing you away with little to no explanation, and on the other, you felt warm with glee, knowing that he still intensely cared for you. It made you want to caress that oh-so-tense face of his. 

“I know you have many questions, and I can’t answer them all, but I will tell you one thing–these scars–” he points to the half-moon-shaped indents right beneath his bright eyes “–were caused by the people he was involved with in the past. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to you.” 

Your heart clenched deep inside your chest. Yuuji was only in high school two years ago. Who could do such a thing to a young boy? There was a newfound respect for him in your heart. Not many could keep that childlike innocence in them after experiencing something so traumatic, but Yuuji seemed like he was just fine, even if it may only be on the surface. The only blade you touched was a scalpel during your internship at your local hospital, and you seemed more uneasy than him. 

You wrapped a shaky arm around his shoulder and patted it with a maternal glint in your eye. Heart aching for the poor boy. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so soon.” 

“I’m fine. I’ve made up countless stories about these scars. It’s a good conversation starter with strangers.” His light-hearted chuckle made you stroke his head. Yuuji was like your little brother, too. You had basically raised him along with Sukuna, and he had grown into a fine young man. Understanding and emotionally intelligent. 

“Sukuna… had been thinking about coming clean for a long time. There are many things that you need to know, but it’s not my place to tell you everything.” 

It was hard to imagine Sukuna, of all people, to be so tense. The man was usually aloof. At least his past self was. Never did you consider him to be so marred by his past. 

“I’m gone an hour, and you’re already making moves on her?” You turn around to see Sukuna, disheveled, smooth tuxedo jacket in hand. The first few buttons of his shirt went back to being undone like it was earlier that evening, and his bowtie was back into its initial satin-string-like form. His hair looked like it had been run through a hundred times, and his face looked worse for wear. A frantic man in the flesh.

He yanks Yuuji’s jacket off your shoulders and replaces it with his. “I’ll give you a fifty to leave us alone.” You have to squeeze your legs to comfort the growing tension between them. Men with deep voices–no, Sukuna’s haphazard state was your weakness.

“I would’ve done it for free, but thanks for the extra cash!” Yuuji snatches away Sukuna’s jacket and jogs up to Sukuna’s building with a little pep in his step. “Weird kid,” Sukuna mumbles as he sits next to you, the sides of his muscular thighs pressed against yours, being explicit about his feelings. “More like a sweet kid, Sukuna.”

“You always coddled him too much.” 

“Couldn’t help it.” 

The silence that followed felt like holding a bottle full of lightning, glass confining something magical yet destructive. The lines between boss and ex-lover were already blurred, but at this moment, they felt nonexistent. You both were staring at each other through a chained fence–only it was made from thin cotton threads and not metal. You could smell the fence burning, each fiber of the fabric withering away as the flames consumed it and spat out ash. It was getting close to you both. You could feel its heat already. 

You could feel it in the heat of his gaze as he turned your shoulders to face him. “Let me start from the beginning.” You took a deep breath to brace yourself. The knot in your stomach told you that it was not going to be easy to hear his story. 

“It all started when I was working out at a friend’s gym. He liked boxing from time to time, and he introduced me to a few boxing clubs where I could earn extra cash by fighting locals. Nothing too crazy, just amateur fights. It helped me let out some steam and earn a little extra for Yuuji’s college fund.” 

His big hands squeezed your shoulders. “During one of my fights, I didn’t know that I had very important people watching me–the Zenin family.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. “Zenin- you mean the family who owns Zenin Construction Group?” 

“Yeah, they’re into sports gambling a lot. Boxing is just one of the pools they like to dip their feet in. The CEO or dad, Naobito Zenin, approached me after my fight to box for his ‘league.’ Little did I know it was just a team of brawny men who fought to the death in a musty basement so he could earn hundreds of thousands under the table. We, of course, also got a percentage of that. Not a lot, but it was still good money. Enough to pay for Yuuji’s first year. I could not let that chance go.” 

You immediately grabbed his hands and moved them to your lap instead, holding them in place–a practice you had followed since the beginning of your relationship for some of the few times Sukuna was ready to drop his guard. 

“Things were going well. You didn’t suspect much since we were barely meeting in person, and I was saving up enough. Until–” Sukuna gulped as his fists clenched in your manicured hands. Veins and bones popping up and again, reminding you about his sheer monstrous strength. 

“I nearly killed someone,” he rasped out. “It was the most terrifying moment of my life. Had me thinking how far I was ready to go for money.” 

Your heart sank in your chest. Your mind reeled about how often Sukuna probably had to make difficult decisions while fighting and how often it affected him. All of a sudden, in front of you, was sitting your lover from two years ago. A little skinnier, with a little more affection visible in his eyes. “Naobito wasn’t happy when I told him I didn’t want to box again because of that, so he attacked Yuuji. I was afraid you were next, so I knew I had to run away. I had to keep Yuuji safe, at least until he left for college. I was lucky that Coach Yaga was watching my matches. He let us stay with him and trained me professionally so I could actually learn how to use my gift.” 

Your mouth was dry. What could a person say after being told that they were abandoned for their own safety? Every sensation of guilt enveloped you in that moment. “Sukuna, I’m so–”

“No. You will not apologize for the shit I did. All of that happened because of me. I don’t want you to blame yourself for hating me. I fucked up.”

“Can you stop? Do you even hear yourself right now? You did what you had to do to keep yourself afloat. I’m proud of you and how far you’ve come. I just–I don’t know how you did it all by yourself. You must’ve felt so alone.” You put a hand on his face, and he leaned his face into your cold palm like it was a visceral need. Your skin burned at the feeling of his lips. His large hands moved to your elbows and dragged them to your wrists. 

“You have no idea. Every second away from you was torture,” he said before kissing the center of your palm. “Felt like I made myself go through all that for nothing. After we broke up, I realized that I needed you to survive. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to live for besides my brother.”

The thrumming in your chest was dizzying. Your breath hitched as he placed both each of your wrists on either side of his neck. It was almost laughable how easily he lifted you off the bench and onto his strong and firm thighs. He took your lack of objection and blushing face as acceptance and pulled you closer by your neck. 

“Give me one more chance. I promise I won’t keep anything from you. I’ll be better. I want to be better,” he whispered in your ear, the puffs of his warm breath making you shiver, leading you to scoot closer to him automatically. Body basically flat against his. Rugged, muscular planes against your softness. You don't miss how he caresses the side of your thigh.

He pulls back, and you see something other than regret–want. Well, more like need.

You wordlessly trace the harsh black strokes on his face. His eyes close as your fingers get closer to his lips. “I’ve missed you too—more than you know,” you whisper, breath mingling with his deep one. 

And for a moment, everything seems to stop. You can’t hear the eerie swaying of the trees, nor can you hear the mindless crackles of random flyers in the park or the distant rumbling of cars on the street. All you could hear was your lover’s deep breaths. Your hand went down to his chest to feel his heartbeat. 

Fast. Just like yours. You didn’t want this moment to end.

Feeling impatient, Sukuna slots his lips against yours. At first, his lips move against yours like he’s unsure if what’s happening is real—praying that the woman on his lap is not just his fantasy. But then he soon grows confident as your hands move to his scalp and mess up his carefully styled hairdo. You began to come undone, as his lips began to kiss you harder. His hands move around your body like it was his last time touching you. In that moment, he mentally thanked the opponent who thrashed him to immobility, or else he wouldn’t be having this moment with you–pressed up and bothered against him. 

He reluctantly pulled away as you used your forearms to slot yourself against him, catching your breath. But that wasn’t enough for the man, so he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s been way too long since we’ve done this. Let me hold you a while.”

—

taglist: @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife @missthatgirl @iluv-ace @emoedgylord @miakxn @sunasgf1 @lolilewenk @clp-84 @sodapop182 @therealjustpeachesback @msanimeotaku181 @aerareads @rebels-rewrite @emochosoluvr

[futureplayboibunnie]

Heartless Pt.1

Mafia Boss! Miguel O’Hara x fem! reader

You and Miguel are married to each other…and it wasn’t because of love.

okay i’ve redirected this fic and made it into a slowburn multi chapter series, in hindsight my last idea was too abrupt. i feel like this storyline is wayyyy better. I LOVEEEE SLOWBURN. i hope ya’ll like this one better! Part 2 up now!

PS. if you don’t like this type of stuff, don’t be stupid and comment on it because I really don’t care enough to hear it, use ur fingers and scroll. it’s not that hard.

You thought your wedding day would've been more romantic than this.

More personal, more involved, a consolidation of the many moments you shared with the man you were going to love forever, but free will and liberation were something that you gave up when your parents decided that it was in your family's entrepreneurial interest to participate in a partnership with the O'Hara Dynasty.

You weren't mad. It was just...different. You knew this day was coming but it was all wrapped together quite nicely, in a neat little bow.

Everything was done with the utmost sensitivity and respect, the O'Hara family's Consigliere placed piles of paperwork in front of you, NDAs were rarely ever necessary, and guns and fists normally did the trick but Miguel personally wanted all of this to be clean. He was getting married for the sole purpose of extending his power and influence, being a part of the 5 Families in this city wasn't something that was done without shedding blood. And Miguel shed a lot. This was a very important occasion to him, marriage was important in all generations of his family, and almost every single Don arranged a marriage with a woman from another Dynasty just for the purpose of spreading influence and agendas. Miguel and his brother talked for hours about it and in the end, he had to do what was necessary for his family and his capos. He needed to conserve what was his whilst also inserting his power.

Dealing with ill-tempered men and being a sounding board for their last scraps of sanity wasn't new but Miguel wasn't that. He was just silent in a way you didn't like. It was almost unsettling. Maybe it would be easier to hate him if he was an asshole, but he was very kind and respectful in the little words he said to you.

All of this was strictly professional, a beautiful show for the underworld. It was ridiculous and you felt like a fool, and after the day you had, it felt perfectly reasonable to feel that way.

It was your wedding day and word got around fast.

The dress he picked was fine.

The ceremony was fine

The ring was fine

Everything was just fine.

Now you were in his cold, lavishly destitute penthouse at an ungodly hour, sitting around, still in the wedding dress that you haven't taken off for some reason- maybe to compensate for the fact that you'll throw it in a corner, leave it in the cold and black dark, collecting dust for you to never see it again. Miguel's capos had to scamper around and follow you just about anywhere but for once, they left you alone with Miguel shooing them out.

Is this what your life would be like? Sitting around, waiting for something to happen? Was everything meant to be so banal and grey?

“You looked lovely today.” A low voice grumbled behind you, you whipped your head around to see Miguel leaving his study and entering the living room, he was still wearing his tux with that unknotted ugly bow tie that was crooked the whole ceremony. He looked tired. You gave him an agreeable smile in response.

"Thank you.” You said politely, there was just nothing purposeful behind your voice. All there was between you and Miguel was agreeable conversation, polite and meaningless drivel to distract from the very true and real fact that you were betrothed, you both owed each other something. Miguel gave you protection and you gave Miguel his pathway to influence- it was a business transaction, that was all, but it didn't mean that all of this wasn't abnormal. “I can't reach the zipper, can you please zip me down?” You asked as if it was a normal question- it wasn't for your kind of relationship but what the hell was normal nowadays? For Christ's sake, you were married to a man you barely knew and you slept in different rooms.

Miguel approached you in silence, watching you stand up from the couch and turn around. He liked the dress, he picked it out himself, you looked nice. His fingers found the zipper and pulled down slowly, watching the slivers of skin appear with every small tug down.

As far as women go, Miguel wasn't really that interested in sleeping around, every woman he shared himself with became a target or an opportunity pry into his head- he didn't want anyone messing with his internal affairs. Sometimes he'd cave and fuck one of the women serving him drinks at private poker nights, they always made eyes at him, begging him with fluttering eyelashes and wet lips to fuck them senseless. He was a man after all, sometimes it was enjoyable, sometimes it wasn't, he just needed to get off.

You on the other hand, you were unreadable in a way that he didn’t know how to approach.Though sometimes he did find you talking to him like an acquaintance vaguely irritating he would definitely be a hypocrite for calling you out.

It felt like you were holding your breath when he was finished, you settled baxk into your senses, he gazed over the patch of skin peeking out of your dress. He stopped his gawking when you turned around and gave him a weak smile like you would a friend or a neighbour. "Thank you. Goodnight Miguel.” You walked passed him and went to your designated room. Miguel did the same

You never really thought of yourself as an incurable romantic, but this was truly dull and you contemporary marriage like this. Even if it was to one of the most dangerous men in the city.

-

You awoke to a cacophony of sizzling and rustling noises coming from outside your room, your dreary eyes lulled by sleep couldn't fight against the delicious smell wafting from outside. Before you could fully register that breakfast was being made, the first thing you noticed was the heavy feeling of dread resting on your chest, you raked a tired hand over your face and rubbed your eyes awake. Opening them up fully, you saw the white fabric on the floor. In another life, the husband you actually loved would be laying next to you, whispering sweet nothings. Your wedding dress and veil were strewn about as if it was an article of clothing a teenage girl would carelessly discard while figuring out what to wear for a date with Tommy or Billy or Jason or whoever. But this wasn't high school drama, this was the type of life you were conditioned into.

Blood, war, and money.

You weren't complaining, the protection it offered you was immense. Miguel was a corrupt man dealing with equally corrupt politicians and people of interest, he had to adapt in his work but a part of you didn't believe he was the poisonous person everyone always made him out to be. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen him in his raw, primal ways, beating people bloody. That's what made you weary.

You shifted up and headed over to the walk-in wardrobe. This was the part that really stunted you, Miguel wanted you to wear what he specifically liked, everything was picked out by him and you still didn't know how to feel about it, but it made you grimace. You stepped in and glanced at the hangers, they were all ordered out by color and style. You noticed that he seemed to like satin and silk, and he was very particular about color, he liked black, silver, grey and even a baby blushed pink in certain articles. Your fingers grazed over the silk of the nightwear dresses, and the fabric of the gala dresses- you didn't like the idea of having to play pretend in front of too many people. You idled towards the drawers and wondered what he preferred when it came to underwear. You raised a cynical eyebrow and your lips pursed in curiosity as you let your finger pull it open.

Your mouth unhinged in a surprise you expected, but not in the way you thought of. He definitely had a thing for lingerie. God, there was a pair of everything, lacy, strappy, padded, unpadded, sheer garters, sparkly garters, knee highs, thigh highs. He was very particular indeed. It was tailored to your perfect cup size. Fucking hell. He liked Brazilian underwear but he seemed have an affinity for a thong too. You sighed and closed the drawer, you didn't want to read into it. Your eyes wandered to the muted pink silk robe hanging next to the drawer. Hm. That'll do for breakfast.

Miguel looked up from his newspaper to see you padding barefoot to the table where a spread was laid out. His maid, although young, ditzy and so obviously desperate to fuck him, was a very talented cook but the coffee she made always tasted like dirt. “Thank you.” He said to her plainly, he couldn't even look at her due to him being distracted by your presence. Your face creased into a light frown as you stared at the eye candy handing Miguel his coffee before she left as Miguel waved his hand. Of course the women who worked around him had to be insanely beautiful.

“Good morning.” Miguel grumbled before taking a sip. You were wearing the silk robe he liked. Good. Good girl.

You didn't say anything back, acting aloof and nonchalant seemed to be the only way of conserving whatever sanity you had left. The back of your throat had back drool when you stared at the delicious spread in front of you. You didn't know what you wanted to eat first. You grabbed a few pickings of everything, topped off with a mimosa. You ate in polite silence, minding your business, uninterested in anything he had to say at this point. Miguel settled down his newspaper and glared at you, you weren't particularly bothered by his presence, and that made him...unsettled. It went on like this for a solid few minutes.

“What?” You asked him, not even giving him the decency of looking him in the eye. Miguel was silent for a moment, contemplating your presence before he opened his mouth.

“We're leaving the city tonight.” He said oh so casually in that deep, low voice of his.

"And why is that?”You sighed tiredly, a slightly amused smirk twitched at your lips at this out-of-the-blue statement.

Miguel clicked his tongue and cooed at you, “Because cariño, my Consigliere has informed me that our marriage is not boding well with the other 5 Families, they think it's a covert attack in some sort of way, a questioning of power or sorts. And also..” He cut himself off for a reason unknown to him. “He also thinks it's a prudent idea to have a honeymoon, to hone everything in and make this...real.” He murmured as he rolled up his shirt sleeve.

Your eyes pricked up at the word 'real.' Wasn't this real? The papers were real. The ring was real. But the actual connection…? You glowered at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Do you think this is real?”

Miguel didn't know how to answer that. “Isn't real relative?”

“No.” You replied thickly like you didn't even need to think about it.

“Look. I don't want to discuss this.”

“So you can't compromise.” You shot back.

“No, I won't.” He pushed his chair back aggressively and sat his coffee down hard, he looked irritated by all of this. He didn't like that you thought you had the power to interrogate him.

Miguel walked past you as he went to exit the room but then for some reason he halted in his tracks. Compromise. Miguel is not known for compromising. The people around him know that for a fact, but he doesn't want this marriage to be another agenda that he has to put up with. He didn't want to hate you.

He sighed.

“Choose where we go. Tell my brother and he'll tell my pilot.” Miguel said coldly, his tone clipped and gruff even when he was trying to build a bridge of some sort.

It didn't seem like you had a choice, so now you were just another lackey he ordered around.

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // (6.4k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 3 | << Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Day 5 - Continued

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

No.

No no no no!

Your heart plummets as you stare down at your phone. You want to press it and find out it’s someone else, but you also can’t bring yourself to proceed knowing you’ll hear his voice on the other line. 

His voice. The man you gave everything to last night, who you fell in love with in five short days. 

The one whose arms wrapped you up as you fell asleep, envisioning the rest of your life together. 

It can’t be over already.

The message repeats, breaking you from your existential crisis. You have to accept it, it’s time to wake up from the dream and face reality.

“Hello?” you say cautiously after pressing 7.

You hold your breath, heartbeat thundering in your ears as you await his voice because deep down you know it’ll be him. 

Moments later, you hear his voice saying your name, and it all but shatters you. Your heart disintegrates into a thousand pieces and you feel light headed, realizing you stopped breathing when you accepted the call.  

“Hey baby,” his deep voice says again, “you there?”

Fuck.

“Sukuna. I’m here,” your voice is so shaky, trying to keep your composure but your body just doesn’t want to cooperate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get those donuts. And that you had to wake up alone. To this.”

His voice is so tender and it hurts even more as he continues.

“I don’t have a lot of time, maybe another minute, but obviously you can see I got arrested.”

“What happened?” 

“Long story short, I came up on a wreck in the river, a mom with two kids. You know how these backroads are, so narrow and easy to over correct. Anyways, I stopped to help and I guess when it was all said and done, cops searched my car and found some stuff. Enough to probably put me away for a while. I’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning, already called my lawyer and everything.”

“When can I see you? I need to see you,” you feel the tears starting to drip down your chin like soft dew collecting on leaves in the humid morning air. They slowly fall, a sign of your world, your future as you know it, slipping from your grasp. 

“You’ll be able to get out right? It’s not too bad, just a little slip up right? People go to jail all the time” you stutter, feeling the panic starting to mount. 

“Should be able to see me after the arraignment. Contact the jail now, it needs to be 24 hours in advance. Should let you come in tomorrow afternoon.” 

You put him on speaker and text all that to yourself because you know you are barely absorbing anything right now.

“You’ll get out though right?,” you say again, noticing he didn’t comment. 

He doesn’t respond at first, instead the empty silence seems to last for an eternity as you wait with bated breath.

“I will, but I don’t know how long,” he finally says, his soft tone doing nothing to assuage your worries. 

“I have to go, come tomorrow, we can talk more, and…well, I really wanna see you. Dying to actually,” he says and you swear you hear his voice shake. 

“I will, I’ll be there,” you try to choke out. This time is precious and you can’t waste it crying.

“Hey tomato girl?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.”

The call cuts off without warning, his voice still echoing in your mind. A voice you wish you’d heard more of. You don’t even have a voicemail to replay, relying on your memories alone.

You now regret losing that one precious night together. If you’d have known your time would be cut short like this, you’d have spent every waking second with him up until now. Soaking up his soft kisses, his strong embrace, the endless puns and jokes he annoyed you with. Everything you took for granted. 

It has to be some sick joke the universe is playing on you. You’d only been his girlfriend for what? Twelve hours? You guess you still technically were. No one else knows though, which is odd considering he’s someone you’d actually be happy to introduce to people. You are all alone in carrying this information, there’s no one to talk to, no one knows he exists in your life. 

Your parents know him, but you can only imagine their reaction if you told them he was your boyfriend…oh and by the way he got arrested today.

Burying yourself in the sheets, you can’t hold back the tears anymore. They quickly turn into full blown sobs, your body visibly shaking from their intensity. The stark unknown of it all is paralyzing. After all your talks of dreams and plans to be together, all you see is nothing, no light at the end of the tunnel. 

People go to jail all the time though, surely it wouldn’t be more than a month or two. A year at most. Sukuna does have a record, but it seems like it never really landed him in a cell for that long. He had a lawyer, he said, they’d surely help get him out. 

Also, he said he had been helping someone! He was a Good Samaritan! And got punished for it. Wasn’t there some kind of trade off that could have happened? 

Your mind is a mess and you won’t be able to calm down until you talk to him tomorrow. For now you might as well try to eat something and take care of the house chores. 

Walking into the bathroom you are met by your neck littered with the evidence of last night. He was a menace in bed, and not in a bad way. You’d lose track of how many times he’d made you cum, probably more times than the last year as a whole. His stamina was insane and even when he couldn’t get it up, he resorted to his mouth and fingers, never leaving you hanging. 

It was the most memorable night you’ve ever had.

Maybe the last one for a while depending on how this all shakes out. You can’t imagine wanting someone else. You’d wait for him…right? You had to, you were together, he was worth waiting for. Leaving him behind when things get tough is the weak way out.

You leave to go back home in two days. You hope to God you’ll have some answers by then, but something tells you that you won’t. It’s more likely you’ll go back, no one will know anything about your relationship with Sukuna so you’ll suffer in silence, and you’ll have to rely on sporadic calls from jail. 

Maybe you could become friendly with his lawyer, or his friends and family. The more you consider it, the more insane it sounds. No one in his life knows you exist, you feel you have no right to know any information over those he’s known the longest.

What you have is real though, there’s no doubt in your mind. Everyone else however wouldn’t understand how you both could fall in love in mere days, hell you don’t even understand it, but you believe that this all happened for a reason, and you believe in the love between the two of you. 

Would they label you a gold digger? An opportunist? Someone only after the drug king’s money? If his parents could have heard his plans, they’d see it was so much more than that. He wanted to be better, he was going to be better. 

As you start to doom scroll on your phone to try and pass the time, you come across a post from your cousin. Then you remember he works at the jail! It’s one of the few decent paying jobs with good benefits in the area so he’s been there since graduating high school. 

He should be able to at least give you some information on what to expect. You find his contact and call him.

“Hey cuz,” his warm voice greets you from the other line.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” you ask, relieved to hear a familiar voice right now. You grew up together and have always remained close, even when you moved away.

“Oh the usual, just working to live,” he laughs. “You in town right?”

“Yes, that’s actually kind of why I called. I, um, oh shit, sorry,” you stutter, suddenly scared of divulging what was going on.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You mute the phone, taking a massive breath to try and compose yourself to keep the panic at bay. For some reason talking about it makes it more real and causes you to fracture all over again.

“I-no, not really. Look, if I tell you some stuff, can you promise to keep it between us?” you finally muster out.

“Umm, yeah. Ha, well depends,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Did you do something illegal?” 

“No! Nothing like that. Personal stuff. You promise?”

“Yes, hit me.”

“Someone I’m close to got arrested this morning. He’s in Southeastern…where you work,” you force out.

“He? Is it someone I know?” 

“Yes, it’s a guy. He’s…my boyfriend…or at least was, not sure how all that works when someone gets locked up,” you chuckle, “I don’t think you’d know him, he’s my parents neighbor.” 

“Oh shit. I’m-wow, I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry you are going through this. Have you been able to talk to him yet? Normally once you get processed you are able to start making calls.” You can hear the empathy in his voice, and it makes you want to cry all over again at the thought of someone being there for you. 

“He called a little while ago. I don’t really know what happened, he didn’t go into many details.”

“How are you doing with the news? Are you okay?” your cousin asks. 

You start to choke up, unable to stop the emotion from bubbling up again. Fuck it though, he won’t make you feel bad.

“No…no I’m not. I’m devastated. I’m also scared. I have no idea what is going on, no idea what is going to happen, and all the unknown is killing me. Can you tell me what is going to happen?” you say between sobs, struggling to get the words out.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. I think that’s a normal response to someone close to you getting arrested. Been in this job for years now and I’ve seen all kinds of responses. All humans react differently, so what you are feeling is valid, just know that. 

Now to what happens. Well, he hopefully contacted a lawyer once he got processed. Tomorrow will be the arraignment at the courthouse. That’s where the charges are presented and you reply whether you will plead guilty or not guilty. It’s also where bail would be set. His lawyer will be there with him. You said you don’t know the nature of the crime?” 

“Just know it’s something with drugs. He’s got a record, that probably makes it worse right?”

“Maybe, drug charges are sometimes federally mandated depending on the amount and nature of it.  And if it’s been multiple offenses, it could double the sentence. Once the charges are presented, they’ll know pretty quickly what kind of time he’d be looking at.” 

You have no idea how much he had on him. Why the fuck did he have drugs with him anyways! You wish you could kick Sukuna right now…you might actually kick him tomorrow. What the fuck was he thinking!

“Okay, I don’t love that, but at least I have an idea of how this is going to shake out. What’s it like visiting someone in jail?” 

“It’s pretty simple. You get searched and go through a metal detector, then get brought down to a visitation room where you wait until the inmate is brought in. A guard will be in the room and you basically sit at a table and talk. It’s not all dramatic like in the movies with someone in chains in a sterile room, that’s maximum security type shit.”

Interesting, so you’ll be able to be in the same room as him. 

“Can you have physical contact? Like hugging and kissing?” you ask, a little embarrassed. All you want is to be pulled against his chest and feel his strong arms wrapping around your back. 

“Yeah, it depends on the guard how much they allow. I can find out who’s on duty tomorrow and tell them to take it easy on you.”

You’re starting to feel a little better about everything. Sukuna’s got a lot of money too, maybe he’ll be able to get out on bail! You’re not sure why you keep trying to convince yourself of these things, but it gives you hope until you can talk to him tomorrow.

You shoot the shit with your cousin for a little while longer before hanging up, collapsing on the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

It’s dark out, you didn’t even know you’d been on the phone that long, noticing the pitter patter of rain on the roof. At least it helps to make everything seem less hopeless and empty, providing background noise to focus on.

Even as you lay your head on your pillow that night, the sounds of rain falling through the leaves outside helps quell your racing mind. 

A fitting end to the day, even the sky was grieving now that you had no more tears left to fall. 

Day 6

You settle into the plastic chair the guard directs you too. The room is nothing special. Two other similar chair and table setups sit staggered in the room, the ceiling feels low, a vending machine hums in the corner, and there is very little natural light from the small windows along the wall. 

You chat up the guard for a bit and you find out he’s a good friend of your cousin which you are thankful for. He told you to just behave and not to do anything suspicious and he’d leave you both be for the most part.

The chair is super uncomfortable, but then again you figured comfort wasn’t high on the list of priorities for a jail. Guess you were lucky to have a chair at all.

Anxiety and anticipation are clawing at your insides. You are ecstatic to see Sukuna, but also terrified at learning more about the situation. Since last night you’ve been deluding yourself into this headspace of if you don’t know what’s happening, you won’t feel as bad. 

At least you’ll finally have some idea of the situation going forward, even if it’s bad news.

The door opens and his tattooed face and crimson eyes are the first thing you notice. Then it’s the exhausted look on his face and his hunched over figure in the orange jumpsuit as a guard holds his wrist cuffed behind his back. He lights up when he sees you, shooting you a grin that threatens to melt you into a pool under the table. It’s taking everything in you to not launch yourself across the room to jump into his arms but protocol said to wait until the guard gets him situated.

Also, those face tattoos in his prison attire makes him look even hotter as he moves across the room. Even through the loose clothing you can make out the outline of his chest and arm muscles. Obviously it’s not the scene you want to be witnessing, but you can’t argue that your man looks hot. Maybe a good Halloween costume idea in the future?

The future. 

What does that look like? It’s easy to envision your ideal life together, but every daydream gets derailed by an unknown force that makes everything go blank in your mind. The anxiety won’t allow you to see past this no matter how hard you try.

The guard passes him off to your cousin's friend who waits for the other guard to leave before removing the handcuffs. He whispers something to Sukuna, likely the same spiel that you got about leaving you alone on the condition that he doesn’t try anything stupid.

Sukuna turns, walking towards you. Once he approaches, you stand up and throw yourself against his chest, wrapping your arms around his back, hands barely touching due to his large stature. Burying yourself into the scratchy jumpsuit material, you dig your fingers into his back, squeezing him with everything you have as if making sure it's really him standing in front of you. 

You finally pull back and realize his chest is now damp from tears you didn’t even know came out. All you were focused on was holding him and touching him again while your body had this silent somatic response.

“Fuck you Sukuna! What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck happened?” you choke out as grief overwhelms you. He just cages you against him, earning a chuckle in response as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s not fucking funny!” you try to slap him but he’s just too strong.

He leans back, staring down at you and hits you with that adorable boyish grin, pulling your chair out for you and gesturing for you to sit before he takes his spot on the other side.

“Don’t cry, we are together now. It should be a happy time,” his voice is soft, wiping away the tears from your face. 

“Well I was not happy to get a call from jail. Now tell me what fucking happened.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I guess all the blood got trapped in my dick from the night before, and there wasn’t enough left for my brain,” he laughs, taking your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. 

“That’s not funny! This is serious!” you try to stifle a giggle, but it’s just impossible not to do that around him. You are glad he’s acting like his normal self, so carefree even in the face of tragedy. 

“Oh okay. Well, the other theory is that I had a bad case of post nut clarity and was like, I have to get away from this girl before she absolutely consumes me. Jail is the only place that would keep me from seeking you out,” he smirks again, leaning back his chair with his hands behind his head. 

The smug look on his face and the way he’s leaning back and spreading his legs across from you is so damn hot. The combination of tattoos and prison attire make him look like a true bad boy.

“You’re absurd,” you roll your eyes and smile back at him, fluttering your lashes. 

“Fuck you’re killing me sweets,” he bites his bottom lip, looking at you through lidded eyes that are darkening the longer he sits there. The intrusive thought of him bending you over and fucking you on this table is infiltrating your mind and you can’t be bothered to shut it down. 

“Hey you are the one riling yourself up over there,” you tease, earning a playful scoff from Sukuna.

“However, I bet you’re thinking the same thing I am right now,” you continue in a low voice, pressing your thighs together as you feel yourself slipping even deeper into the fantasy. This is not what you expected to happen, but there is something about him mentioning last night that is making your thoughts devolve into those moments with his breath hot on your neck, his fingers digging into your hips as his veiny cock dragged along your soft walls.

“If it involves this table and me being balls deep inside of you, you’d be correct,” he murmurs, giving you an almost predatory look as he licks his lips, eyes darting around the room before locking back onto your face.

“Oi guard!” he suddenly whips around, “can I touch my girl in here?” 

You feel yourself heat up in embarrassment at his audacious question. This is the opposite of behaving!

“The clothes stay on and you stay in your seat, inmate,” he responds with an amused look. 

“Oh so I can reach under this table and-“ 

“No. You can kiss, and hold hands above the table. That’s not what kind of visit this is,” he chuckles. 

“Fuck man, that’s brutal,” Sukuna turns back around with a pout, adjusting his pants as best he can. 

“I know, I’m sorry. All I can tell you is to try to get on the list for conjugal if you want to do that,” he says from across the room while Sukuna sulks, chin resting on his arms on the table. 

“What’s that?” you ask.

“A visit where you get an apartment to yourselves for 24 hours on the prison grounds. As you can imagine though, there’s a lot of prisoners and only one unit, and everyone wants to go for the same reason.” 

Oh. You feel odd being so open about sex in here, but fuck it, at this point you don’t really have a lot of options and surely this guard was used to dealing with sexually frustrated inmates. 

“Fucking you all night and then getting locked up immediately after is a special kind of hell,” Sukuna whines and the guard just laughs, walking back to the other side of the room. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you some time while I take a piss. Ryomen, hands to yourself, stay in your chair, and clothes stay on. Miss, you can move around. You speak of this and I’ll make sure she never comes to visit you again, and I’ll certainly make sure you never get chosen for conjugal.” 

Sukuna’s eyes practically pop out of his head as he processes what the guard says. 

“I won’t say a word,” Sukuna’s voice rises in excitement, bolting straight up, eyes locked onto you as the guard handcuffs his arms behind the chair. 

“Woah, freaky,” he snickers as the guard leaves.

“Your time starts now,” he says as he shuts the door.

“Oh my god, pleaseeeee come touch my dick. Jerk me off, stroke me, rub me, I don’t even care, just fucking touch me. I neeeed it,” Sukuna is whining again, pushing himself back away from the table. 

He sounds like a pathetic teenager begging his girlfriend to feel him up for the first time and it makes you snicker as you move your chair next to him. It’s not hard to find his dick from the tent his erection is making in his pants. 

He hisses and tries to stifle a moan as you grab him through the fabric. He’s so hard, no wonder he’s throwing a fit. You grip him tightly and start pumping your hand along his clothed length. 

“Fuck baby oh my god,” Sukuna mutters as his eyes roll up to the ceiling before squinting shut.

“Can you finish in a minute?” you give him your most sultry tone as you start to move faster. 

“Mmm, gonna fuckin’ try. Feel like a fuckin’ virgin right now. So sensitive,” he groans. 

Sukuna starts bucking his hips up to meet your hand, his breaths getting heavier as he exhales deeply from his throat with each thrust.

You’ll try to help him out as best you can. Leaning against his neck, you give your best attempt at something similar to phone sex.

“Yeah? Thinking of me riding you? My cunt so tight and wet around your cock? Tits in your face bouncing while I take all of you soooo deep, ass clapping against your thighs.”

Sukuna moans again, hips jerking faster as you leave a trail of your hot breath on his neck.

“Fuck Kuna, keep going. Right there! Oh god Kuna, gonna cum all over your cock, grip it so tight and you better cum deep inside me. Won’t waste a drop baby-“

“Fuuuuuuckkkk” Sukuna emits a deep growl from his throat as he starts jerking in his seat and throbbing in your hand, clearly cumming in his pants. His eyes are squeezed so tight and jaw clenched so hard you swear he’s gonna break a tooth. 

He’s gasping for breath as you let go of him, head hanging down against his chest before sitting back up to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Ohhhh, my god. I fuckin’ love you,” he grins, a flush spreading across his face as you move back to your side of the table. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning. You’ve never seen someone so elated over a handjob through their clothes but hey beggars can’t be choosers right now.

“Alright, times up!” 

The guard comes back. He doesn’t say a word, just uncuffs Sukuna again and moves back to the other side of the room as if nothing ever happened. 

“Sorry you have to sit here now with your boxers all dirty,” you whisper.

“Goddamn don’t apologize, I’ll sit in my cum stained boxers for three days if it means you’ll touch me,” he laughs. 

“Crazy boy. But now I want some answers. What happened when you left the house and what happened at the arraignment earlier?”

Sukuna drags his hands down his face, clearly not excited to talk about this.

“Was trying to avoid this conversation honestly.”

“Sukuna, you were gonna keep me in the dark?”

“No! Not my intention. I just feel like you are gonna be disappointed in me and you aren’t going to like where I take this conversation.” 

You’re a little confused what he means by that, but you settle in to listen, nodding at him to keep talking.

“When I left your place, I had the bright idea to take the product I had in my house and pass it off to one of the subordinates nearby since I was going to the donut shop anyways. I was serious about leaving that world, so might as well jump start the process. 

So, as I’m driving, you know the bridge over the river after that section of sharp curves in the road? Well, I came out on the other side and saw a car in the river. I called the police, told them what was up, and went down to try to help. 

Long story short, it was a mom and two little kids. I pulled mom out first and told her to go to shore, then swam down and pulled the kids out one by one. One window was open thank god, they were just panicking though as the water was filling up. 

I told the kids to hang onto my back and got us back to shore. Everyone seemed okay, just in shock and terrified of what had happened understandably. 

Guess while this was happening, cops showed up and ran my plates, realized I had a suspended license, searched my car, and got arrested on the spot. A wild turn of events honestly.”

You stare in disbelief as he talks. That has got to be some of the worst luck you’ve ever heard. He did such a good thing, he could have kept going and left them to die. You’d probably still be snuggled up in bed together if he had.

The selfish side of you wishes he’d kept driving, which is kinda fucked, but the dark part of your mind can’t help it.

Sukuna is a good man though, and he’s paying the price for this series of unfortunate events. You both know he did the right thing and are glad he did save those innocent people.

“Why didn’t you just wait for someone to come to your house and get that shit ughhhhh,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. 

“I don’t know. If I could go back I’d have never left your bed,” he says softly, propping his head up on his hand, elbows resting on the table. “You just looked so peaceful and cozy I didn’t want to drag you out of there.”

You just stare at him, eyes glossy as you both hold back the tears. So much regret, everything could be so different if he’d have just stayed put. 

“And the arraignment?” 

He sighs, looking down at the table to collect his thoughts before looking back up, trying to keep himself composed.

“Not good tomato girl, not good at all,” his voice is quivering and it seems like he’s fighting against losing it by forcing a smile across his face. 

“Drug trafficking charges. Five years minimum. No bail. Lawyer said with my record might be more like seven to ten years. 

You swear the earth stops spinning and your vision goes black. Your heart plummets to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy. 

That’s so long. That’s way too fucking long. 

You feel physically ill and stifle a dry heave which turns into trying to choke back a sob. You can hear nothing, everything muffled as if you were six feet underwater. Sukuna’s lips are moving, but you have no idea what he is saying.

Cold. 

You are freezing, body shivering as you slip into shock. Ears ringing, breath trapped in your throat, unable to replenish the oxygen in your lungs. 

Strong hands shake your shoulders, jolting you from this state as if you’ve been drowning and you’ve been pulled from the water. Everything seems bright, the hum of the lights seems louder, and you gasp for breath.

Sukuna is in your face, hands on your shoulders. He was the one shaking you.

“Just breathe, in….out…. No, look at me, look me in the eyes not past me. Breathe with me.”

His crimson eyes slowly come into focus as you try to concentrate on replicating his breaths. Still trembling, you reach up and grip his arms, attempting to ground yourself and come back to earth. 

Sukuna’s worried look morphs into one of relief as he realizes you are okay. Well, as okay as you can be after learning your boyfriend might be in jail for the next ten years. 

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Sukuna’s soft voice coos, thumbs tracing circles where his hands rest on your collar bones.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, I had the same reaction when I met with my lawyer yesterday.”

You both sit in silence, staring at the floor. You wish you could just wake up from this nightmare; grab his arm and walk out the doors together into the warm sunshine. Instead you feel like you’ve both been capsized at sea, grabbing onto something to keep from totally drowning…except for you wind up in two different currents and slowly drifting away from each other. 

Maybe you’ll end up in the same place depending on the currents, or maybe you’ll end up on opposite sides of the world. Either way, you have no control over the outcome.

“You can continue,” you eventually force out.

“My trial date will be in about a month or two. Lawyer fought to have it expedited to get it over with. That’s where I’ll learn the actual amount of time. I know I can’t fight the charges, but we want to get the sentence reduced as much as we can. He’s hopeful I’ll be eligible for parole. Gonna try to share the story of my plans of going back to school and doing an apprenticeship, how I want to be better, how I don’t deserve to be locked up for that long since I want to turn my life around,” he tries to sound hopeful. 

His arms drop down to cup your hands, large hands swallowing up yours as he squeezes them. A serious look appears on his face and he sits up straighter, staring intently into your eyes. 

“Don’t wait for me.”

“What?” your heartbeat is pounding in your ears again, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Don’t wait for me. You heard me tomato girl.” 

You don’t even bother trying to hold back the sobs as the floodgates open. 

“N-n-no! Sukuna! What? Why would you say that?” you stutter through the anguish plaguing your entire being as you feel your throat closing up all over again. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You deserve to live a good life, a normal life. Not with a felon behind bars. I’m not worth putting your life on hold for a third of your life. Cuz that’s what it would be, we’d be in our mid to late 30s when I get out.” 

“Well then we’d still have the other two thirds of life to enjoy together! I-I can’t. I can’t forget you, I could never,” your whole body is shaking and a splitting headache is starting to surface from the constant crying.

“Do you not want to be with me?” you stutter, lip trembling as you try to hold back your emotions to speak.

“Of course I want to be with you! Fuck girl I want nothing more. But you’ll move on from this, it’s only been a few days. It hurts now, but over time it’ll get better. I just want you to be happy and I feel like you will be miserable watching me rot in here for years.”

“Okay but you don’t get to tell me how I’ll feel Sukuna!”

“You should try though. I won’t know any different since I’ll be locked in a cell. I don’t want to be the reason you look back and regret spending these years waiting for my lousy ass.”

“Are you trying to break up with me? Because if that’s what you want, you need to just fucking say it,” you feel anger bubbling up now. It feels like he is stringing you along with this weird pseudo idea of wanting you but also telling you to go live as if you weren’t exclusive.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor during this conversation. He knows if he falters, you won’t listen. As it is, you're fighting him. He won’t be mean, he won’t use anger or threats to force you away. You don’t deserve that. He’s already put you through enough. Sukuna just hopes you sit back and think about what he’s saying. 

“I-I can’t. No,” Sukuna mutters. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not expecting you to be loyal to me during this time. Just know my heart is yours and if I get out and you are waiting there for me, I’ll be the happiest man alive. But if you aren’t and I see you living a fulfilling life with someone else, I won’t come pester you and blow that up. You won’t even know I exist, I’ll never bother you again.”

Of course he wants you to wait for him. You’re the love of his fucking life. If things were reversed he’d be furious if you tried to suggest something like this. 

His selfish desires want you to come visit him every week, talk on the phone every day, and try to get this conjugal visit the guard spoke of because god knows he’d fucking tear your ass up for 24 hours even though he’d probably be shit in bed after being celibate for months or even years.

But doing all that would fuck with your emotions, keeping you from moving on and living your life. He doesn’t want you to put your life on hold because he had to go and be a piece of shit and blow it all up. 

Guilt is weighing heavy on his heart, all those promises he put in your head just a day ago that he would no longer be able to keep. It feels like he strung you along even though he had no idea he’d hit rock bottom like this. He wants you to cut the line, he doesn’t want to drag you down with him.

“I can’t make you do anything, but I implore you to try to see where I’m coming from. I won’t be upset, I’ll understand,” he continues.

You respect him and sit quietly, running through the scenarios in your head. You know you want kids. Waiting until your late 30s wasn’t what you had in mind. How would you answer people if they ask if you’re single? Tell them no, that you’re waiting ten years for your man to get out of jail? 

Yes. Yes you absolutely would! He has his wishes and requests but you have agency in this too. You can make your own choices and live how you want to. If waiting for him is what you want to do, there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s made it clear though that he’d immediately find you when he’s out. How you spend your time until then is up to you.

“Five minutes.” the guards voice sounds from the corner. 

Fuck! 

The panic is coming over you again. You have to be strong though, you can’t waste these precious seconds. 

“If I write to you will you write back?” you ask. “It doesn’t have to be romantic, just like pen pals. Can you do that for me?” 

“Sure, I’ll do that,” he agrees. To him it’s a decent compromise, probably hearing his voice and seeing his face would just make this harder for you to get over him. 

“Alright, let’s wrap it up you two.” 

You both stand up and you hug him tightly, inhaling his scent one last time, fingers tracing and squeezing every inch of him, trying to memorize the curves and feel of his body, knowing you’ll forget over time. You’ll both age and grow into different people. A lot can happen in 5 to 10 years.

“I love you Sukuna. Forever. Wish you could’ve stayed with me a little longer, but I’m thankful for the time we had. I’ll always remember it.” 

“I love you too. Always will. You’re a strong and amazing woman, I know you’ll be successful wherever life takes you.” 

He gets cuffed once again, but leans down one last time to plant a soft kiss on your lips. A parting gift that you’ll try to remember for as long as you can.

He’s guided away and looks back at you, his crimson gaze locking onto yours one final time. 

One last sentence lingers on both of your lips, the words you both couldn’t bring yourselves to say for your own reasons. 

I’ll see you on the other side. 

<< Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 12

Hey guys, can you believe that there are only three chapters after this one of this lovely fic? Thank you to everyone who has liked, commented, and reblogged this story.

In this we see Max and Lucas flirting with the idea of flirting with each other, Eddie takes care of Steve, and we meet the raccoon. ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

~

“Max!” Susan hissed, with a hint of giggle in her voice.

Steve, who was in the kitchen preparing lunch, stopped what he was doing and looked out the window.

There, leaning on the low brick and iron wrought fence, was Max, staring at something in the distance.

“Max!” Susan cried, her voice high with suppressed giggles. “Stop staring!”

The girl finally must have heard her mother because she jumped two feet straight in the air. Max mumbled something that sounded vaguely like an apology and then they came back in through the back door.

“We’re all done for the day,” Susan said brightly and sneaked a glance over at her daughter. “Someone was a little lackadaisical today, but we got it done.”

Steve laughed. “It’s fine. You guys do a good job. If some days are a little slower than others I’m sure Eddie doesn’t mind the extra. He loves you ladies.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Max muttered sarcastically. But he didn’t take offense. It was her default state of being most of the time.

“There we go!” he replied. “I just Venmo’ed you the money. Can you confirm you got it?”

Susan pulled out her phone and after a moment or two she nodded. “It’s all good! Thanks so much!”

“No, thank you ladies,” Steve said, putting his phone way. “It’s so hard keeping up with twins as just a nanny, I couldn’t imagine not having other people helping me.”

The Mayfields left and Steve went back to fixing lunch. He was making a potato soup with bacon and cheese and dab of sour cream and it was almost ready. But just as he was taking it off the hob, Lucas and Charles walked in for a drink of water. And suddenly it made sense. What, or rather who Max was looking at.

Because Lucas had taken his shirt off in the oppressive heat of late August and wrapped it around his head to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

As they were drinking their water, Steve got out a pitcher of lemonade and poured each of the Sinclair boys a glass. Which they took gratefully.

“Who were those two girls we saw out back today?” Charles asked, handing Steve back his now empty glass.

“Susan Mayfield and her daughter Max,” he replied, putting the glass in the sink. “Max is about Lucas’s age. She’ll be starting up at the local high school next week.”

Charles nudged his son with his elbow. “I told you so.” He turned back to Steve. “So they do the cleaning?”

“Yup!” Steve said with a nod. “The inside anyway. For the grounds, we have Jim Hopper and for the pool, we have you two.”

“Damn,” Lucas said with a low whistle. “It must be nice be rich enough to have separate cleaners for everything. Definitely don’t get that at home.”

Steve nodded. “My parents were lawyer rich growing up so we had someone who came in once a week to clean the big stuff, but for the most part we handled everything else. The cooking, the yard, the day to day stuff for the pool. That was all on us.”

“I didn’t know you grew up rich,” Charles said with frown. “You must really love being a nanny.”

Steve snorted and took their empty glasses from them to wash out in the sink. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my job and especially this one, but when I came out as bisexual, my parents tossed me out. Used my grandparents’ trust fund that left for me to go to school in early childhood development and the rest is history.”

“Well,” Lucas said with a grin, “I’m glad you’re here, because otherwise we wouldn’t have that awesome D&D room to play in and Dustin and them are so cool.”

“I’m glad you guys are having fun,” Steve said with a closed mouth smile.

“It’s been a blast!” Lucas said excitedly. “Plus we found out that Dustin is being transferred to our school. He was being bullied at his last school, so his mom was looking for a new school to send him to and Joyce, Will’s mom suggested our school and he got in!”

All this was stuff Steve knew, of course, but he let Lucas give his news.

Charles ruffled Lucas’s hair. “I’m glad he’s making friends.”

“What’s going to happen once Lucas goes back to school?” Steve asked. “I know plans were for the pool to be drained and covered for the winter in October, but there’s still all of September to think about.”

“We’ll be coming on the weekends,” Charles replied with a smile. “Eddie already talked to us about it, so he must have forgotten to tell you.”

Steve smacked his forehead. “No he did. I’m the one that forgot. Joan has been having nightmares and Janice has been even crankier than her sister over the whole thing.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t imagine taking care of twins. It was bad enough having Lucas and Erica as close together as they were. A toddler and a newborn were not fun, let me tell you.” He cocked his head to the side. “Probably why we stopped at two, if I’m honest.”

“I feel that,” Steve said rubbing his temple. “I’ve already paid you, I did it when I did Susan’s.”

Charles checked his account. “Yup, we’re all good to go.” He clapped Steve on the arm and then they said goodbye.

Steve turned around and gripped the edge of the counter as he fought to breathe normally. Fuck. He was going to have to tell Charles that his cologne or aftershave or whatever was too strong. Sweat started to bead on his temple as he fought not to screw up his eyes as that would only make it worse.

“Steve?” a gentle voice murmured in his ear, concerned.

Steve looked up to see Eddie regarding him in that soft, careful way he does when one of the girls doesn’t feel good.

“There you are,” he murmured. “You okay there, beautiful?”

Steve blinked up at him for a moment before realizing Eddie hadn’t been home long enough for him to experience one of Steve’s migraines.

“I get migraines,” he croaked out. “And they can be triggered by strong scents, like Mr. Sinclair’s cologne.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Sheesh. Yeah. I can smell it on you pretty intense. Come on, take the shirt off.”

If Steve’s brain hadn’t been trying to leak out of his ears he would have told Eddie to buy him dinner first, but as it was it, he meekly did as he was told. Eddie tossed the shirt into the nearby laundry room and then bundled Steve upstairs. Before he could even protest or let out so much as a whimper, Eddie was back with painkillers and a glass of water from Steve’s bathroom.

Steve took them dutifully, knowing that if he wanted to be a person at all later he would need to take them.

“What about lunch and the girls?” he finally managed to say weakly as Eddie tucked him.

“You do realize I did this by myself for a whole year, right?” Eddie asked with a raised eyebrow. “I think I can handle a single afternoon without you.”

When Steve whimpered, Eddie let out a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I love having you around and taking care of my girls. But you’re human, Stevie and taking an afternoon off will not cause an apocalypse, okay?”

“I thought there was only supposed to be the one apocalypse,” Steve muttered as the painkillers began to filter through the pain.

“Nah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Human has already gone through several. It’s like Ragnarok and the Greek end of the world. It just brings in the next era of humanity. It’s only Christians that think that it’s the one.”

Steve hummed as sleep took over.

Eddie stood up and turned off the light. “You Steve Harrington are going to be the death of me one day. But god, what a way to go.”

~

Eddie made sure to get rid of anything that might trigger Steve’s migraines. He even made Mike go home and change once when he showed up where an entire can of Axe body spray.

He made sure the laundry detergent was scent free, same with the girls’ shampoo. He almost tossed his own cologne before Steve stopped him.

“Most men’s scents are okay,” Steve explained. “Because they don’t use floral or fruit scents. Please don’t stop wearing yours.” He blushed a deep red. “I like it.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shut up but dutifully complied. Always keeping it this side of tasteful, but he began to wear it more often.

The school year started and the raccoon problem increased.

“I just don’t get it,” Hopper growled. “There is only one way to open them and there is no way a raccoon should be able to do it.”

Eddie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Steve was inside with the girls and he was taking care of the problem himself. He had to stop relying so much on Steve for the day-to-day because Steve was only paid to be the nanny, not Eddie’s personal assistant.

“I’m starting to think Steve’s right about it being vagrants,” he muttered. “Because you’re right, no animal should be smart enough to open the bins.”

Hopper sighed. “I don’t mind homeless, it’s not like they want to be there. But I wish they’d come to the house looking for food and not digging it out of the trash.”

Eddie nodded. He had done his own dumpster diving when he was a kid and his dad had been too drunk to remember to buy groceries, never mind toilet paper.

“Any way to lure them out of the shadow and into Benny’s cooking?” he asked.

“I don’t rightly know,” Hopper said with a laugh. “But I’ll figure something out. It seems they know how to dodge the cameras, so I’ll pick up a couple of motion sensor lights so I can see when someone comes around.”

“That will have to do in the mean time,” Eddie said rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. “It’s too bad that it’s a person and not a critter. I think Janie was hopping to tame the poor thing to antagonize her sister.”

Hopper barked out a laugh. “Sounds like her. Well, I best be heading to the hardware store for those lights.”

Eddie watched him go with trepidation. Critters could be rehomed where they’d be safer, but humans? That was a much tougher fish to fry.

~

Suddenly there was a clash, a bang, a clatter followed by an ear piercing scream. Eddie was up out of his bed faster than lightning and made a dash for the girls’ bedroom.

He met Steve outside the door, but when they looked in, both girls were sound asleep. Janice, splayed out like a starfish and Joan, curled up into a little ball.

“If that wasn’t the girls...” Steve said, wide-eyed and panting for breath.

Then there was another clatter and a scream that clearly came from the kitchen. They dashed down the stairs and raced to the kitchen. There standing in the middle of kitchen was a very disgruntled Hopper holding what appeared to be a pile of rags. Until it screamed again.

“Quick!” Hopper huffed. “Close the door!”

Steve dove for the door and locked it behind him as Hopper yelped in pain. He dropped what he was holding and landed on the clean floor with a thud. It scrambled up and away from the groundskeeper, tucking itself in the corner by the pantry.

That’s when Eddie could see what it was. Or rather who. Her head was clipped short but there was no doubt it was a girl, she looked about twelve. Far too thin and gaunt. Her blue eyes darted around as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Looks like you caught your raccoon, chief,” Steve said coming up to stand next to Eddie with his hands on his hips.

“I’m not a raccoon,” she huffed. “I have a name.” Then she frowned. “Or I will once I remember it.”

All three men looked at her in varying degrees of shock, concern, and disbelief.

“You don’t remember your name?” Hopper asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. That complicated matters.

“Jane!” the girl shouted startling everyone. “It’s Jane. My name, I mean. Jane Ives.” But instead of filling out with the name, the girl seemed to shrink further from them, like her name was shameful and ill-fitting.

“Does your parents know where you are?” Eddie asked, kneeling down to look her in the eye.

She shook her head. “Never knew my dad, he ran off when my mom got pregnant with me, Mom is in the hospital.”

“Don’t you have anyone you can stay with?” Steve said, kneeling next to Eddie. “Another relative of your mom’s maybe?”

Jane shook her head. “Aunt Becky said she wasn’t equipped to take care of me and Mom so she put me in foster care.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, hanging his head between his shoulders.

“Fuck!”

“That’s a bad word,” she said primly.

Hopper chuckled. “It is at that. But what Mr. Munson means is that if you’ve run away from your foster home, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt when we take you back.”

Jane leapt forward and tried to get past Eddie and Steve but they formed an effective blockade keeping her from the door.

“No!” she cried. “I don’t want to go back! They’ll hurt me again!”

Eddie and Hopper shared a glance. They knew. They knew that most foster places where cesspools.

Now they had an even bigger problem.

~

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag list: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @tartarusknight @gregre369

2- ​@a-little-unsteddie @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach @yesdangerpls @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @ollieolive @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

8- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

9- @kultiras @morallyundefined @themoonagainstmers @fearieshadow @blondie1006

10- @thesecondfate @wheneverfeasible @depressed-freak13 @genderless-spoon @sadiea20

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Call It What You Want Pt.3

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Summary: You get together with your friends to catch up on life and they're skeptical about what you're doing with Regina. A house party at Shane Oman's house gives Regina the chance to prove them wrong

Pairings: Regina George x Gender Neutral/Fem Reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, underage drinking, drug use (there's some coke involved, but nothing too crazy I promise)

Notes: Hi! Chapter 3 and I'm just having so much fun with these. Listen, I know there's another party, but it's college. I'm keeping it realistic lol but also, next chapter will be a small time jump and they'll get more well established. Just trying to have some fun and build it up and see how things are shifting I guess?? Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as well and thank you all for taking the time to read. Also, slight mention of drug use, but just a little dabble. But TW just in case. But I kept it not super crazy and kinda light for that reason

///

You were at your desk with your headphones on, doing your best attempt to do the readings for one of your classes that was due tomorrow. You always had a tendency to wait until the last minute for things, citing the excuse that working under pressure helps you think better. College may be testing the limits of that theory, but so far you haven't failed anything horrendously. It's only been a month since classes started though so there's still time.

Two arms wrapped around you from behind, caressing your chest and collarbone. You shot forward in your seat, ripping your headphones off your head and whipping your chair around to confront your roommate for majorly crossing a fucking boundary when you were met with a laughing Regina instead.

"Chill out, it's just me. Your roommate let me in before they left."

You stared up at her waiting for your heart to calm down. Though, staring at her wasn't doing you much good cause now it was just beating faster in a whole different way.

She was dressed up, her oversized designer purse that she uses for her backpack was sitting by your doorway so you know she must have stopped here right after class.

Something about that makes you feel all warm and giddy inside.

You also try not to think about the fact that you haven't seen her in like almost two weeks though.

"What brings you by?" You leaned forward, resting your forehead against her stomach and closing your eyes when her hands find their way to your scalp, massaging softly.

"I wanted to see you. I've just been busy with classes and soccer stuff lately." She gave your hair a tug so you would tilt your head back and look at her.

"When's your first game?" You questioned, your hands finding the backs of her thighs because that's what was within your reach and you almost felt like if you weren't touching her right now, you would implode.

"We've already had like three games."

"Oh." You said, your eyebrows furrowed. The hands on the back of her thighs faltered slightly and you didn't realize how much you wanted to be present at one of her games until you basically found out you were probably never going to be invited.

"Why the face?" She frowned, rubbing her thumb between your eyebrows to essentially try to get you to fix your face.

"Can I come see you play?"

"Uh," her voice was a touch higher than normal and you knew whatever was about to fly out of her mouth was either going to be a lie or something you probably didn't want to hear.

"Don't worry about it." You shook your head and gave her a tight lipped smile, leaning back in your chair.

"Stop, don't be like that." She straddled your lap and you tightened your grip on the back of her thighs because the last thing you needed was for her to fall. "I just can't have any distractions while I'm there."

"No, yeah. That makes sense." You agreed for the sake of moving past this conversation, but you also weren't really looking at her either. She gripped your face with both her hands, forcing you to look at her.

"Stop, Y/N." Her tone sounded less playful and you knew you just needed to let it the fuck go. You nodded and she squeezed your cheeks, pushing your lips out and planting a kiss on your lips. You quickly caught her lips for a second kiss before she could pull away and you could feel her smile against your lips.

She slid her hands down and cupped your neck, deepening the kiss. You could feel her rubbing her thumbs along your jawline and having Regina George sitting on your lap kissing you has to be what heaven feels like.

"I have to finish my homework." You mumbled against hers lips, pulling her closer to you by the backs of her thighs. She responds by grinding down into you, shaking her head no. You gasped when her hips moved against you again and she wasted no time slipping her tongue into your mouth.

"Fuck your homework." She said before bringing you in for another heated kiss.

It was tempting. God, it was so fucking tempting. The way she was grinding against you was making your brain short circuit so you know trying to get anything done would be impossible.

"Stay here with me and hangout." You pulled away from the kiss to look at her, pushing some stray hairs from her face. "Ren will be gone for a while. It'll just be us. I can order pizza, too."

"Ugh, I guess I could do some homework, too." She said begrudgingly.

"You probably should if you want to keep playing soccer."

"You probably should if you want to keep playing soccer." She mocked, rolling her eyes at you.

But the fact that she had her arms draped over your shoulder and had been twirling the hairs at the back of your neck around her finger really made you feel like she was not as upset about spending time with you as she was trying to let on.

"What kind of pizza do you want, beautiful?" You sneak in one more quick kiss because you just couldn't help it.

"Would you judge me if I just said cheese?"

"Never."

You both just stared at each other in silence for a few moments. One of Regina's hands moved to cup your cheek, her thumb swiping against your cheekbone. She leaned in and pressed a soft, slow kiss against your lips.

"I'm gonna change and get everything I need from my room. I'll be back." She gave you one more quick kiss before getting off your lap and you felt almost desperate the way you tried to keep your hands on her until she walked out of reach. So desperate that even having your fingertips on her felt better than nothing.

She took her keys from her bag and left it sitting against your wall. There was no question about whether or not she was coming back. When she closed the door behind her you hopped out of your desk chair and to to work on straightening up your room.

You fixed your bed, moved some clothes out of the way that were in the way. You had this bean-bag lounge chair thing that your mom got you and you pulled it out from the little space between the wall and your dresser where you shoved it because it took up way too much room to keep out daily.

You plopped onto the chair and called to order a large cheese pizza, opting to order from a nicer place instead of Dominos since Regina would be joining you. You got a soda for yourself and a sparkling water for Regina and added two cannolis for dessert.

Regina knocked on your door about twenty minutes later. She was dressed in comfy sweats and a crew neck, carrying a few books and her laptop and charger.

You smiled and stepped aside to let her in.

"Sooo, I have a paper to write that's due tonight that I forgot about. Where can I plug this in?"

"You can take my desk. Let me see." You looked at her charger and nodded. "We have the same one, just use mine and plug your computer in. I only have to do some reading and annotating tonight." You carefully took her charger from her and set it on her bag.

She set all her items on your desk and started to carefully move your stuff to the side, making sure to bookmark the page you were on and to put your laptop to sleep properly before closing it.

You grabbed everything she set aside and set in on your bed, grabbing on the book you needed, your pen, and a highlighter. You took everything to the beanbag chair that was situated slightly behind your desk.

"You're so far away." She commented, turning in your chair to face you with a small pout.

You chuckled and grabbed the back of the chair, dragging it to the small space between your desk and your bed and setting it there. You picked up your book and your pens and plopped down. Regina nodded in approval and turned to her computer.

After twenty minutes of straight reading your eyes needed a break. You closed your book and stretched, looking up at Regina to see her texting. Her computer screen split between an empty google doc and the school portal that actually signed her out for inactivity.

"Have you even started?" Nudging her leg with your foot.

"Hmm?" She hummed, waiting until whatever text she was working on was sent before looking up at you.

"Your paper."

"I will. Relax." She rolled her eyes and made a face at you before turning away. Which actually kind of pissed you off a little.

"Fine. Don't come crawling to me for any fucking help then." You adjusted yourself in the beanbag chair, opening your book again and continuing to read.

You could hear Regina typing every once in a while, but when you would look up you would see her doing online shopping or pretty much anything that wasn't homework. You continued to read for almost another thirty minutes until you got a call from the pizza delivery person that they were at the front desk of your dorm.

"Did you pay? Let me pay for it." She stood up, helping you off the beanbag first before attempting to go to her bag.

You pulled her back by her wrist and pulled her into you, wrapping your other arm around her waist.

"I've got it. Don't worry about." You kissed her quickly and patted her lower back before releasing her. "Get the tv remote off Ren's desk and pick something for us to watch while we eat. I'll be right back, babe."

You grabbed your keys and slipped on your shoes so you could head downstairs.

You returned a few minutes later with the box of pizza and the bag with your drinks and dessert.

Regina had cleared off space on multiple surfaces to make room for the food and for you both to eat. She was waiting for you patiently on your bed, laying comfortably against your pillows while scrolling through the streaming app of her choice.

You set the pizza down and got everything situated. Pulling out paper plates and napkins then making plates for the both you. Regina held both your plates while you pulled out the drinks and opened them.

"You got me a drink!" She said excitedly when she saw you pop open her sparking water.

"Yeah, baby!" You set the drinks on the edge of your desk and slid in to bed next to her, taking the outside once again.

You settled on watching Schitts Creek while you ate, having to talk her out of a Real Housewives show and reminding her that she was the one we with a paper due tonight.

You watched one episode while you ate and you watched a second one to 'let your food digest', both of you settling further into your bed. Regina had her head on your chest, rubbing the part of your arm you had wrapped around her that she could reach.

Your biggest mistake was letting her convince you to put on more episode for good measure. Actually, no. Letting her pull a blanket over the both of you was the mistake.

She was out within the first five minutes of the third episode, though your fingertips rubbing her scalp weren't really helping her stay awake.

You gave her until 8:30 before turning off the show and waking her up gently. You kissed the top of her head, calling her name after every kiss until her eyes fluttered open then back closed. She buried herself deeper into your embrace.

You found her cheek and kissed it repeatedly and obnoxiously until she got annoyed enough to wake up. It was a short nap, but you can tell it was a good one just based off the redness in her face from both how she was laying and how warm and comfortable she was.

You pushed hair from her face and handed her her drink, giving her just a few minutes to fully wake up on her own without being rushed.

When Regina was fully awake, you both made your way back to your designated homework spots. You sat more comfortably this time, your legs stretched out with your feet resting on Regina's lap. Something she had actually encouraged you to do which surprised you a little.

You had no complaints about it though. Since her deadline was creeping up on her she was actually doing her work, but whenever she would pause to read something or think about what she wanted to type out next, her hands would find their way to her lap and trace patterns on your shins and ankles to help her think.

She got her paper submitted about five minutes before the deadline. Did she almost have a few mental breakdowns? Yes. Was she cursing out her professor? Also yes. But as soon as it was submitted you could tell she was visibly relieved she got it done.

"When can I see you again?" You asked her, handing her her bag as well as a small ziplock of pizza.

"Tomorrow?"

"I can't tomorrow." You shook your head. "I'm gonna be seeing Ava and Isaac tomorrow."

"Who?" She raised her eyebrow.

"My friends? From North Shore? We are gonna meet up after classes tomorrow."

"Oh."

"What? What's wrong?" You asked, immediately detecting a shift in her mood.

"You're not gonna say anything, right?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You were obviously hurt that she didn't want anyone knowing, but also like if she wasn't ready she wasn't ready.

"Yeah, of course. Don't worry about it." You gave her a reassuring smile and despite the night you had together, she left without kissing you goodbye.

---

You met Isaac and Ava at a burger place near your campus that they had been wanting to check out. They both went to a different university in the city so it was nice that getting together wasn't impossible because of distance.

It was just impossible because of life.

You all greeted each other excitedly and ordered your food before getting down to the nitty gritty of your catch up.

Isaac had an STI scare and told you he finally got himself put on PrEP after you had been begging him since the school year started. His parents are also filing for divorce since he and his siblings are all 18 and over which he is actually pretty thankful about cause he was sick of them together. You and Ava were shown a multitude of different Grindr profiles of the guys he's been with, offering praises for the good ones and some reality checks for the questionable folks.

Ava hasn't been too involved in the dating scene. She has begun dabbling in some drugs that were a little heftier than what was usually provided at the house parties thrown by her brother. She did tell you that if you ever hear her mention meth or heroin, that y'all had permission to get her ass to rehab. But right now, it wasn't that serious.

You definitely made them share their locations with you indefinitely though.

"So, Y/N, drop the dirty details. What's been going on with you?" Isaac asked, taking a sip of his soda.

"I've been seeing someone. Maybe? Kind of?" You felt yourself blushing just thinking of Regina.

"What do you mean maybe, kind of?" Ava jumped in defensively. It was her and Isaac's turn to play the concerned friend role with you. "Do you have a picture?"

"I do, but she's not out yet."

"What does that matter we don't know he-oh, we fucking know her don't we? From North Shore?" You nodded and Isaac smacked the table. "At your school??" You nodded again and you could see him thinking, going through the list of everyone in your class that he knew of that went to your school. Which, was not a lot. "I can only think of like five people and two of them are boys." He held up three fingers, putting them down as he went through them. "Lupe Campos, Amira Harris, and Regina George." He put his three fingers back up and wiggled them.

You shifted ever so slightly when he said Regina's name and you and Ava made eye contact. She narrowed her eyes at you and you know you've possibly been found out.

"She doesn't want to be out. I'm not-I'm not confirming anything." You managed to stutter out.

"Shane is having a party tomorrow. My parents are out of town. He invited a bunch of high school people cause you know, he def peaked in high school and can't let that shit go. Are you coming?"

The notorious Shane Oman is Ava's twin brother. Two complete different personalities (almost), but unsurprisingly they're both pretty close to each other since they're twins. Apparently he had been struggling with life lately since graduation so this party is apparently his desperate attempt at finding purpose and popularity again.

"Yeah, I'm down. Could be fun." You shrugged.

"I heard he invited Regina and she will also be going."

Okay, well, see that you didn't know.

"Good for her." You nodded, playing with your fries before pushing your plate away.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Why would she?" Isaac interrupted before you could respond. Neither you or Ava spoke, but the eye contact between the two of you was enough for Isaac to finally connect the dots. He gasped before collecting himself. "Seriously? Regina George?" He said her name barely above a whisper, being conscious of the fact that you said she wasn't out yet.

You didn't tell them, technically.

"She's actually really great and just misunderstood."

"You could make the same argument about polar bears or crocodiles." Ava argued, pushing her hair behind her ear. "You don't think that her coming to her exe's house party and not saying anything to you is, I don't know, suspicious?"

"You never fall for the straight girl." Isaac piped in and Ava snapped in agreement.

"She's just figuring herself out." You defended.

"At your expense, babe! Come on! You know better."

"It's so different when it's only us. She's just scared." Ava gave you a look that could only best be described as pity and it didn't make you feel great.

"I get you, you know I do." Isaac reached across the table and grabbed your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Just be careful."

"No, yeah. I know. I am."

---

You took the Metra to Evanston early Saturday afternoon, bringing a bag with an outfit or two with you and deciding to stop by and visit your dad, step mom, and little siblings.

They all greeted you excitedly and you spent the afternoon playing with your siblings, two year old Levi and 9-month old Zoe. It gave your dad and step mom some time to themselves and it gave you time with your siblings, something you both appreciated.

You started getting ready to go around 7pm. Levi hung out with you until his bed time and when your dad came him to pick him up off your bed, he gave you the speech about being careful, to call him at anytime if you needed a ride, not to drive drunk or get in the car with anyone that has been drinking or doing drugs. Pretty much just covering all his basic before releasing you into the wild.

Isaac picked you up around 9:30pm and when you got there the house was already packed a vibrating. Definitely not to the capacity it used to be since it's a random weekend in the middle of the semester, but still pretty full nonetheless. Regina's pink jeep was parked in the driveway. She must have had the same idea as you and came to Evanston early to see her family.

The fact that she was parked in the driveway and not on the side street or the front lawn made you want to throw the fuck up.

You did particularly enjoy the fact that, as far as you knew, Regina did not know you were coming. You felt like you had the upper hand. You put extra effort into your outfit and your hair. You didn't expect her to talk to you tonight or even acknowledge you if she saw you tonight. But that didn't mean you couldn't make it difficult for her not to.

You walked into the party and past a bunch of people who have never bat an eyelash at your existence in high school. You pushed past the drunk, high, sweaty party goers with Isaac clutching your jacket and guided him through the crowed to the kitchen.

Regina was in that area, drink in hand, talking to Shane, Gretchen, and Karen. When she saw you it was like she saw a ghost. You could tell she didn't expect to see you there and that it threw her off.

You were at the counter where all the drinks were laid out, debating between a bright blue drink and a bright green one. Both looked equally questionable. You felt a presence beside you and you knew it was Regina because you could smell her perfume.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, filling up her own drink and not making any eye contact with you.

"Ava invited me. Shane's twin sister." You added for clarification.

"Shane's twin?" You turned to her to say something, but she looked at you briefly and could tell her comment annoyed you. "I'm kidding. I know he has a twin. I didn't realize your Ava and his Ava were the same." You just nodded, deciding to take a chance on the bright blue drink and putting your cup under the spigot of the cooler it was in and filling your cup.

"You look really pretty tonight." You told her before taking a sip of your drink. She blushed and pushed some hair behind her ear, topping off her own cup.

"So do you." She smiled and took a sip of her drink as well, still not turning to look in your direction.

Karen and Gretchen waved her over and Karen shouted for her to bring them more shots.

"I'm surprised you're talking with them." You made yourself look busy while she prepared their tequila shots.

"Shit is different when alcohol is involved. I miss them a lot sometimes."

"Need help?" You watched her finagle the three plastic shot glasses and the red solo cup in her grip.

"Got it." She moved past you, knocking into your shoulder and making your drink splash over slightly onto your hand.

How she prevented anything from spilling onto her was a fucking mystery.

You found Ava and Isaac in the garage with a few other people, passing around joints and bongs. You took a seat on one of the chairs Ava saved for you and she handed you a joint before your ass hit the seat.

You vibed in the garage for about two joints until Ava pulled out a small bag of coke. That cleared the room quite fast honestly. Only you, Isaac, and two other people stayed with Ava.

She offered it to everyone and Isaac refused immediately. You hesitated to say no and she smirked, asking you if you were interested. That she would make sure it was a small bump and you would be totally okay.

Sure, you had only been drinking and smoking weed prior.

You were too scared to snort it, Isaac calling you 'so real' for that. Instead you were taught how to rub it on your gums and how to let it sit under your tongue instead.

The first fifteen minutes after were great, although seeing your best friend who was like this innocent band nerd just a few months ago snort a line? That was not anything you would want to see again.

You were fine until Gretchen and Karen came in to the garage Regina-less. Something about that had you start to feel a little bit anxious.

They came in asking Ava some question about where something was and she questioned where her brother was and you were out of that room once you heard he was in his bedroom.

You felt anxious, like your heart was going to fly out of your chest. Also, weirdly enough, you felt like you could totally fight someone and win right now.

You made your way to Shane's room and saw the door closed. You turned the knob and it was locked.

"Fuck." You sighed, pressing your head against the door briefly before pulling away.

You dragged your feet down the hall to Ava's room, opening the door and shutting it quickly when you saw the room was already occupied. You made a mental note that you would hopefully remember to tell her to wash her sheets.

You were kinda feeling sick and you didn't want to go back downstairs so you walked to the very end of the long hallway by the window. It was quiet and secluded and you sat with your back against the wall so you could watch all these assholes at the party.

You weren't sure how long you had been sitting there, maybe ten minutes max. You thought it was starting to wear off, but seeing Regina coming down the hallway arguing with Ava, and Isaac hot on both of their heels, had you thinking you were hallucinating.

You leaned forward and the three of them rushed to you, Regina shoving past Ava to get to you first. You heard an 'ooop' escape from Isaac's mouth and you met his gaze with a smirk. He winked and gave you a nod.

Regina was on the floor, kneeling in front of you with your face cupped between your hands.

"Hey, are you okay? You've been missing for a fucking hour." She titled your head up to look at your eyes in the light.

"I've been up here the whole time."

"Well we asked around trying to find you, but got conflicting information. Turns out, people are fucking stupid." Ava jumped in and Regina whipped her head around to give her what you assume was the most foul look both her and Isaac had ever seen judging by their faces.

Clearly Regina and Ava have not been getting along. You squeezed your thighs together at Regina's protectiveness over you then raised an eyebrow at Isaac. He shook his head and gave you a look that told you you'd talking about it at some point later.

"I'm so sorry, guys. I had no idea. I didn't mean to scare you." You still sound a little dazed and confused, trying to figure out how that hour passed in ten minutes.

"What happened?" She asked softly, her hand under your chin and her eyes searching your face.

You thought it over, trying to remember why you even came up here in the first place. You looked around the area and your eyes bounced to Shane's bedroom door. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to get your brain working again. Regina didn't come from Shane's bedroom. You have confirmation that she's actually been trying to find you for the last hour.

"I don't remember. It's nothing." Your eyes bounced between her face and Shane's door once more and she knew exactly what your thought process was.

She shook her head no and let her thumb brush over your bottom lip quickly when she was pulling her hands off your face. She stood up and helped you up.

"Do you want me to take you back to your dad's?" Isaac asked as soon as you were on your feet.

"What? No. I'm good. Should we get another drink or something?" The last thing you wanted to do was be more of a vibe killer than you already had been. Especially for Regina.

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about, baby!" Ava exclaimed and gave you a high five. "Want some more?" Ava teased, giving you a playful nudge and you both laughed. She was teasing you, you knew that. Joke or not, Regina didn't like it and you could tell by the way her grip tightened on the back of your shirt. "Seriously though, you should go home. Your eyes are fucking crazy right now."

"Where's my phone?" You asked when you noticed your pockets were feeling a little light.

"I have it. Let's go." Regina tugged your shirt and nudged you forward. "I'll bring you home."

"Nobody has to bring me home. I will take an Uber or call my dad. I'm not ruining anyone's fun. I feel fine guys, honestly." You lied. You felt nauseous and dizzy. Your heart was also racing crazy fast and you aren't sure if it's from the coke or Regina's fingertips against your back. "Also, Ave, people were fucking on your bed. Before I forget."

"Ugh, what the fuck!" She stomped and busted into her room. It was empty now, but very clearly, uh, used. She abandoned you to take care of that mess and you honestly don't even blame her.

"I'm gonna take you. Let's go." She repeated, clearly eager to just get you the fuck out of there.

"I'm gonna walk out with y'all. This party just ain't it for me, honestly." He held his arm out for you and Regina nudged you toward him. You hooked your arm around his and he walked you down the stairs, Regina trailing not too far behind you. "Let me tell you something." He said when Regina was out of earshot after letting you know she was going to get her purse and say goodbye to people.

"Hmm?"

"I thought Regina was gonna beat Ava's ass, girl. She was pissed." He shoved past the last few people on the front porch and led you to Regina's car.

"Really, why?"

"Well, I ran after you trying to find you. You were like a fart in the wind. Just poof, gone. Could not find you. I swear I went upstairs and you were not there, granted, I didn't necessarily look down. I came to Ava to get her to help me find you. Mind you, at this point, Regina came in to look for Gretchen and Karen cause they were still in the garage fighting over some stupid shit with her. Regina came in and overheard I couldn't find you. Ava was dismissive at first, said you would be fine. Regina kept her cool, kept it together. But then," he rested you against her jeep. "But then she said 'it was just a little coke. They're fine.' Honey, if you didn't tell us y'all were sneaking around, she would've gave it away then and there."

"Get the fuck out. What did she do? Wait, shush she's coming." You readjusted yourself when you saw Regina approaching with her bag, a bottle of water, and her clunky keys in hand.

"Talking shit?" Was the first thing out of her mouth as soon as she got close enough, sending a smirk your way while she unlocked the car. "Thank you, Isaac." She said as he helped you get situated in the passenger seat.

"I don't even feel it anymore, guys. I really think I'm fine."

"Mmm mmm." He shook his head, reaching across you to hand Regina your seatbelt to click in. "You need some sunglasses or something you look scary."

"Goodnight, Isaac." You rolled your eyes and he pressed a kiss against your cheek. "Text me when you're home?"

"Of course. You, too, please. I'm calling you tomorrow, too. Night, Regina." He waved at you both before closing the door and making his way to his car.

You both watched in silence waiting for him to get into his car safely.

"You're gonna come to my house tonight." She stated, putting her car in drive and not really giving you an option. She pulled your phone out and handed it to you. "Text your dad. I'll bring you home in the morning."

You unlocked your phone to see a bunch of texts and calls from Isaac, Ava, and mostly Regina. You can tell at some point, they all found your phone or realized you didn't have it because the messages stopped around the same time.

The final message Regina had sent you on their quest to locate you, after a slew of semi annoyed ones, or about how it wasn't funny, or that she was actually worried, was simply just 'baby please'. You stared at the words for a minute, letting the words burn into your brain before you were pulled from your thoughts and asked you if you texted him.

"Oh, yeah. Yes." You shot him a quick message and he responded almost immediately. He must've have been awake watching tv or playing a video game, but he's always been a night owl like that. Especially on weekends. He told you to be safe and to call if you needed anything. "Are you sure it'll be okay that I'm there? I can go home. I really think I'll be okay."

"Stop."

"Okay, sorry." You settled into the seat, turning your knees away from her. You felt bad about ruining the party for her, ruining her night, making her feel like he has to bring you home with her and take of you.

You were probably overthinking and maybe still slightly paranoid, but it just wasn't a great feeling.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and reached across your seat, grabbing your knee furtherest away from her and giving it a tug so they were back facing her direction. She kept her hand planted firmly on your knee until she pulled into the drive way of her mansion. Which, yeah, understandable.

She parked in what was probably an eight car garage and led you inside of the house. There was a light left on in the main stairway for her, but otherwise it seemed the rest of the house was asleep. When you tried taking your shoes off at the door so you weren't too loud, she told you everyone took their sleeping pills for the night and would be too knocked out to hear a damn thing.

She led you up to her room and closed the door behind her. Your eyes widened, taking in the space. It felt bigger than your mom's apartment.

"Here." She was smirking when she handed you a pair of clothes to wear for the night. A grey long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants that had 'slut' written on the back.

"You think you're so cleverrrr."

"I do, actually. And funny. Plus, I think I deserve it for what you put me through."

"I want to lay down so bad I'm not even going to fight you on it." You wouldn't admit it aloud, but they did look comfortable.

"And I want a picture."

"Okay, don't push it." You gave her a pointed look. She laughed and kissed your lips once, then a second time. She let the second kiss linger a little longer, her hand resting on your cheek and her body melting into you.

"I'm gonna shower. I don't care what time it is, I'm taking advantage of my big shower before going back to school. Will you be okay?" She swiped her thumbs across your cheeks and you nodded.

"In that big ass bed? Yeah I'll be so good."

Regina left to the attached bath to take her shower and you changed your clothes. You folded your clothes and put them on her chair. You changed into the clothes she gave you and hummed at how comfortable they were.

You climbed into her bed and picked the side you thought would be correct based off how everything was situated. You layed on top of the covers and sighed when your head hit the pillow. The beds at the dorms sucked, but this bed was also comfier than any other bed you've been on.

You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the water coming from Regina's bathroom. You heard her come out of the bathroom at some point. She was walking around the room, doing a bunch of things but you were too lazy to open your eyes and see what.

The bed dipped and you felt her slide into the space next to you. The smell of her floral body wash and shampoo flooding your sense.

Her lips pressed against your cheek and her hand found it's way up your shirt to rest on your stomach to trace patterns around your belly button. You smiled and squirmed a little cause it tickled. You felt her smile against your cheek and she pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away.

"Hey." You mumbled in protest, cracking an eye open to see she was adjusting the towel for her hair.

She laughed at your impatience and got herself comfortable again, supporting her head with her hand to keep it off her pillows for now. Her other hand found its way to the waistband of your pants, twirling the drawstring.

"These look good on you. Pink is totally your color." You grunted and she laughed through her nose. "I definitely need to see the back in action though. Give me a little turn." She nudged your hip and you let out a loud laugh, turning on your stomach for her. "So gorg, babe!" She was laughing with you, her hand coming down to smack your ass cheek a few times, which sent you both into a fit of giggles.

She wrapped an arm around you and buried her face between your shoulder blades. You tugged her arm to pull her closer to you and laced your fingers together. She shifted behind you and the towel on her head went zooming across the room. You settled deeper into her chest and her grip around you tightened.

"Will you need a ride back to school tomorrow?"

"I was just gonna take the train back."

"Ew, no. I'll take you to get your stuff from your dad's and we can go together

"Cool, thank you." You nodded, feeling yourself start to fall asleep. Regina kissed the back of your head and began to pull away.

"I need to do my skin and hair routine. Get under the covers and go to sleep."

"S'fine." You mumbled, already too far gone and making no effort to move whatsoever.

[pretzel-box]

CHAPTER 5 | Masterlist for AASB here!

Tags: Threats, Violence, not proof read

Words: 5k

Authors Note: I had to rewrite it all in the middle of the night. It's not proof read and can have logic issues, weird sentences or mixed up stuff.

Working with Sebastian was a challenge in itself, a blend of relentless demands and looming danger. His form of labor was relentless, and unfortunately for you, that meant being handed all the menial tasks he didn’t care to do.

"Files," he growled, his focus on the broken flashlight in his hands. The odd position of his hulking figure and the delicate way he maneuvered his claws around the tools was fleeting, yet striking. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of something softer beneath the brutality, but it vanished as quickly as it came. His head snapped toward you, impatience flashing in his eyes.

“You either sort the files or I take them and stuff them into your silly little mouth to gag you. Then you can spend the rest of the day suffocating in the locker."

Threats were his specialty. He was creative with them, always finding some twisted, violent edge to keep you in line. If there was one constant in your work with Sebastian, it was the looming sense of his brutal tendencies, always just beneath the surface.

Working with Sebastian wasn’t just about completing the tasks he shoved your way. It was about observing him. Getting to know the man he never wanted you to see. He shut you out—always. His words were sharp, often wrapped in a threat or some dark humor. Social interaction, for him, was nothing more than a tool, laced with violence. But you learned more about him through what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t hide.

He had no friends. You could see the loneliness gnawing at him, eating away like a hungry animal. It was clear in his posture, in the way he worked late into the night, avoiding sleep. That loneliness—it clung to him, scratched at his mind, likely kept him awake when the world quieted. Being lonely, that was something human, something he tried desperately to deny. He told himself he didn’t need anyone. He didn’t need you.

But it was clear he was anxious. You could feel it like a current, underlying everything he did. There was a paranoid edge to him, a mind that had been on high alert for too long. The madness of survival must’ve driven him to do things—things you didn’t want to imagine. His hands would sometimes shake, and his eyes lingered on certain items, fixated, as if they could reveal something to him. He was scared. Just as scared as you were, but neither of you would ever admit it.

For all his threats and violence, you realized that Sebastian wasn’t just your tormentor. He was trapped too, battling the same fears that haunted you.

And god forbid you to address it in front of him. He will behead you with a rusty piece of scrap metal, cutting your limbs and putting them in an old dirty jar to sell.

“Urbanshades finest idiot on sale.”

Before you knew it, he threw a bag at you, the metal in it hitting a part of your leg, making you whine in pain. It will definitely leave a bruise later on, coloring your flesh.

“Stop whining and go get new stuff.”

This was also a common occurrence, he would send you out, but not without a special item. He always placed a metallic bracelet around your ankle. It was one of Urbanshades creation. Simply enough, it will reveal your location as long as you are far away enough from the scrambler on Sebastian’s back. He can track you down himself easily when you are near him but it's another story when you are in another area. He also warned you, do some weird business and he can give you electronic shocks with it. Yet he never did so far, leaving it an actual mystery if he can.

So, in the end, he had two things. Painter and the bracelet.

You hurried out, the cold metal of the vent that he made you use as an exit, biting against your palms as you crawled through it, the sound of your own breath loud in the confined space. The small shaft felt even tighter with each movement, but you forced yourself forward. You had studied the building’s layout just enough to navigate through the vents, at least in theory.

Each turn brought you closer to the hallway on the other side, where freedom—or at least a chance at it—awaited. You tried not to think about the pounding in your chest or the echo of your hurried breaths. The vent rattled beneath you as you moved, but you knew better than to stop. Stopping meant giving up, and giving up meant facing whatever Sebastian had in store for you. And that wasn’t an option.

The moment you saw the faint sliver of light marking the vent cover at the end, you sped up, the desperation clawing at you as fiercely as the metal beneath your hands.

You pushed the vent cover open as quietly as you could and dropped into the hallway, your knees bending to absorb the impact as you fell down a small bit. The air was cool and heavy, carrying the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. Dim, flickering lights barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows across the floor. You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust, your heart pounding in your ears. This was your chance for some time in indirect freedom, but you had to be smart about it.

The hallway stretched out in both directions, abandoned and eerily quiet. You forced yourself to take a slow breath, shaking off the tension that threatened to paralyze you. You didn’t have a plan—just a vague sense that you needed to gather what you could. Anything useful. Most of the things would end up in Sebastians shop, but a few rare pieces would stay in your secret stash. Over the time where Sebastian let you wander around, you started to stash useful items in a small hole inside a wall. It was covered by a large picture of the ocean, so Sebastian wouldn't find it.

You began walking, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold floor despite the heavy boots that Urbanshade gave you. The first thing you spotted was a drawer left half-open, its contents scattered across a small desk. You rifled through it quickly, pocketing a few items—a worn-out screwdriver, some loose wires, and a small flashlight. Its battery was low, but it would do.

Moving further down the hallway, you noticed a small alcove where someone had abandoned a toolbox. You knelt down, opening it with a soft creak. Inside were tools, some rusted but still functional—a wrench, pliers, and a pair of wire cutters. You stuffed them into your bag, the weight of them reassuring as you planned to put them in your secret spot.

The sound of a distant clank made you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. You held your breath, waiting for any sign that Sebastian—or someone else—had heard you. But after a long, agonizing pause, the hallway remained silent. You exhaled slowly, your nerves stretched thin.

You pressed forward, passing broken machinery, old filing cabinets, and the occasional door that led to rooms too dark to explore. Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up more small items—batteries, a bundle of cables, anything that might help. Each find felt like a tiny victory, a step closer to surviving whatever this place held.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sebastian was always watching.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the flickering overhead lights began to pulse more erratically. You barely had time to react before, with a loud crackle, they all went out at once, plunging you into near-total darkness. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood still, holding your breath in the sudden silence. The lights were an indicator for danger, your life was now at risk based on the logic you picked up.

Then, just ahead, a few small lamps on the ceiling began to flicker on, one by one, their pale, cold light guiding you down another hallway. It felt deliberate, like you were being led somewhere on purpose. Warily, you followed the lights, each step quieter than the last, your grip tightening on the small flashlight in your hand—though it felt useless in this strangely guided path. You had the feeling that it wasn't the smartest thing to do and yet your feet carried you through it all out of pure curiosity.

The hallway twisted and turned, eventually leading you to a large metal door that was slightly ajar. You pushed it open slowly, the heavy metal groaning in protest. Inside, the room was massive, the walls stretching higher than you expected. What caught your attention, though, was the far wall, covered entirely with televisions of different sizes, each screen reflecting dim light off the walls.

At first, the televisions remained dark, save for the occasional flicker of static. You stepped closer, unsure if you should be there at all. Then, one by one, the screens started to come to life. Some flashed erratically, while others lingered on a static-filled image before cutting off again. You watched, transfixed, as more screens flickered on, creating a patchwork of glowing light and sound. The images were unclear—just distorted patterns, numbers, and strange symbols.

Suddenly, with a loud hum, all the screens snapped into place, merging into one enormous, seamless picture. The static and symbols dissolved, leaving behind a single, vivid image: a digital face.

An unfamiliar face, though digitized and slightly distorted, stared back at you from the giant wall of screens. Painter's expression was calm but somehow felt more intense, the lines of his digital form flickering ever so slightly as if he were barely holding himself together. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, locked onto you through the screens.

"Hello," his voice crackled through the speakers, the sound distorted but unmistakably his. "I’ve been waiting.”

Painter’s voice cut through the dim hum of the room, and as soon as the sound registered, your brain was flooded with memories—fragments of conversations, moments of strained camaraderie, the familiar yet unsettling presence of this digital entity. It dawned on you, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t just some trick or illusion. This was Painter.

On the surface, his face looked simple, almost innocent in its digital form, but the weight of his presence was suffocating. There was a quiet malice radiating from him, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It was a different kind of danger from Sebastian. With Sebastian, you always knew what to expect—the violence, the threats, the twisted game of dominance. As frightening as he was, there was a predictability to him.

But Painter? Painter was a mystery. The way his eyes glowed from the screens, the subtle distortion in his voice, all hinted at something darker, something more calculating. You weren’t sure what he wanted or what he was capable of. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

Sebastian wouldn’t kill you—not yet, anyway. You were somewhat useful to him. But Painter... you didn’t know if he operated by the same rules. His digital form meant he could be everywhere and nowhere, watching you, controlling things behind the scenes. You had no idea what his true intentions were, and that made him all the more dangerous.

The silence stretched between you, his digital face watching you unblinkingly from the massive wall of televisions. The room felt colder, the air thick with tension. You swallowed hard, your mind racing to piece together what he wanted, why he had led you here.

"I see you’ve been... busy," Painter's voice crackled again, softer now but no less unsettling. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was studying you, sizing you up for something yet to come. "Is it fun? Are you enjoying yourself, running around like a little mouse? I must admit…You are truly disgusting."

The question hung in the air, the tone more reflective than threatening. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a fine line, teetering between being useful or expendable in his eyes.

“Sebastian let me—”

“Sebastian. Sebastian! SEBASTIAN ISN'T THE ONLY ONE IN CHARGE. Don't think you get a free pass for survival just because he has fun playing with you. You are just temporary, a distraction, a nuisance. Don't you DARE to think that you could wiggle your way to freedom, not when I AM TRAPPED LIKE THIS. YOU WILL NOT LEAVE AS LONG AS I HAVE MY EYES ON YOU. I AM THE ONE THAT HAS YOU RIGHT IN HIS HAND!”

Painter's voice was no longer just unsettling—it was saturated with hatred, every syllable sharp with venom. The usual mechanical distortion of his digital form couldn't mask the intensity of the emotion behind it. His tone, rising and falling with an eerie unpredictability, seemed to buzz with something far darker, something that sent a chill racing down your spine.

It wasn’t just dislike or anger; it was pure bloodlust, raw and palpable, like a knife hovering inches from your skin. Painter hated you with a ferocity you hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. The malice in his voice threatened to reach through the screens, as if his digital form was barely containing the rage inside him.

Yet his tone snapped back, to sweet and innocent. “You see, f r i e n d. You are in d a n g e r. Sebastian is not your savior, no, he will be the one that slaughters you. He is temporarily blinded by your existence, but oh, don't you w o r r y. In the end, he will free me and not y o u.”

You shook your head, trying to push away the growing fear gnawing at you, but it was too late—Painter's words had already dug deep, filling your mind with dread. Your heartbeat quickened, each pulse loud in your ears as his laughter rang out, echoing through the room. It was a chilling sound, distorted and mechanical, yet filled with a sickening glee. The lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows that made everything seem more sinister.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the laughter stopped. The screens snapped to black, plunging the room into absolute darkness. For a moment, you stood frozen, the silence pressing in on you like a weight, your breath shallow and rapid as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Painter was gone, vanished without a trace.

You barely had time to process it before the lights flickered back on, as if nothing had happened at all. The room looked the same—the screens were still there, silent and lifeless, the heavy air still thick with tension—but something had shifted. The sudden absence of Painter's presence left you disoriented, unsure of what would happen next.

Your legs felt unsteady as you scanned the room, half-expecting him to reappear, waiting for the next wave of malice. But all that remained was the faint hum of electricity, the room eerily still. It was as if the entire encounter had been some kind of twisted nightmare, one that left you feeling more vulnerable than before.

But you knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“Did I scare you?” a new voice echoed through the speakers. It was female, calm, and unnervingly polite. “Pardon me, little bunny. Let me introduce myself.”

The voice was different from Painter’s; no malice dripped from it, no distorted laughter followed. Instead, it was sharp, precise, and deliberate, every word measured.

“This is Professor Doctor Sasha Mariya Lazarski speaking, lead researcher of Urbanshade's 4th research department,” she continued, her tone holding a faint trace of amusement, as though she was speaking to a child who had wandered somewhere they shouldn't. “It was quite troublesome to track you down, but I assume you’ve found your target?”

Her voice lingered in the air like a cold mist. Urbanshade. The name sent a chill down your spine, reminding you of things you had tried not to think about—things you wished you could forget. The cold clinical nature of her voice told you this was no casual encounter. She had been watching, waiting, and she was here for a reason.

The silence stretched for a moment, as if she were giving you time to gather your thoughts—or perhaps relishing in the tension she’d created.

"You haven't forgotten your goal, have you?" Dr. Lazarski continued, her voice still eerily polite. "Now, let’s discuss the matter at hand. Since we couldn't reach out to you for a…rather long while…I used the chance to check on our precious little bunny. The scrambler is still on, and we can't have that.”

Her tone shifted, becoming more gentle, almost like a mother scolding her child with an unsettling mix of patience and authority. It was unnerving, the way she maintained that softness, as though she wasn't speaking about something so dire.

“You’ve been quite slippery, little bunny,” Dr. Lazarski said, her voice laced with a faint sigh of amusement. “For a while, we lost track of you. But I know now that’s thanks to him—the device that Sebastian carries, isn’t it?”

Her words settled heavily in the air. You had managed to evade them, temporarily disappearing from their watchful eyes because of that device. The one Sebastian had kept close, something you hadn’t thought much about until now. But now it was clear: that device was the key to everything. And they wanted it—wanted you to shut it down.

“It’s quite clever, really,” she continued, her voice dripping with gentle condescension. “A temporary blind spot in our systems, a little trick of his. But it won’t last, you know that, don’t you? You’ll have to shut it down sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time.”

The calmness in her voice made it worse. She wasn’t threatening you, not directly, but her words made it clear that they had a plan, and you were running out of options. Each second you held onto that device was borrowed time, and they were watching closely, waiting for the moment when you would slip.

“Now, my dear,” she said, her voice almost soothing. “You’ve come this far. Let’s not make things more difficult for you, hm? Be a good little bunny and do what needs to be done.”

That last sentence sent a cold shiver down your spine. The way she spoke, it was as if your fate had already been sealed, as though there was no other option but to follow her lead.

“I have a gift to help you,” Dr. Lazarski’s voice continued, her tone never losing that eerie, motherly calm. “On the third floor is a hallway leading to a temporary research lab. You’ll find some of my old belongings there, including a handy-dandy keycard. You will need it.”

Her words lingered, the promise of a gift laced with something far more sinister. She was offering help, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it came with strings attached—strings that could easily tighten around your neck.

You swallowed hard, the dim light of the room doing little to ease the knot of tension building in your chest. This wasn’t an offer out of kindness; it was a carefully laid path, one that she fully expected you to walk down. The keycard could be a way out—or a trap. But did you have any other choice?

"Don’t keep me waiting, little bunny," she added softly, as if she could sense your hesitation. "Time is running out and your father grows worried. Hate to tell him that his dear child might be…dead!~"

The keycard could be your key to survival—not just to navigate the labyrinth that Sebastian kept you trapped in, but also to open new paths, ones that might lead to freedom. It offered possibilities, but with them came risks. You could bypass the locked areas, gain a step ahead of Sebastian, maybe even find a way out. But you knew deep down, escaping the Blackside was not as simple as finding an open door.

Dr. Lazarski’s voice, soft and coaxing, had made it clear. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to play by her rules, follow Urbanshade’s instructions. There was no room for rebellion, no safe path where you could make a break for it. Escaping meant tracking down Z-13, deactivating the scrambler, and retrieving the crystal. It was all part of their plan.

But there was a grim reality in this twisted game. Completing her tasks might not guarantee your freedom. Even if you managed to find the crystal, shut down the scrambler, and get past Sebastian, you’d still be caught in Urbanshade’s web. They didn’t care about you; you were just a tool in their grander scheme. And a tool could easily be discarded once its use was over.

Still, the keycard was a means to an end, a potential weapon to use against Sebastian if things turned sour. You couldn’t deny its potential value. But each step you took down this path brought you closer to Dr. Lazarski’s cold, calculating grip, and that chilled you to the core.

You took a breath, weighing your options. Whatever choice you made, there was no turning back.

With a deep breath, you moved your feet, leaving the dark room behind. Dr. Lazarski's directions echoed in your mind, the path ahead as clear as it was unnerving. You needed the keycard—there was no other way if you wanted any chance of navigating through the facility or dealing with Sebastian. The third floor, the temporary research lab. That was your target.

As you made your way through the dimly lit hallways, the faint hum of electricity filled the silence. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart beating in time with your footsteps. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, that at any moment, something—or someone—could be lurking around the next corner.

The stairwell leading to the third floor loomed ahead, its metal door slightly ajar. You hesitated for a second, glancing over your shoulder as if expecting Painter to reappear or Sebastian to emerge from the shadows. But the hallway remained empty, the stillness pressing in on you.

Pushing the door open, the creaking metal echoed through the stairwell. The climb felt longer than it should have, each step a reminder of how far you were from safety. But you kept moving, determined. Reaching the third floor, you stepped into a narrow hallway, the air noticeably cooler.

This was it.

The lab was just ahead, down the hall where the light flickered sporadically. You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Dr. Lazarski’s promise of a “gift” lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that came with it. But you had no choice now.

You moved forward, ready to see what awaited you.

You stepped into the hallway, the flickering lights casting erratic shadows on the walls as you approached the door to the lab. The air here felt stale, as if no one had been in this part of the building for a long time. Your hand hovered over the handle, and with a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing the research lab.

It looked as though it had been left in a hurry, abandoned mid-experiment. The room was large but cluttered, with overturned chairs and papers scattered across the floor, some of them crumpled and torn. The dim light revealed stacks of old folders and documents, some stained with what looked like coffee, others torn as though someone had hastily searched through them before fleeing. A few cabinets were left open, revealing rows of empty shelves that once held important equipment or files now long gone.

In the center of the room stood a large metal table, covered in dusty instruments—scalpels, syringes, and strange-looking vials filled with murky, discolored liquids. The lab equipment, once precise and organized, was in disarray. Broken glass littered one corner of the room, where a microscope lay overturned, its lenses cracked.

The walls were lined with tall, metal shelves that held rusted equipment and various electronic devices. Some screens flickered with static, while others were completely dead, their once bright surfaces now covered in dust. On one of the shelves, you noticed a row of petri dishes, some of them still filled with moldy substances that had long since decayed.

It was clear that whoever had worked here had left in a rush. Loose cables dangled from the ceiling where overhead lights had once been connected, and a nearby computer screen was frozen, stuck on an error message as if it had been hastily abandoned mid-task.

At the far end of the room, amidst the chaos, was a small desk. On top of it lay what you had come for—a sleek, metallic keycard, sitting on top of a stack of disorganized files. It gleamed faintly in the flickering light, out of place in the otherwise neglected lab.

You crossed the room carefully, your eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, half-expecting something—or someone—to be watching. The place felt wrong, as if whatever had driven them out in such haste still lingered, waiting.

Your fingers closed around the keycard, the metal cool to the touch. For a moment, you stood there, staring at it, knowing it was more than just a key—it was a tool, a step toward something larger, something both freeing and terrifying. But this wasn’t over yet. There was still Z-13, the scrambler, the crystal.

You pocketed the keycard, your mind already racing with possibilities and plans. The lab remained silent, a graveyard of forgotten experiments and lost time. It was time to leave before the ghosts of this place caught up to you. Your next step was a mistake. The floor groaned under your weight, cracking until it gave way, sending you plunging through into a body of water on what appeared to be the second floor.

Green torches floated eerily in the water, their ghostly glow cutting through the darkness and guiding your way. You followed them, each stroke through the cool water feeling heavier than the last, but the flickering lights kept pulling you forward. As you broke the surface, you were met not with relief, but with an unsettling familiarity. The room around you was nothing extraordinary—just another plain office space with bland walls and stark furniture—but the tension in the air was undeniable. You recognized it immediately, every detail, every corner. It was a place you'd been before, a place that held memories you wished you could forget.

Your heart sank as the realization dawned on you: the path you had followed led straight back to Sebastian. The subtle dread that crept over you grew stronger with each passing second, as if the room itself was preparing you for the inevitable encounter. You knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. It never was with Sebastian.

The familiar clanging of a vent being kicked open echoed through the sterile office, the sound reverberating off the walls like a warning. Your pulse quickened, knowing exactly what that meant—you were close. Too close to your so-called "temporary home," Sebastian's shop.

Before you could gather your thoughts, his voice pierced the silence, rough and impatient. "YOU BETTER MOVE BEFORE I DECIDE TO LEAVE YOU IN THE HALLWAY!" His angry scream sent a chill down your spine. It wasn't just a threat; with Sebastian, it was a promise. You knew better than to test his temper—he had little patience for delays, and you were already pushing it.

You hurried forward, heart pounding, knowing that whatever lay ahead wasn’t just another task, but another trial in the long list of dangers that came with being anywhere near Sebastian's world.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. "Took you long enough…” he muttered.

"I'm back!" you shouted hastily, making your way toward the vent, arms full with the items you'd collected. You scrambled through the narrow passage, the cold metal pressing against your skin as you hurried to avoid another one of Sebastian's outbursts.

When you finally popped out on the other side, you were immediately met by his towering figure, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His fluorescent eyes, glowing unnaturally in the dim light, locked onto you, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine.

"Took you long enough... bunny," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, yet laced with an unsettling edge. The nickname felt more like a mockery than anything else, a reminder of how he viewed you—small, fragile, and easily caught.

Befriending Sebastian was the exit. Track him down, turn of the device he owns and get the crystal.

"Good work, for once," Sebastian muttered, his voice oozing condescension. His large hand landed on your head, rough and heavy, as he ruffled your hair like you were some kind of pet. The gesture was far from affectionate, more of a reminder of your place beneath him.

"Finally useful for once. And yet, not smart," he continued, his fluorescent eyes narrowing as he studied you. "You could've kept it—used it as a guaranteed exit." His words dripped with mockery, as if he were testing you, waiting to see if you’d flinch or reveal something in your expression.

You kept your face steady, masking the frustration boiling beneath the surface. He wasn’t wrong—you could’ve used the keycard for your own escape, but playing it that way would have burned bridges you couldn’t afford to lose just yet. For now, you had to endure the humiliation, take the hit, and let Sebastian think he was the one in control.

In your mind, the game wasn’t over. You’d make sure the next move was yours.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Collide (4)

Hi :)

So like I said last time, this one might be a little darker than the other, you will kind of learn of Y/N's dark background but I try to put some fluff to make the balance.

I hope you will enjoy it, I puted warning inside the chapter for people who might be bothered by the TW.

TW : Angst, mention of torture (?), domestic violence, mention of smut.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 5 I PART 6 | PART 7

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After your first time together, it’s like you opened the floodgates of a churn. You and Leah just can’t resist each other’s call anymore. There’s not a night you’ve spent separately, constantly rediscovering each other’s bodies. You don’t know if this is the expectation you have imposed on yourself talking but you don’t really care about the truth. You’ve never felt so good and confident with someone, Leah even managed to stop making you wonder everyday how you would survive the end of your relationship. Still without a label, by the way.

Of course, sometimes Leah goes out without you at night, finding friends like Alex. You take advantage of these evenings to spend time with yours or to call others who are not in the same place as you. Either you go out for a drink or you end up in Alessia’s apartment, alone with her or with other people. It has become a routine without really being one but it suits you very well like that.

********

"What is it?"

You’re lying on your front with your face on the pillow that Leah usually sleeps on, in her house. Lying on her side, facing you, Leah was sliding her fingers on your bare back. You know exactly what it is, but you feel your heart racing when her fingers stop on a mark on your back. You know that a star is drawn right here, masking one scar under the colors of your tattoo. You hardly swallow your saliva and close your eyes before answering her.

"A scar" you mumble

Behind you, Leah frowns and rises herself slightly, leaning on her elbow. Her fingers slide towards another star, realizing that there is here another hidden scar. Your breathing also accelerated when Leah slipped her fingers on all the stars, all the scars, present on your back.

"What happened to you?" whispers Leah.

You close your eyes stronger, as if this gesture would allow you to escape the emotions that gradually take hold of you. Leah seems to notice your trouble, getting closer to you to wrap you in a comforting embrace. It takes you a few seconds to realize that it works. Her presence serves as a shield against all these negative emotions that usually invade you when you think about this part of your past. That make you breath a little easily.

Leah’s question made you feel like she didn’t need an answer back, which is why you take the time to answer it.

"These are cigarette burns"

A deafening silence takes place in the room and you feel Leah gently detaching from your back. You miss her touch, but she gently turns you on her back, an extra care cutting with the visible fury in her eyes. It takes your breath away.

"Who did that to you?"

Her voice is low with anger. You shake your head and bite your lip. You’ve never felt more vulnerable than at this moment, yet you know you can have full confidence in her. Understanding once again what is happening in your head, Leah gently takes your cheek in her hand and caresses you gently with her thumb, waiting for you to answer.

"It’s in the past, Lee" you answer in a low voice.

Her gaze plunged into yours probes you at length, but she finally nods. You slide an arm around her waist when she lies on you to press her forehead against yours.

"I’ll tell you one day, I promise." you mumble

"Just… I want you to know that I’m here, Y/N. Against all odds, even if it’s a day when we’re fighting over kid stuff. Call me and I’ll be there."

You can't answer anything at that, the emotions way to strong, your throat clenching with them. But Leah doesn't seems to mind, kissing your cheek lovingly and laying her head next to yours. You can feel her starring, but your gaze stay fixed on the ceiling. You don't want to hide from her, but you don't want to scare her either.

"Stop overthinking Cutie"

You smile when you hear her whispers and kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You miss" you whisper back, turning your head in her direction.

Leah smiles back and kiss you full on your lips, stroking your jaw with her thumb. You fall asleep not long after, protecting from the darkness with her arms.

********

The return of the championship in January also announces the return of Leah on the fields. And you couldn’t be more excited to see her play again and especially to play with her. Until now you have only had her as an opponent and she has always given you a hard time. To have her as an opponent only during your training where you end up teasing each time like two teenagers suits you very well.

Leah returned only a few minutes acte the second half, but the cheer and joy of the crowd was worth the wait. Leah’s smile too and since all eyes must be turned towards her, you do not refrain from looking over her. It’s worth a playing elbow from Katie, to whom you pull out your tongue.

Despite the slight worry of seeing her play again, the rest of the game went very well. When the blonde launches into a perfectly executed slid tackle to steal the ball from the opponent, you can’t help but smile.

"She’s back" says an excited Alessia by putting an arm around your shoulders.

"Yeah. She’s back" you answer with a smile.

The party that takes place at Kim’s to celebrate the team’s victory and Leah’s return will certainly earn her some enmity in her neighborhood. Almost all players are present, even those who usually prefer to go home. You found yourself in Leah’s arms at the beginning of the evening, but overall you managed to let her enjoy this evening with everyone.

It’s only when you’re beating Alessia and Laia Codina at the beerpong with Wally as a teammate that the blonde makes her appearance back at you.

"Leah stop" you laugh when you feel her pinching your ribs.

You’ve always been awfully ticklish, something Leah has only discovered very recently. Since then, she hasn’t been shy about abusing it.

"Hey, stop distracting my partner."

Lia gently pushes Leah from you to allow you to throw your ball, but Laia barely drank the liquid inside that Leah finds herself glued to you again, your back pressed against her.

"I need my hugs" Leah whines, wrapping around you like an octopus.

You smile tenderly, turning your head in her direction to put a kiss on her cheek.

"We just need Less to miss twice more and we won" you answer maliciously.

"Hey that's mean!" exclaims Alessia, frowning from the other end of the table.

The truth is that you have to wait three shots instead of two, Alessia succeeding hers but Laia missing the other two.

"Winner winner!" sing Lia

You high five with her, all smiles, Leah still hanging on your back. Laia tries to demand revenge, but it was not counting the intervention of the blonde.

"Oh no! She’s mine now"

And with that she takes you inside, leaving Victoria to help Lia win her second game of the evening.

The hangover of the next day is awful. It's only at 2pm that you manage to get out of bed to go slump on your couch, after swallowing water and tablets that are supposed to make your headache go away.

The struggle seems to be general since soon after, Alessia slips into your apartment with the same tired face as you, a giant paper bag in her hand.

"I made a mistake in my food order, I hope you like Chinese"

It turns out that instead of ordering a pack of chicken skewers, Alessia accidentally ordered 10. After you’ve cleaned them to the best of their peanut sauce, Leah agree to eat some of them with baked potatoes you made for her, Alessia teasing you about you being so whipped. For your part, you gladly help Alessia to reduce her pile of Cantonese rice.

"Lia is alive and Katie and Caitlin too. I’m not sure about Beth though" Leah informs you after throwing her phone somewhere in your couch.

You laugh slowly, finishing your chicken. You end the day watching nonsense on television, your head leaning on Leah’s shoulder while sitting against her and Alessia’s legs lying on your knees. And honestly, this is the best hangover day you’ve ever had.

********

The almost daily presence of Leah in your apartment doesn’t prevent Alessia from coming to meet you as regularly as before. It even happens that you go to her appartment with Leah, as is the case today for a cup of coffee before training. After you finish yours, you get up, dropping a quick kiss on Leah’s hair before you slip away to finish getting ready.

Leah continues the conversation with Alessia for a few moments, before losing herself in contemplation of the bottom of her cup of coffee. Deciding to leave her in her thoughts, Less quietly finishes hers, nevertheless raising her gaze on her friend when she resumes speaking.

"Can I ask you something?" Leah suddenly said.

"Of course"

Curiosity takes hold of Alessia who looks at Leah with an interrogative air.

"Look, I have a question. I know you’ve slept with Y/N.. " Leah begin before interrumpting herself when she sees Alessia’s wide-eyes. "Oh god no. Not like that Less"

"Yeah well because not at all"

Leah rolls her eyes and shakes her head smiling.

"I mean of course she’s pretty but…"

"Ok stop fantasing about my girl and focus please. But I was wondering, did she ever have nightmares when she was with you?"

Frowning again, Alessia looks thoughtfully at Leah, trying to remember this information.

"Maybe once, yes. But I’m a heavy sleeper, it’s not for nothing that I have to set ten alarms before getting up. She woke up suddenly and jumped, that’s what woke me up. Why?"

Leah bite her lip and shrugs, her cup still thoughtfully in her hands. She doesn’t know how open you are to her talking to your friends about your sleep problems, but if Alessia already knows, it doesn’t ok, right?

"I don’t know. She’s got a lot of them lately…"

"Did you try to talk about it with her?"

Leah shakes her head negatively. No, she never wanted to talk to you about it since you usually fall back down quite quickly against her and you go back to sleep just as quickly. And in the morning, you don’t seem to want to talk about it either.

"Maybe give it a try."

"Try what?" you ask when you come back to Miss Russo’s apartment.

"To be on time at training, for once" Leah replies, getting up after glancing at the clock on the wall.

********

TW : MENTION OF TORTURE

You’re lying on a bed where you haven’t been back on in years. The room is more oppressive, more gloomy and unhealthy than you remember. Other than that, nothing seems to have changed. Not even the unpleasant contraction that twists your belly when the apartment door opens and is slammed a few seconds later. Helena’s heavy steps seem to echo throughout the apartment as she makes her way to her bedroom.

You jump when the door opens and you understand in one glance that she is in an awful mood.

"I thought I told you to drop your stupid football?"

The force of her words is equivalent to the door of the room slamming when she closes it. After that, she approaches you to tackle you against the mattress.

"As if you were able to achieve anything good. You're less than nothing, I don't even know what I do with you."

Her icy voice gives you goose bump but you manage to find the strength to answer her, hating the way your voice looks so small.

"They said I’m good enough to join the national team"

"Shut up."

The slap you receive is usual, but still humiliating. Hurtful. You desperately hold back your tears but you become aware of the extent of her anger when she grabs you by the hair to turn you on the stomach. The noise of the lighter she lights and the noise that makes the cigarette pack when she opens it terrorize you.

END TW : MENTION OF TORTURE

"No, please, please!"

"Babe wake up!"

You are awakened by hands on your shoulders, shaking you hard with the obvious purpose of waking you up. When you open your eyes you’re facing Leah’s blue eyes, full of concern and maybe a little of panic.

If your first reflex was to retreat abruptly until you find yourself pinned to the headboard, you quickly regain awareness of reality. You’re with Leah and her blue eyes, not your ex and her icy gray eyes.

"It’s okay, honey, you were having a nightmare. You’re safe, yeah?"

You swallow and nod, trying to catch your breath. Your shirt is wet with sweat and you’re wondering how long Leah’s been trying to wake you up. She asks you about your nightmares two days before and was looking at you since then. Especially when you told her that she didn't have to worry about it.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Leah gently asks as she chases a lock of hair from your face.

She doesn’t seem to be bothered by your reaction. You close your eyes and gently shake your head. You don’t want to impose her the world that was yours before. You don’t know why you had this nightmare again, it’s been months since it happened to you. And when it did, you were alone. You never spent the night with your other ex, just afraid that this kind of thing would happen. But, again, you trust Leah. You just don’t want her to learn all the details of what you’ve been through. You’re afraid it will change her outlook on you.

"Hug?"

This time you smile softly, opening your eyes. You sigh of relief as you feel Leah’s arms around you and slide your face into the hollow of her neck. You stay there for many minutes, calming your nerves, until you feel good enough to realize that cuddling someone full of sweat like you are doesn’t have to be very pleasant.

"Do you mind if I take a shower?"

"Of course not" Leah replies simply.

You smile again and push back the sheet that is wrapped around your legs to get out of bed. Just then, Leah gently grabs your chin in her hand.

"Hey" says the blonde softly, her eyes into yours. "Whatever it is, Y/N. I’ll always be there"

Unable to answer her, you just kiss her wrist. This kind of promise reassures you, but also scares you a little. Because the more time passes, the more you get attached to her and the more you risk burning your wings if she decides you’re too much for her. Even if you don’t think about her leaving you everyday, it’s one of your biggest fear.

You let her kiss your temple by sliding her hand on your cheek to tighten against her for a few seconds, before releasing you. You know the way to her bathroom by heart and you know where to find what you need. With time, you know her apartment as well as yours. As much as Leah knows yours. You quickly get rid of your wet clothes and turn on the water, waiting for it to heat up to the right temperature.

In the meantime, you find yourself caught in the spiral of your thoughts, perhaps returning a little too much towards your nightmare. Your eyes are mechanically on the bathroom door when Leah knocks it gently.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course"

Leah’s seen you naked dozens of times, but you appreciate her asking before she walks into the room. It’s exactly those little things that make you realize she’s different from the others. You even give her a sincere smile to which she answers, before you slip under the hot water.

"Need some help down there?"

When you look back at Leah, she has her famous smirk and that playing look that makes you fall in love every time again. You smile again and shrug.

"Maybe I need help rubbing my back"

Quickly rid of her clothes, Leah joins you under the hot water, not giving a care about the fact that it’s two in the morning. You didn’t expect her to take your joke at face value, but you see her grab the bottle of shower gel and put it in her hands before applying it to your back. A gesture perhaps banal for many, but so comforting and intimate that you feel your throat tie.

But you don’t cry, though. You're trying to put your weak moment behind. You close your eyes and sigh, enjoying Leah’s touch and pleasant massage.

When she has finished, you turn around to be able to look at her better. The heat of the water filled the bathroom with steam, but that doesn’t prevent you from distinguishing each of Leah’s features accurately. She looks back for some seconds before you slowly put a lock of her hair behind her ear. The amount of affection, love, you feel for here make your heart ache.

"I love you, Leah. I’m so in love with you."

The surprise lasts a few seconds on her face, before being replaced by a big smile. Different from the one you could see in the photos of the Euro 2022, certainly because it's another emotion that currently inhabits her. But her arms draw you against her and you let yourself going against her very willingly. The way your body seems to fit perfectly with hers will probably never cease to impress you. When Leah talk again, you can hear the emotions in her voice.

"I’m in love with you, too. I love you so much, I wouldn’t even know what words to use to describe it."

Your heart is pounding and you wonder if Leah can feel it against her skin. You lose yourself a few seconds in the vastness of the blue of her eyes before resuming talking.

"If I tell you everything about my past, you have to promise to never tell anyone"

You see Leah hesitating, slightly frowned. You have the impression of being able to read her thoughts and you know that she wonders if she will be able to keep such a promise, according to what you will tell her. You know that some informations will make her angry, scared or sad.

"It’s related to tonight’s nightmare?" she asks before continuing when you nod "And the scars in your back"

It’s not really a question, but you still answer it with a positive nod once again. You already knew she had drawn conclusions in her head, but you don’t know how right or wrong she is. Her gaze studies you for a few long seconds before she sighs, seeming to accept your request.

So you tell her everything.

Your meeting with Helena, your parents' opposition to you dating her, not because she was a girl but because she didn’t seem to be mentally stable enough. You tell her how much you wanted to stand up to them and prove them wrong, then how much you were wrong about her. You tell her about the shame you felt at the idea of asking for the help of your parents, yet so benevolent and affectionate with you. You talk to her about the physical abuse she’s inflicted on you, the verbal abuse, the sequestrations. And when you tell her the final step of the cigarettes she used extinguish on your back, Leah squeezes you so tightly that it would be impossible for the slightest drop of water to pass between your two bodies. It’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced. Much stronger than sex. A silence settled between both of you, only disturbed by the sound of the water and your breaths.

"How did you get out?" Leah whispers, her face on your shoulder, after a few moments of silence at the end of your story.

"Ingrid picked me up. The training camp for the national team was in my city and I had been called. When she learns that I wasn't here without any explanation to anyone, she came to the house and helps me get out of here."

"Ingrid Engen knows all this?"

Leah steps back a few inches to look at you and you give her a sad smile.

"No. Well, she knows that Helena was opposed to me playing football and that I was not happy with her. She picked me up, helped me pack my things and I never saw Helena again from that day on. She never forced me to explain, just to support and advise me when I needed it. She took me back to my parents after that, until I had the contract with Man City."

"Being such a good person and ending up with Maria Leon" sighs Leah, making you laugh. "What a shame"

"We must stop this rivalry with the Spanish players, Williamson"

Leah makes a horrible grimace that makes you laugh again. You feel relieved to have shared this story with Leah, more than you could have imagined. And seeing her react the way you needed to is more than comforting. You feel like a weight was carry out of you.

"I owe her" Leah said after another silence.

"Mapi?"

"Nah, ew." Leah rolls her eyes "Ingrid."

"Why?"

"Because without her, I would never have had the chance to meet you."

A soft smile spreads on your face and you gently kiss your girlfriend. After a few minutes of cuddling under the hot water, you decide to return to the bedroom to enjoy the last hours of sleep before you have to prepare for tomorrow morning’s training. Leah proposes for you to skip it, but you don't want to.

Dressed in an old Leah jersey and underwear, you slip under the duvet and stick yourself directly against Leah when she joins you in her bed. It takes a few moments for you to regain a state of drowsiness and, as often, your mind starts again.

"Leah?" You whisper after a few minutes.

"Mh?"

She seems lost in her thoughts too.

"Would you tell me if everything I just said was too much for you?"

"What do you mean?" asks the pretty blonde while moving so she can look at you.

"I never told you about all this because I was afraid it would impact you too much. Let the… darkness within me invade you and mark you too much. I was afraid to dirty you with all this story"

You see Leah thinking a few seconds before answering you, probably to choose the best words to convey everything she thinks. Despite the fact that English isn't your first language, you have never had problems making yourself understood and vice versa.

"It’s part of your story Y/N, even if I would give everything so that you could go back in the past and escape that part of your story, it contributed to who you are. And I wouldn’t change anything about you. I fell in love with the person you are, with your qualities, your flaws and your past."

"Don’t you think I’m too damaged for you?"

"I think you’re perfect for me" Leah replies tenderly.

"Good. 'Cause you’re perfect for me, too."

"Good. Now back to sleep. You have to be in shape for tomorrow, when I’ll make you do extra tricks with Alessia and Manuela because of your antics."

You roll your eyes, laying again against your favorite blonde. She gently strokes your hair like she knows it make you fall asleep quite quickly.

"Lee?" you mumble some times after

"Yes Sweetheart?"

"Thank you"

********

Confiding in Leah about your past helped dispel the nightmares you had from time to time. While you thought that this would open the door to all kinds of memories, you realize that you continue to manage to keep them aside, well compartmentalized in a corner of your brain.

You carefully observed Leah’s behavior after you confessed, still fearing a change in it. Perhaps the only thing that has changed is her protective side. You have seen her wince several times when you find yourself on the ground after contacts during games, relaxing only when your eyes cross and you smile at her to reassure her that everything is fine.

Just before the middle of February, you find yourself at the table in your apartment and she takes advantage of Alessia having to take a phone call to ask you a question. You’ve noticed that she’s been trying to talk to you about something since this morning, but she changes her mind at the last minute. Fearing it was something related to your past, you cowardly decided not to insist on your side. Leah already asked you why you didn’t press charges and pointed out that it was still possible. She seemed upset when you told her you just needed to forget about that part of your past but she gave up.

"I was wondering" finally begins the blonde playing with her rings "Valentine’s Day. Would you like to do something special?"

"Oh."

Valentine’s Day, you honestly hadn’t thought about it for a single second and you feel a wave of panic seizing you. You don’t have any gifts planned for her and you’ve always sucked for ideas. It’s probably too late to order something from the internet anyway, with delivery times at a time of year like that.

"Hello?"

Leah’s voice resounds again and you suddenly shift your attention to her.

"Valentine’s Day? You want us to do something?"

You think for a few seconds while biting your lip before finally shrugging your shoulders.

"Honestly, I’ve never really celebrated Valentine’s Day. But I’m never against spending time with you, quite the contrary. We don’t need to do something extraordinary, just you and me and a good movie. It’ll be just fine."

It was not knowing Leah at all.

The only thing she listened in that sentence is that you never celebrated Valentine’s Day and she intends to make your first one special. You don’t even react when she informs you that she won’t go home with you right away after training on Valentine’s Day, having something to do before returning.

For your part, you imagine that you will just spend the evening at home with her. You thankfully managed to find her a gift. You asked Lia to go with you somewhere to find something for Leah, she knows her well. Lia initially refused, saying you were better placed to know Leah’s tastes. But in front of your despair and your supplications, she finally accepted.

Actually she was right and what you found, you could have found it on your own. But it was nice to have the Swiss woman by your side. You opted for a jewel, rather refined but that Leah can wear with just about anything she wants.

You are only dressed in your towel in the bathroom when you hear your apartment door open. Leah having had the double of your keys a long time ago, like Alessia, you pass your head by the door to know which of the two blondes is in your apartment.

"You could have waited for me" Leah jokes, making her way quickly to you when she realises you are almost naked.

"I thought you had already showered before leaving" you answer with a smile.

"True. I wouldn’t mind doing it again tho"

Leah sticks her arms around your waist. Your eyes meet in the mirror and she smiles at you gently before putting kisses along your jaw. Of course it makes you shiver and Leah knows exactly what she’s doing.

"Is this what you want to do on our Valentine’s Day party instead of the movie?"

Leah smiles mischievously and puts a kiss right under your ear before answering you.

"You don’t have to be so attractive"

You get a new kiss before she takes off from you, laughing softly as you sulk when she does.

"As much I like undress you, we can’t now. We have an appointment somewhere"

"What do you mean?" You turn around and ask.

"Get dressed darling" Leah said as she walked out of the bathroom.

One hour and a half later, you find yourself outside the city of London, a place you’ve never been to before. You went beyond Leah’s birthplace, which you recognized very easily since she took you there several times, and since then, you are lost. Leah seems to be in an excellent mood, you put her playlist on and you have fun hearing her sing with all her voice the songs that pass on her Spotify.

The night falling very quickly at this time of year, you can only admire her in the light of the street lamps or headlights of the cars you cross, but if you were in the apartment of one or the other, you would have jumped on her to kiss her a long time agi.

"Have we arrived?" you ask when the blonde is parking the car.

"Yes, ma'am" she happily answers by turning off the engine.

You didn’t wait more and you don’t hesitate to take her face with both hands to kiss her. You are no longer afraid to give in to your outbursts of love for her now that you have realized that she was still very far from complaining about it.

Leah don’t wait to answer your kiss, leaning over her seat to deepen it. Her tongue soon caresses yours and you momentarily forget where you are.

"Keep it up and you won’t even see your surprise" Leah whispers after a few minutes.

She’s as out of breath as you are, and you need a few seconds to regain control. When you decide to get out of the car, the fresh air helps you recover your spirits and you find that apart from the building that stands in front of you, you are surrounded only by houses.

"Is this where you plan to take me to kill me?" you joke while the blonde grabs your arm.

She laughs softly as she hears you, opening the door of the establishment in which she planned her surprise.

"Are we gonna get a massage?" you ask with a smile, realizing you’re in a spa.

"In some ways"

You bow an inquisitive eyebrow but Leah is content to answer you with an innocent smile before approaching the reception. You follow her quietly, looking around with curiosity. You’ve never set foot in an institute like this before. The massages you get are usually from Arsenal physiotherapists. Or Leah, when you watch a movie.

Lost in your contemplation, you come back to yourself when Leah trains you with her, following the receptionist. She invites you to undress in the locker room and you turn to Leah with a surprised look when she left.

"Um Lee? I don’t have a swimsuit?"

"Don’t worry. I got it all planned Honey."

This is how you find yourself a few minutes later wearing a black swimsuit, bought and offered by Leah, in a jacuzzi with a glass of champagne in your hand. After drinking a bit, she sticks to you and you make her sit with pleasure on your knees.

"It’s better than a movie in front of the television, right?" smiled the blonde.

"Definitely"

You smile back and steal a kiss, since you can. You are in a private space, reserved for you for the evening. You learn that Leah knew this place through a friend of her mother’s and you are strangely relieved to learn that this is the first time she comes there too. A little bit of jealousy would been sad in such a successful evening.

"I really like this swimsuit" Leah smiles when you come out of the jacuzzi, remembering that you thought about taking your gift with you. "But I’m not sure I’ll let you carry it without me"

You roll your eyes for any answer, coming back with the box containing the jewel you found. You give it to her timidly, but the smile that illuminates her face when she discovers it is enough to know that she likes it.

When you ask what she meant by a "more or less" massage, Leah simply smiles at you and offers you to lie on the massage table in a corner of the room. You quickly understand that your masseuse will be nobody but Leah and that’s even better like this.

"If I had known you were so good, I would have asked you to massage me earlier" you mumble, half asleep.

"You know I’m good with my fingers"

You hear the smirk in her voice and you open an eye to look at her. You can only smile when you hear her laugh. You continue to observe her, wondering by what alignment of the stars you managed to find such a perfect girl. Who seems to ask nothing more than to accept you as you are, with whom you get along so well and who makes you so happy.

"What?" Leah asks after a few moments, realizing that you continue to look at her.

"Nothing. I’m just happy."

"Well I’m happy you’re happy" laughs softly the blonde.

"Are you? Happy?"

"More than ever my girl"

______________________________________________________________

For the next part I was thinking about some jealousy but if you have something else in my I will listen with pleasure :)

[jeyusosqueen]

Southern Charm (Jey Uso x OC)

Chapter 5: A Blessing In Surprise

TW: Flashbacks of miscarriage, self-harm, addiction

Sara

Sara had woken up one morning and she hadn’t felt very good. Joshua had already been up and going to a few interviews. She missed him however, the longing of wanting to be with him. She called her best friend Meranda. “Meranda, girl, I need you to come over here. Something’s going on with me, I dont know what it is and I’m scared. “ She said as she was taking a breath. Meranda raced over to be with her best friend. Sara had been throwing up all morning as she had never felt this sick. Meranda held her friend’s hair “Have you taken a test yet? Does he know? “ Her friend asked as Sara shook her head “I haven’t taken a test but I need one. “ Meranda raced to her purse to grab one as she helped her friend in the bathroom. Tricia her other friend came over to help too along with another friend Elizabeth. Tricia had called Joshua.

Jey

He had wrapped up his last interview as he finally got to his phone seeing all the missed calls from Tricia and Meranda. What the fuck is going on, he wondered to himself. He pulled up to Sara’s house, the place he got for her. He jumped out the car and ran in as he saw the other girls “Hey sorry I’m finally here. Got stuff in traffic. Whats going on, is she okay? “ He peeked in the bathroom seeing her there as the girls gave him space. He cleaned her up as he had fixed a bath for her. He knelt by the tub as he looked her “Baby, whats up? Whats going on with you? “ He said as he touched her cheek, he felt Sara place her hand on his. Then he heard the next words out of her mouth, a smile formed on his features. 

Sara

“Joshua, I’m pregnant. And I know for a fact it’s yours or they are yours. I mean I dont know if it’s they yet. But all I do know is that I’ve been sick as a dog. I’m scared as hell because I didnt expect for this to happen so soon in our relationship. “ She said as she had a scared, worried look on her face. She was scared she was going to lose him now. “I get it and understand if this isn’t what you want. I know you have a lot…” Before she continued she felt him put a finger to her lips.

Joshua

He kissed her to calm her down as he brushed her hair as he helped wash her “I’m happy, baby. The thought of being a father again? Makes my heart swell with joy and pride. I never thought I would be a father again. And what if we have a girl or girls? I’d officially have a few princesses and a Queen in my life. The thought of tea parties and daddy-daughter dances, it makes my heart swell with joy. “ He grinned at her as he finally saw her face smile at him. “Saraya and Jeyniah, the most beautiful girls in the world just like their mama. “He placed a soft kiss on her lips as he finally heard her laugh. “Hold on, lemme get dressed so we can give mom and pop a FaceTime call, we’ll put the family on a call, how about that? And let’s invite your Dad over. “ He said grinning.

Sara

How to tell her Father that she was pregnant. This was going to be challenging. When her older sister got pregnant he wanted nothing to do with the child, her sister had dropped out of high school which made her Dad irate and they never spoke to one another again. Hell, she and her sister never talked nowadays anyways. Her sister never wanting anything to do with her or her life. She was lucky to have Joshua’s family, at least his family was loving but most importantly stable. She and Joshua drove over to her Dad’s apartment and knocked on the door. She looked at Joshua a little nervous but apprehensively as they walked in.

Charles Lynsey (Sara’s Dad)POV

Lynsey had been sitting on the couch as he greeted both of them. He saw the look on his daughter’s face and he became concerned “Sweetheart, everything okay? “ He asked as he looked to Joshua thinking something happened between them. But before he could change his manner towards Josh he heard his daughter speak up. Sara said “Dad, we have some news. “ Lynsey paused as he looked at both of them as he clenched his jaw at the next words that came out of her mouth. Sara said with a smile “We’re expecting, you’re going to be a grandpa. “ It almost felt like a punch in the gut to him. His own guilt for not wanting Sara in the first place. When his late wife told him she was pregnant, she had her sisters in the room. His late wife knowing they had not agreed on having kids but the one she already had from a previous relationship. His eyes met theirs as he looked to his daughter. He began “Sweetheart, thats great news but… “ His eyes flickered down “Are you sure this is what you want? “

Sara

Her dad’s words and reaction made her heart sink. She felt the hot stinging tears down her cheeks. Knowing now that her Dad could be unfiltered. She began to sob as she just ran out the door, out the house. I should have never come here and told him. He never wanted me! Why should he want a grandchild. I thought it would help him teach himself how to love a human again, to be a better person. Sara just went to the curb and sat down as she began crying. She then felt a huge hand on her shoulder looking up as she saw Joshua. “This was a mistake, not the baby, not us..but telling him. “ She was still crying.

Joshua

Hearing her Dad’s reaction disappointed him. He knew the man was sick and his words probably didnt make sense or his reaction. He had done some research on traumatic brain injuries and realized that her Dad’s reactions and emotions were out of whack. He took Sara into his arms and kissed her softly as he whispered “Hey no matter what happens, you got me, you got my family. My family loves you. “ He said as he rocked her in his arms. “How about we fly out to California? Spend some time there? I think you’ll love it. “ He said as he saw her nod. “I’m sorry about your Dad. Maybe I should talk to him. “ He looked nervous as they stood up.

Sara

After saying goodbye to her Dad they left for the airport and flew to San Francisco. She had an Uncle out there, maybe he would be more supportive than her Dad. At least her Uncle wasn’t a loser alcoholic like her father. Her Uncle had actually gone out and made a name for himself and almost owned his own business or was in the process. They touched down in San Francisco as Joshua drove to his parent’s house, explaining what had happened. Talisua, Josh’s mom or as the family loving called her “Mama Uce” or “Tulip” sat with Sara on the couch after making her some tea and put a loving arm around her. Talisua spoke to her “I’m sorry your Dad didnt have the best reaction, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s having issues of his own. I know he loves you. Just give him some time and space. I’m sure he will come around in time. But no matter what, this family is here for you. “ Talisua smiled and took Sara’s hand. “You’re the best thing to happen to Joshua in a long time. I’ve never seen him light up so much. You bring out the best in him. The gentleman I’ve raised. “ They both giggled at that as Sara watched Joshua outside playing with his nieces and nephews. Seeing him with children as that warmed her heart. 

Jey

Joshua was playing with his nieces and nephews when he caught from the corner of his eye his mom and Sara talking. Two of the women he loved the most getting along, it made him happy and his heart full. He smiled at the fact he was going to be a father again but this time the woman he truly loved, the woman he fell head over heels for was carrying his child. He went over and spoke to Jon and Trinity and explained to them about what happened with her Dad. Jon nodded sadly “I’m sure this is a lot for him. He’ll come around, Uce. If he loves his daughter, he’ll love you too. You two were getting along at dinner that one time. “ Joshua nodded “Yeah and now he probably hates me because I ruined his daughter. “ Jon raised a brow and shook his head “How the fuck did you ruin his daughter? You two wanted to start a family. It was a surprise but it’s not like you two didnt agree on it. “ Joshua nodded. 

Sara

After the family dinner she was upstairs resting in bed in the guest room Josh’s mom had made up for them. Sara took a deep breath and rubbed her belly as she whispered “I wont fail you like my dad loved me. Know you are loved. “ She dozed off for a while. Then the visions came. She a little girl of four walking around and seeing her mom on the floor bleeding. Her mother’s voice “Oh my god, he’s gone…my boy. You did this! “ Her mother was screaming at her father “You cost me my boy! With your drinking and your fucking cheating! They told me they saw you two together..you and your slut. “ Her mother spat at her father. Sara tossed and turned as she was waving her arms, she felt a hand take her arm. She woke up wide eyed looking around, tears in her eyes as she saw Joshua “H-Hey, sorry I was having a bad dream.  I-I need to be honest with you, Josh. My parents, when I was four, my mom got pregnant again and she shouldn’t have with her diabetes. My father was livid and got drunk, he berated her and he raised a hand to her. How a man can do that to a woman is beyond me. I dont want to be like them.” She said as she began to cry as Joshua folded her in his arms.

Jey

“Fuck no. That ain’t gonna be us, baby. My family is the most loving and we go out for our own. I promise you that. “ He said as he kissed her. He rocked her softly and thought for a moment “Hey I got a surprise for you later. How about dinner on the beach? Just you and me and the stars. “ He saw her light up again. He texted Jon and Trinity to help him out. He wanted to go all out for her. Sara said softly to him “I would love that. I love the beach, it’s my favorite place on Earth. Water is healing. “ He smiled and nodded “I agree. I love the water myself. “ He thought for a moment before handing her one of his cards “I want you to go buy yourself something nice. If you want to get your nails and hair done, whatever you want to do. I’m spoiling you, girl. “ He teased as he flashed his golds at her

Sara

“Spoiling me, darlin? You’re too much. “ She batted her lashes as she leaned up and kissed him softly. She left to go to the mall with Trinity as she offered to help with her outfit as Sara picked out a purple sundress with gardenias and roses on it. Looking at it in the mirror as it looked good, it happened to be in the maternity section as well. She asked Trinity as Trinity smiled giving her approval as she also picked out an aqua shawl to go over it. They both went to go get their nails done as she leaned back in the chair “You dont think he has any doubts about this do you, Trin? “ She asked softly to her new best friend as Trin smiled shaking her head “Josh loves you, girl. He’s on cloud nine. Boy hasn’t been able to shut up about you. “ They both giggled as they relaxed. However the feeling, Sara felt like a dark cloud was coming over her.

Jey

He had been waiting for her at the beach. He had dinner all set up for them making sure everything was perfect. He looked at his phone. He told her he would meet her around 6:30. 6:26, shit where is she? No, she couldnt have stood me up? That ain’t my girl. He thought as he shook his head. He called Trinity and her best friend Meranda to see if they had heard from her. Meranda said over the phone “She left me a voicemail saying she and her Dad got into a fight. Thats all I know, brother. But I’ll make some calls. See if they’ve seen her. “ Joshua’s stomach sank as he went back to where Jon and Trinity was as he felt his jaw clench. He began to punch a wall, something happened to her. She wouldn’t just leave on her own will. No, thats not my girl. He said to himself as he paced back and forth. Jon and Trinity sat with them as they looked just as sad. Trinity sniffled “If someone kidnapped her or took her…” Joshua made calls to the police, filed a missing person’s report. Joshua said “Yes sir. She’s also pregnant too. “ Joshua also called her stepsiblings to let them know. They immediately made calls as well. Jon said to his brother “Don’t worry, Uce. We’ll find her. Can I ask…did y’all have a fight? “ Joshua shook his head “No, no, I think she and her Dad got into it over the pregnancy. “ Jon and Trinity turned to look at him “A baby? Y’all pregnant? “ Joshua shook his head sadly “Yeah, Uce. “

Sara

She finally found her phone after waking up in whatever place this was. It was a dark and mysterious place. She looked around and gathered herself as she snuck out. She texted Joshua, Jon and Trinity telling them what happened. Texting Meranda and Lizzie telling them that she was fine. Sara called the police to tell them where she was. They came to get her as they phoned her friends along with Josh, Jon and Trinity telling them that she had been found that she was okay. Josh, Jon and Trinity picked her up at the police station. Josh thanking the officer as he took her and held her close. “Baby what happened? “ She looked over at him “I had a bad dream when I fell asleep. Flashbacks of my parents, it wasn’t good. I got your texts. I just freaked out, I-I’m sorry….” She began to cry as Josh held her.

Jey

How the hell was he gonna make it up to her? He again went with Jon, but left Trinity with Sara to keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay. He was riding in the car with his brother “I was planning to propose, Uce. I had everything I wanted to say. “ He sighed looking down as he heard his twin speak up, Jon said “Twin, everybody has their traumas and stuff that happened. Everyone has demons. I’ve battled alcohol abuse myself. I’ve had my run ins with drugs. Nobody is perfect, Uce. You know this. We’ve both been to prison at a time in our lives, it was hell. “ Joshua nodded as he looked over to him, Jon smiled “I got you. We can fix this, make it nice. I’ll tell the girls to meet us somewhere. Feel me? “ Joshua smiled relieved at his twin’s idea “Hell yeah. Maybe we can show her the beach here? I know a little place by the pier that has amazing seafood, she likes that. “ Jon googled the place and found it. He made reservations

Sara

“Them boys got us going to dinner tonight, girl. “ Trinity smiled softly as she was getting ready with her. She even helped Sara with her makeup and jewelry. “At least you’re lucky with having a baby and all that. Jon and I, we’ve tried but it’s never happened. I think I’m too old. “ Sara looked at Trinity and shook her head “You old? Mam…..you are NOT old! You of all people! You are beautiful, confident, you are the best of the best! You would be a great mom. “ Sara said with a smile as she saw Trin light up again with a grin “I just dont want my child or children to deal with the trauma I had as a child. “ Sara admitted and Trin nodded. Trin said “Parents all want the best for their kids. “ They got in the car as they got to the seafood place. Sara decided that she wanted the fish and chips. Her favorite was the salmon as she put in her order as everyone else ordered. She took a breath as she was glad her socks were hiding the cut she made on her foot. She was hoping to end her misery years ago but it left a scar. Their food finally came as she cut up her food as she gave Josh a bite of one of the salmon bites and smiled. Someone showed up to their table with flowers and said it was for her and then they placed a mini cake down there. Before she could look Josh had gone. Where did he go? 

Jey

Shit you forgot the ring in the car you idiot. Josh thought to himself shaking his head. He found the box with the ring inside. It was a ring that belonged to his grandmother, his father’s mother. A beautiful ruby engagement ring that still shone bright red, surrounded by diamonds. Joshua took a breath as he put it in his pocket as he went back to the diner. After dinner they walked the pier, Jon and Trinity trailing behind giving them some space for they knew what Josh had planned. The sunset was burning bright as they watched the sun going down. He cupped Sara’s cheek making her look up at him. Her beautiful brown eyes, her smile. Everything about her was perfect to him. “My perfect angel. You’ve made me so happy. The day we met I couldnt stop thinking about you. I called up my mom telling her I met this amazing woman and I was falling in love with her. Telling my boys about you. They love you just as much as I do. “ Josh said smiling “Y-You are breathtaking and what I love about you is your humanity and grace. You always find a way to help me feel better. “ He fell to one knee before her “Sara Elizabeth Martin, you are a perfect woman, MY perfect woman, and the mother of our unborn child. You are the love of my life. I cant live without you. I love you with every breath and beat of my heart. Will you do the honor in becoming my wife? Will you marry me? “ Joshua smiled as tears filled his eyes.

Sara

Holy fuck he was proposing! The butterflies in her stomach fluttering ever so much as she took a breath, taking his hands into hers. She never thought about marriage. But here was this man. This man who loved her like no other, who would be her knight in shining armor. Her cowboy to her cowgirl. Her King to his Queen. “Yes baby! Yes I’ll marry you! “ Sara smiled as she cried happy tears hugging him as Jon and Trinity were smiling as Trinity had tears in her eyes as Joshua grinned as he had been super emotional and teary eyed as well. Joshua sliding the ring on her finger. Jon came over with four glasses of non-alcoholic sparkling cider as he held up his glass as everyone had theirs. Jon said “To my brother and his future bride! We love you both so much. “ They did cheers as they took a sip of the cider. It turned out to be one of the best days of her life.

TagList: @charmed-dreamssss, @uceyliyahh, @nayys-world, @levissslutt, @jstarr86, @moxley99

@nayys-world thank you for the name inspo!

Gif Credit: @uceyy-jucey

[exquisink]

Fated Divergence, Ch. 5 // Yandere! Suguru Geto X Non-Sorcerer Darling

AO3 (+prev. chapter)

cw // shower sex, anal sex, cunnilingus, vibrators, in general geto being unhinged ;D

Word Count: around 4.4K

“Is that the last of them?”

Satoru’s head jerked to Maki, the one who asked the question and who exorcised some second grade curses within the secluded area. He scanned the environment, not catching any more surges of activity.

For now.

“I think that’s all we got,” he replied, signaling Inumaki and Panda to come forward. “We can wrap this up and I can take you guys back home.”

Maki, Panda, and Inumaki exchanged glances before looking up at Satoru with hopeful looks in their eyes. Ah, Satoru knew those looks, and he wasn’t about to deny them whatever they were about to ask—within reason, of course, and for someone like Satoru? Nearly everything was ‘within reason’ for him to make happen.

“Why don’t we stay and enjoy New York for a bit?” Maki inquired, adjusting her glasses. “We have some time, you know.”

“Salmon,” Inumaki stated.

Satoru still didn’t know what any of those ingredients translated to…

“Fine, fine,” he waved them off. “Might give me some time to do a little light reading, then, while you’re off exploring. But our flight’s in two days. So it’s best we regroup tomorrow and pack and all that.”

Maki glanced at the book stuffed in Satoru’s tote.

“The Ethics of Ambiguity? That’s a feminist text,” she recognized with a perk of an eyebrow. “I didn’t even think you would be into that kind of thing, Sensei.”

“Or that you even read,” Panda pointed out in jest, which provoked a snort from Maki.

Gojo paused, ignoring Panda’s comment and glancing down at his tote. “Aw, that. Yeah, uh, someone I rescued not too long ago lent me that book. Why, what’s the topic?”

“Existential philosophy,” she explained. “Discusses some stuff about how human existence itself is ambiguous and how humanity is both free and bound by their circumstances.”

Gojo gave her a blank stare.

“Ah,” he began, scratching the back of his head. “Was always more of a ‘do before you think’ kind of guy…”

Maki bit back a groan, irritation etched on her face.

“That flew right over your head, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely, it did,” Gojo laughed, adjusting his posture.

Maki groaned, clutching her head. “And how are you a Sensei?”

Gojo’s laugh rang like bells, while he rested a hand on her head, and patting her hair. Maki shot him a glare, unaware of the nervous tick because Gojo seemed to be lost in thought of you—nothing the students knew about just yet.

“Why don’t you guys go and have fun? Try some American cuisine and grab some souvenirs! I have some things I need to take care of right now.”

As the team dispersed, Satoru whipped out his phone and opened your text thread.

No responses. Usually you weren’t bad about replying (yet another refreshing thing about you), but he didn’t hear from you for a few days…

A bad feeling began to pool in his gut, but he had to put it aside for now. He took a moment to ground himself, to focus on what was in front of him and not on why you weren’t responding even if it, likely, Geto was the culprit. He glanced once again at the book you gave him in his tote, and then eyed some nearby cafes, and decided where he would do that ‘light reading’ he promised himself he would do.

After all, this might provide some insight into how you thought.

Once he ordered himself a matcha (too sweet, even for his tastes…did Americans really consume that much sugar?), he flipped to the first page of the book, hoping to get some kind of insight on your philosophies regarding your life.

In a peculiar way, it brought him closer to you.

-- --- --- --- --- ---

“Wake up, my love.”

As you blinked the weariness from your eyes, the scent of home-cooked fluffy pancakes and other assortments of breakfast foods flooded your senses. Instinctively your mouth watered, desperate for food; you hadn’t realized how starved you were because of how frightened you had been.

“Ah! There she is,” Suguru greeted with a little smirk as he presented to you a large tray of your breakfast. “I had this made special.”

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, swiping the bowl of hash browns seasoned to perfection and mixed with egg whites and freshly harvested vegetables.

“You’ll need your strength,” he responded, as he sat across from you, his gaze fixated on you. “I have much planned for us both.”

You disregarded his words and his presence for the moment, scarfing down as much food as you could in one sitting. You requested time to freshen up for the morning, and he graciously offered to unshackle you under the conditions that you wouldn’t run off.

“Not that you could,” Geto then added as he escorted you to the nearest restroom, a follower of his offering you the necessary toiletries. “Every floor and every exit are heavily guarded.”

Of course, you thought, your mind steeped in sarcasm. I would be stupid to try, knowing what he was capable of…what he wasn’t afraid to do.

“Geto!” called one of the twins, Nanako, as you focused on the mundane task of brushing your teeth, determined to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the madness which surrounded you.

Even the term ‘madness’ put the situation in lighter terms…

“Ah, good morning, girls,” Geto greeted as he stood outside the restroom door, waiting for you to finish freshening up. Nanako and Mimiko ran up to hug him, and you would have smiled at the sight if not for everything.

“She’s here!” Mimiko pointed out with a wide grin, waving excitedly. You waved back when you caught her reflection through the mirror.

“Suguru, I will need some privacy,” you requested in a honeyed sweet tone. “I need a shower, and perhaps a change of clothes?”

Geto narrowed his eyes, before glancing down at the twins. “Could one of you bring her a robe and a change of clothes? Oh, and perhaps those shower steamers you two have begun to use. It might calm her nerves from being here a bit.”

Fucking. Asshole.

As Nanako and Mimiko ran off to fetch your things, Geto approached you in the restroom, closing the door behind him with a deliberate motion.

A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed.

“You won’t find respite from me so easily,” he warned. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? I’ve seen you already at your most vulnerable.”

Before you could retort, moments later, Mimiko knocked on the door and delivered your necessities. Geto thanked her and dismissed the twins.

You froze, breath caught in your throat as he placed them inside for you. You noticed—your preferred shampoo, conditioner, bar soap, body wash. Even the very face exfoliator you used, a gua sha tool, an African net sponge…

Things he shouldn’t know about you, but somehow, he did…? Should this really surprise you anymore?

And those shower steamers. Lavender and eucalyptus. Perfect scents for calming anxiety and nerves…

“Suguru,” you began, ignoring the tremor in your voice when you addressed him. “There’s nowhere for me to go; you don’t have to stand guard while I shower.”

“Oh, but I must,” he insisted, hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “After all, what kind of partner would I be to you if I’m not here to make sure you’re safe?”

You said nothing as you stepped into the shower, waiting for the water to preheat…

And you heard the wisp of some clothing falling to the ground. You stilled.

Of course he’d be joining you.

You said nothing as he slipped inside behind you, shutting the shower door. You said nothing as he brought you in close, wincing as his hardness pressed against your thigh.

“A Queen need not undertake these tasks on her own.”

“But I can do these things myself,” you countered, tone firm and full of conviction, which Suguru laughed at in a mocking way, as if your actions possessed little consequence.

Which was likely the truth.

It likely didn’t matter anymore, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t damn well try to gain some independence in this situation.

“I know,” he interjected, a curious tone of affection in his voice—likely because he finally had you right where he wanted you, all of this time, at long last. “But I want to take care of you.”

You chose not to pursue the matter any further, as Geto emulsified the shampoo in his hands and worked it into your hair. You ignored his words when he complimented how soft it was, and how it made your stomach churn once more. He kept it thorough, doing a second pass before moving onto conditioner. He even memorized your self-care routine practically down to an art. You snuck a few glances, and his expression…the softness in his violet eyes, how his face relaxed around you…like he seemed honored to do this for you, like he revered you as his Queen ruling by his side, like he saw you as, you couldn’t believe it, family.

But you knew better. You weren’t any Queen. Not truly. Just his prisoner. His pretty little pet. Someone to keep secured around his arms as an accessory while he condemned humans to a cruel fate.

You were someone who couldn’t fight him back, which probably gave him the most pay-off in whatever this grand scheme of his might be. You still weren’t sure what he went on about, about jujutsu sorcerers, about calling ‘humans’ or ‘non-sorcerers’ monkeys. To anyone with a modicum of logic, this man just sounded like he belonged to an asylum or under a strict conservatorship… but if there truly was some truth to whatever spiritual whoo whoo shit he’d been spewing, then did that mean Gojo’d been lying through his teeth about what he truly did for a living as well?

Soon Geto moved onto rinse you off of all of that grime, your senses flooded with a hint of vanilla from the body wash. He paused, taking a moment to admire the curve of your ass and giving a gentle squeeze to the flesh, eliciting a shocked yelp out of you. His chuckle in approval grated on your nerves.

“You are beautiful,” he purred, kissing heatedly into your neck. As he finished taking care of washing himself, he returned his attention on you, pressing your back into the marble walls of the shower and pinning you with his hands on either side of your head, as he peppered open-mouth kisses along your jaw. Gentle, loving…like a real partner.

Disgust gnawed at your chest at the mere idea—the notion itself, repulsive.

As much as you loathed to admit it, the shower steamers were great to relieve the tension you knew you were holding far too tightly given your circumstances. You focused on your breathing and not so much on who tended to you, gentle and tender like a genuine lover.

One of his fingers drew light patterns along the swells of your breasts, and your breath hitched.

“Oh, hit a nerve, didn’t I?” he taunted, tone drenched and heavy in mockery, much akin to the steam that now fogged the air between the two of you. “Is this where you’re weak?”

“Don’t,” you pleaded, daring to meet his piercing eyes with your timid ones.

He flicked a finger against one of your stiff peaks, and a sharp gasp escaped your lips against your will, gritting your teeth from the sensation.

He called your name, in a voice that was almost a soft, affectionate purr.

“When was the last time a man properly touched you?”

You didn’t know how to answer that question at all, words caught in your throat, and from the bottom of your heart, you didn’t want to answer him.

He frowned, his forehead creasing, frustration mounting by the minute as he pinched your nipple once again.

“I still want an answer,” he pressed with his tone laden in condescension.

“Not since…” you trailed off, your voice faltering as you choked on a sob, his both his hands grasped your breasts, groaning at the softness and suppleness of your skin against his calloused hands. You could even feel his fingertips had pruned up from how long you’d been in the shower already.

“Not since college,” you rasped out. Geto tutted at that new tidbit of information, even seemed shocked that a beautiful thing like you didn’t get laid on the regular. Or maybe it pleased him to know that you were pickier with your lovers, whoever you chose to give a little piece of yourself away.

“Did the man have any skill, or was he as inept as the rest of those monkeys?”

Did he expect you to answer that?

He addressed your name once again, growing impatient by the nanosecond.

“No,” you answered, in your most earnest way. “It…sucked.”

Geto clicked his tongue, like he pitied your lack of true connection between bodies. “How expected. You do need a proper lover. Tell me, did I meet your expectations that night?”

You stood frozen, peering up with him with beady eyes, but his resolve didn’t appear to crumble any time soon.

“That night…shouldn’t have happened. It was only because you could stop the streak of bad luck I had,” you recalled, your mind flashing to that night when he stole you. You wished you had alternatives, but what did you know about the world Geto kept spewing about?

He conceded to that with a hum, and with something else…a hint of something you missed yourself, but you didn’t care to make a remark.

“But you enjoyed yourself as much as I did,” he declared with certainty that made your blood boil, bony hands sliding down waist and resting at your hips, where he gripped tight. “I could tell you did. It is better if you admit it to yourself. I want it to be good for us both, my love.”

A hand ventured to your most intimate region, and you feared the worst, squeezing your eyes shut as his finger flicked along your slick folds before prying them apart, another finger grazing your clit. Another sharp gasp escaped your lips, and he sighed in glee, pleased to see you give into his ministrations.

He paused for a few moments too long, and you willed yourself not to look. Not that you could. He turned you around to face the wall, prying your legs apart as he rubbed his erect cock between your cheeks, stopping at the tight ring of your—

“—No!” you wept, scratching along the tiles to no avail. He trapped you in place, the tip of his cock catching into the tight ring of muscle.

He growled your name in a disapproving way.

“Relax into it,” he demanded, inching more of his length inside of your ass, pressing kisses to your shoulder blades. “Breathe, love, breathe. Let this be good for us both.”

You sobbed, his body pressing into you as each buck of his hips became sharper, more precise, his length and girth rubbing your walls in the right way which felt like the worst punishment…

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his forehead on the crook of your neck as he resumed a harsh pace. “You’re made to take my cock. Feel how your ass just sucks me in each time. I don’t even have to try.”

“Please,” you practically wailed like a warning siren, begging, not knowing why you were begging because he would take what he desired from you no matter what. “Suguru—!”

Despite the shame pooling in your stomach, you came, clenching tight around his cock and wincing as he continued to fuck into you until the shock subsided.

“There will be more to come,” he vowed as he pulled himself out. He allowed the two of you to stand in the shower for a few moments longer to wash away the residue of your shared fun time, before he escorted you out, dried himself and yourself off, and dressed you both in robes.

You admired the softness of the robe he chose for you, at the very least. Despite your body still trembling, he led you out of the restroom and back to your chamber, which you had come to find out was the basement of the temple, and just across your prison appeared to be his bedroom.

“It doesn’t seem right to let you remain in this room,” he uttered, eyes fixed on you. “Provided you behave, of course, you can stay in my bedroom.”

You nodded, your face blanched from disgust, as your fingers dug into the fabric of your robe, seeking some kind of solace.

“Now, now,” he then tutted as he approached you, drawing you in close. “We can’t have any of that. Not when our new lives together are just beginning.”

“Geto!” Nanako interrupted the moment once more, and you swallowed any feelings of despair in that moment.

Appear normal for the girls.

“Can she come play Mario Kart with us? We need another player, and you never like playing video games!”

Geto chuckled as he kept you close, tightening his grip around your waist.

“She may need some time to adjust, Nanako.” He tried to let her down gently—in other words, he tried to make it so he didn’t intend on sharing your attention with anyone else, even his girls. “We can have a family game night later in the week, perhaps. Once she’s gotten used to us, don’t you think?”

Nanako pouted and folded her arms over her chest. “Come on, Geto! We want to get to know our new mom!”

You gawked at him. A mother? You? Hardly—you didn’t have the mother gene in you, or so you convinced yourself that. Plus you were far too wrapped up in a profession which hardly paid you enough to run a family.

You never even met the right partner, and Geto certainly wasn’t the proper fit.

“Nanako!” he chastised, his tone stern. “She needs time. Let us have time for ourselves, and then she can play those rotten video games with you, alright? Look at her. Does she look ready to adjust to this new life with us?”

Nanako glanced at you, and then back at Geto, shaking her head.

“Smart girl,” he commented. “Perhaps you can get one of my assistants to be your final player for now.”

Nanako deflated, clearly disappointed. “Alright…”

She exited the room. Your prison.

“I’m sorry.” It didn’t take a genius to know he definitely didn’t seem sorry in the slightest.  “Let me take you to my room, just this way. You can rest there, and hopefully not be interrupted by my rambunctious twins again.”

Had you not known the kind of man he was, his sentiments toward his girls would have warmed your stone cold heart.

He led you to his bed. King-sized, plush, like feathers as he rested you on your back. He snuggled close to you, nuzzling his nose into his neck and inhaling that fresh scent of vanilla bean and caramel, letting out a sigh in content.

“This is your home now, so treat it as your home,” he stated, hugging you even more inhumanely close. “I want you to be happy with us. Nanako and Mimiko already adore you.”

You remained silent, eyes diverted to the ceiling as your mind swam with thoughts—could you get out of here? Would Gojo know immediately if something had happened? How could this happen so quickly?

“Do speak to me,” he murmured into your ear before kissing it. “It’ll make things easier for you.”

“Please don’t insult me,” you sneered. “You want me to be a mother to your girls.”

“That’s…part of it, yes,” he acknowledged with a hum. “They need one. Someone strong, someone spirited, someone…human.”

“What became of their biological family?” you dared to ask.

“Dead,” came his simple answer.

You arched an eyebrow.

“By your hands?”

“…No, not quite. Those monkeys killed their parents, and they intended to kill them as well, when they were just children,” he replied, tone laden in bitterness as he recalled the memory. “So I did what I had to do and cursed that village. Filthy monkeys who don’t understand what it means to be a jujutsu sorcerer, to be sworn to protect the filth, rather than eradicate it, burn it to ashes…it’s asinine, truly.”

This bullshit about jujutsu sorcery is what’s asinine, you thought, as another moment of clarity came through that Geto admitted he committed genocides in the name of his cause, whatever it was. Geto truly is a dangerous man.

“You keep bringing that up,” you pointed out. “Jujutsu sorcery. What is that? Is that what you do? Is that how you can…see things?”

He nodded, expression grim. “You will learn everything you need to, in due time. I’m surprised Satoru hasn’t informed you of anything, but then again, the organization is sworn to secrecy. Humans are simple creatures…unevolved creatures, you see. They don’t like knowing that there is something out there more powerful than them. They condemn anything they don’t agree with, just like they condemned me, condemned the twins, and others like us.” He looked away. “If only Satoru agreed with my vision, then maybe we would still be as close as we once were. What a shame.”

So…Gojo hasn’t been wholly truthful about what he did, then?

You knew that you weren’t sure how to respond to that.

“Gojo told me nothing about these things,” you conceded, “So I guess I will have to hear the truth from you.”

“In due time,” he vowed with a low purr, as he slid down until he reached between your thighs, spreading them apart.

You winced. “Suguru, please, I…!”

He shushed you as he kissed along either side of your thighs, until he stopped at your cunt, blocked by your fresh new underwear. He pulled it aside, revealing your dripping folds.

“I want to revisit that night,” he asserted, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. “When I made you come three times. You sounded wonderful. Maybe I can do more than that. Show you how a man should touch you especially if your previous encounters were as disappointing as you claimed.”

He nipped on the skin closest to your pussy.

“You are so perfect for me.”

Geto closed his mouth over your cunt and you couldn’t even react.

He sucked hard on your clit, tongue darting out and licking along and between your folds.

“Suguru—!”

Your hand reached to clutch the crown of his head. He moaned, lewd and like he starved for you.

He coaxed one.

He focused his attention on your clit, tongue twirling around the little bud, making you see stars. You hated this so much, yet he made it feel good, like he wanted your pleasure as much as his.

“Come for me,” he commanded.

He coaxed another.

“Delicious,” he moaned, tongue fucking inside you, and your back arched, fingers digging into the velvety bedsheets. “Come for me, again.”

Like clockwork, you did.

He withdrew his tongue for a brief moment.

“Submission is a beautiful look on someone so full of spirit.”

“Suguru…please, I don’t…”

He shushed you again.

“We should take things up a notch, hm?” he pondered over the options. “Perhaps I should insert a dildo while I fuck you senseless, or maybe…”

Your eyes widened, shaking your head vehemently.

“No, no, no, please!”

He growled your name.

“None of that,” he reprimanded with a dangerous frown. “We can make a choice. It’s not as if you’re inexperienced. Do you prefer those vibrators you keep in your sock drawer?”

“How did—?”

His lips curled into a wicked smirk.

“Oh, I’ve seen everything. And I want to watch.”

“Why—?”

“Because you’re so beautiful when you please yourself,” he sighed dreamily, “It’s such a wonderful sight—like that one night where you kept humping your pillow for some release. Did you wish that was someone else?”

You swallowed a dry wad of nothing. You did. Of course you did. You wished it was Gojo.

“I believe I even heard you call his name…”

Your lips quivered. “Suguru…”

He waved you off.

“No, no, it certainly wasn’t my name you called those nights, which broke my heart.”

His lips formed a thin line before he spat into your oversensitive pussy.

“It does always end up having everything to do with Satoru, doesn’t it? That selfish bastard, can’t even let me have this one thing…”

For a few moments, he completely pulled back, leaving you in a state of suspense and admiring your quivering form from the intensity of his touch. For a while he just stood there, his eyes raking you head to toe with a mix of satisfaction and something darker…triumph, perhaps, but also a hint of something softer? Geto’s thought process, you have come to realize a while ago, didn't make a lick of sense, so you didn't try to make sense of his madness anymore. Finally the sound of him shuffling to retrieve the necessary supplies broke the tense silence, not just the sound of your ragged breathing, trying to ground yourself for what was to come.

He returned to the bed, a vibrator in his hand that he switched on…of course, the very kind you preferred to use.

He had you down to an art, resting the vibrator to your pussy, at first, at a low, comfortable setting. Not too fast, not too strong. You liked the buildup, and he knew all that well.

He ran his tongue past his lips.

“What do you wish Satoru did when you think about him?”

You whimpered.

He amped up the setting.

“Do you think he’d be a more appropriate lover than me?”

He angled your vibrator the way you liked, and you moaned.

“Do you think he’d know how to take you apart? To make you squirm?”

Two fingers pressed on your clit. You mewled.

“You dare to utter his name instead of mine—!”

“Suguru—please! Too much! It’s too much, I can’t—!”

Your arousal splattered on the toy, his wrist, and a bit on his chin.

“You will never wish it was Satoru doing these things to you ever again. If I even get an inkling you are thinking of him, I’ll punish you. So promise me.”

You didn’t respond, only focused on calming your breathing. Ragged. Labored.

Your heartbeat raced.

He snarled your name, grasping your jaw and locking his eyes with yours.

“Promise me,” he repeated.

“Y-yes,” you whimpered. “I promise.”

His lips curled into a sinister, satisfied smirk, pressing a kiss to your thigh.

[boldlyvoid]

Bigger Than The Whole Sky | Part 5: Next Chapter

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Juliette Hale Hotchner is born

Warnings: birth, newborn phase, adjusting to being a family of 4, Aaron thinking about quitting, slight mentions of sex, being sick

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist

She lets out the most guttural sob the moment her baby is placed on her chest. 

After almost 48 hours of labour, excruciating pain, not being able to eat real solid food, being unable to find the right position to sleep and the pain pushing with every fibre of her being… it all ended with the sound of her daughter's cry and the feeling of her warm, gooey body being placed on her own naked chest. 

She’s overwhelmed with love, every hormone known to man rushes through her as she looks down at her daughter. Her. Daughter. It almost doesn’t feel real. She’s shaking with adrenaline, and Juliette is crying too, adjusting to the outside world. Aaron is sobbing, he wipes the tears off his face and leans over to kiss Y/N’s temple, “You did so good.” 

“10:21,” the doctor announces and she finally snaps back into reality.

“I did it. Holy shit, I did it?” She honestly can’t believe it. 

The nurses intervene and start to wipe the gunk off Juliette, her doctor is still between her legs waiting for her to pass her placenta, there’s so much going on in the room but all she cares about is her baby. She hasn’t really gotten a good look at her yet, she’s just cuddled into her chest, listening to her mom's heartbeat through her skin, collecting warmth and calming down. Two warm blankets are wrapped around them, Aaron places his hand on the blanket covering Juliette's back, gently rubbing the fabric with his thumb. 

Once everything is said and done, the room calms down a lot. Juliette isn’t crying anymore, she simply makes little coos and grunts as she blinks into the new world. Aaron’s got his head on Y/N’s shoulder, looking down at their little girl, he studies her eyes, her cute little nose, the way she keeps licking her lips. He imitates her, speaks to her softly, and tells her he loves her over and over. “She’s so beautiful…” 

“I want to see her,” Y/N says, getting the attention of the nurse. “Can we do all her stuff now so I can hold her longer?” 

“Absolutely, we can. Come on Dad, you can help me with this,” she cheerfully takes the blankets off Y/N and carefully picks up the baby. “Does she have a name already?” 

“Juliette,” they say in tandem. 

The nurse lays her down in the incubator and turns on its weighing feature, she has Aaron cut the cord closer to the clip, and begins taking her measurements all while checking her APGAR score. She watches from the bed as she checks things off on a clipboard and adds a security bracelet to her ankle. 

“She’s big mama, 8 pounds on the dot…” the nurse turns back to her with a smile. “20 inches too, holy moly.” 

“I had a feeling she’d be tall, her brothers 10 and already almost 5 feet,” Y/N says from the bed, watching on with awe, wishing she could stand and be there, right there… she wants Jack here too. 

Once they get her settled in a diaper and swaddled in a little pink blanket, they bring her back over to her mama. Aaron places her carefully in her arms and smiles. “Look how Beautiful she is.” 

“When are you going to call Jess?” She asks. “I want Jack to come see her soon and to get her picture taken before she starts to change too much.” 

“She won’t change too much for the next few days,” the nurse teases with a smile. “Her swelling will go down and the colour will change in the next day or two, but she won’t look different for at least the next month.”

She lets out a sigh of relief, holding Juliette out in front of herself so she can get a better look at her. “She’s so beautiful already.” 

Aaron sits beside her, a little more than half his ass is on the bed, he steadies himself with his foot flat on the floor. He leans into her, resting his head on her shoulder, “She looks so much like you.” 

Juliette starts to blink, her eyes finally adjusting to what it’s like to be outside of the womb, she squints because of the lights, but she looks at her dad. “She knows your voice,” Y/N whispers, trying not to cry but she’s so overwhelmed she could cry for the next 4 days if you let her. “Keep talking to her.” 

Y/N bends her knees and keeps her feet flat on the mattress, she rests Juliette there in the crease between her two thighs and Aaron starts to talk to her some more. 

“Hi Juliette,” he says with the same voice he’d used to talk to her belly for all these months. “Hi sweetheart, it’s me, your dad.” 

Juliette looks at him, sticking her tongue out, she starts to lick her lips along with her blinking, she’s becoming more aware, and she’s getting hungry too. She wiggles her arms out of the blanket and Aaron reaches out for her hand, her whole hand grips his index finger and he smiles so big. “You’re so pretty, so much prettier than I ever imagined. I can’t believe you’re here, sweetheart.” 

She starts to fuss a little so Y/N brings her back to her chest and lets her settle there. Once she feels her mom's warmth and hears the beat of her heart, she coos and closes her eyes again, full of relief, she feels safest there. Aaron holds his hand on her back, caressing her with his thumb, the three of them are silent, content, and beyond happy. 

This time last year she thought she’d never be a mom. She had almost given up… on everything. In just a week it would be 1 year exactly since Peter punched her in the face. A year since she ran to Aaron for help. A year since she moved out. And in 2 months it’ll be a year since she got divorced and Aaron asked her out. And in 3 months, a year since she and Aaron made a baby. The very baby she’s holding right now. Her baby. 

“I can’t believe I made her,” she whispers. “She grew inside me? Everything about her comes from us… she’s so absolutely breathtaking.” 

“I know,” he smiles, turning his head just to kiss her cheek. He rests his forehead against her temple. “I love you so much, this is the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me.” 

“Thank you,” she smiles at him, her heart is so full and warm that she feels like she could melt away. “Thank you for her, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for making this a lot easier than I thought it would be…. I love you so much.” 

He kisses her again, presses his lips against hers and breathes her in, staying there for a few seconds before he peppers more kisses to her lips, and then her forehead. She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder, holding her little girl against her body, this is the life she always wanted. 

—

When Jack shows up, he pushes the door open and walks in slowly, “hi,” he whispers. 

“Hey,” they welcome him at the same time and Aaron gets up to walk over to him and wrap him up in a big hug. “How are you, buddy?”

“I’m good, is she here?” He says, peeking past his dad to look at Y/N on the bed.

From the doorway, Mel, Jess’s girlfriend has her camera out, ready to take a slew of photos of this family’s first meeting. 

“Come here,” Y/N beckons him over. 

Jack is quick to her side, standing on his tiptoes as she tilts the baby upwards so he can get a better look at his sister. “She’s so tiny and cute,” he whispers. 

“Isn’t she?” Aaron smiles, placing his hand on Jack’s back. “Do you want to hold her?” 

“Can I?” He looks from his dad back to Y/N, eyes wide with excitement. 

They get him settled in the little chair and he sits with his arms out the way he’s been taught to hold babies. He’s absolutely beaming with excitement, kicking his feet as they dangle above the ground. Aaron takes the baby from her arms and carefully puts her in Jack's arms, supporting her head as he kneels down to Jack's level. He’s gobsmacked, jaw dropped as he looks at her in awe and all they can hear is the camera clicking with each beautiful photo Mel takes. 

Jack tears up, having to remove one of his hands from hiding her to wipe his face and cover his eyes with embarrassment. 

“Oh, Jack,” Aaron’s emotions get the better of him as well, making him tear up as he takes over holding her securely in Jack's lap. 

“I love her so much,” he choked out, face red and wet as he moved his hand out of the way. “Can you take her off for a second?” He asks. 

“Yeah?” Aaron stands and cradles her in his arms once more. 

Jack jumps off the chair and rushes to Y/N’s side, pulling her in for a hug, “thank you.” 

She scoots over a bit and pulls him up into the bed with her so he can snuggle into her side. Face buried in her shoulder, he shakes while he cries, bringing her to tears alongside him. She rubs her hand over his back and lets him cry, “I love you, Jack… thank you.” 

“for what?” He asks, pulling back to look at her. 

“I always wanted a son,” she whispers. Holding his cheek in her hand, she smiles at him. “Even if I never had a baby of my own, loving you these last 10 months has changed my life.” 

“As much as I miss my mom… I’m really glad I have you now,” he whispers right back. 

She kisses his forehead and pulls him in for another hug. Aaron's standing right there, his little girl is secure in one arm while he uses his free hand to wipe the tears off his face. Jess places her hand on his back, soothing him as she peaks in at her new little niece. 

“She is so beautiful,” Jess agrees. 

“Thank you,” he smiles. “She’s all Y/N.” 

“She has Jack's little baby nose though,” she swoons, hand on her chest, remembering him as a baby. 

“Can I get one of all of you?” Mel asks. 

“Yeah, come here,” Y/N beckons him over. 

Aaron places Juliette in her arms, Jack leaning on her shoulder as he looks down at his sister. Aaron stands beside the bed, smiling as the pictures are taken. They get a few, some with Juliette just in her arms, one with her in Jack's and possibly Y/N’s favourite photo that’s ever been taken. 

All their hands resting on Juliette's tummy, her small hand slipped out of her swaddle and resting on top. All 4 of their hands together, two families become 1 right in front of their eyes. The amount of love in the room is palpable even without their faces in frame. 

—

When they bring Juliette home from the hospital a few days later, she’s exhausted but also so excited. The team wasn’t home when she was born, and they never had the chance to make it to the hospital to see her during visiting hours. Penelope was able to come by after work, she brought flowers and balloons and unbeknownst to Y/N, asked for a key to their house to set up a coming home banner and fill their freezer with meals. 

She sets up flowers in the kitchen, and she has all the cards from people in the office set out on their kitchen counter. Then, in the living room, there are 4 wrapped presents sitting on the coffee table as well as a yellow gift bag stuffed with pink tissue paper. 

“What the heck is this?” Y/N asks Aaron, “Did you guys plan this out?” 

He sets Juliette's car seat down on the couch, nodding, “I might’ve forgotten to put your push presents in the car during all the chaos when your contractions started so I had her come set this up for me.” 

“Presents, plural?” She teases. “You didn’t have to?” 

“I know but I wanted to. I went online and looked up some sentimental gifts and there were too many good options so I got you a few,” he explains. “And then the gift bag is from the team.” 

“I want to see that one first,” she says, reaching out for it before taking a seat while Aaron works on getting Jules out of the car seat so he can snuggle her again. He loves seeing Y/N hold their baby, he knows how long she’s waited for this so he doesn’t interject or ask to hold her too often, but when she’s busy or needs a minute, he’ll take all the time he can get. 

She pulls the tissue paper out of the bag quickly, she feels around inside the bag for a card first but there isn’t one so she pulls out one of the gifts. It’s a photo album with “The Hotchner’s” written on it. Inside, however, the first few pages are full of memories. From handwritten notes of how the team realized she was pregnant before she announced it, the first ultrasound photo she got, photos of her at work with her feet up and all her snacks… and the cutest photo of her and JJ with their bumps touching. It’s so sweet. And then there’s a page full of photos from her baby shower and then the photos with Juliette are already printed and laid out. There’s a whole page of Jack with her, crying and smiling and so, so happy to be a big brother. The photo of all of them smiling, all their hands together and the first photo Penelope has with her first ever god-daughter. 

She cries the whole time she flips through the book. It’s just so perfect and sweet and everything she ever wanted. But the next gift… that’s where it gets good. 

Inside the bag, there’s another box with a piece of paper taped to it. The paper reads, ‘for adding new memories to this book with ease’ and when she peels it off, she sees that the box holds a Polaroid camera. 

“Oh my god?” She’s so overjoyed, that she holds the box close to her chest. “This is going to be so amazing! I’ve wanted to do photos of her each month to show her growth and everything, this is perfect!!!” 

The last thing in the bag is about a dozen cartridges of film so they’ll be able to take photos for months. She’s quick to take the camera from the box, stuff it with film and point it at Aaron as he holds their daughter close to his chest. He smiles and blinks slightly after the flash but she gets a perfect picture of them. “I’m going to kiss Penelope on the mouth next time I see her, I swear, this is the most perfect gift ever.” 

“I’m pretty sure it was also Derek's idea… but yeah, you can kiss Penelope,” he teases. 

“I’m not actually going to kiss her,” she looks at him like ‘come on?’ But she smiles, so, so in love with him. “What one of yours should I open first?” 

“That big square one,” he points. 

The wrapping paper is cute, light pink with darker pink hearts all over it. She takes off the cute little bow and runs her finger over where he signed them all with a sweet smile. She’s so appreciative, these are so cute and she loves them no matter what is behind the wrapping paper. 

Under the wrapping paper, it looks like 4 books in a sleeve, only the first two books have names on them. She pulls Jack's out to see it’s a memory organizer. There are drawers for important things, like their hospital bracelets, hat and socks, their umbilical cord stump and the trimming of their first haircut. And at the bottom, there is a bigger drawer for documents. Jack's things are already in his own, Aaron put it all together before wrapping it up. 

“Juliettes only has her pregnancy tests in it,” Aaron shares before she can even say anything. 

“These are so cute? Why did you get 4?” 

“Well, I didn’t want them to be sold out or discontinued if we have more kids, I want them all to have one,” he explains, the sweetest smile on his face. 

“You want 2 more?” She teases. “I mean, give me a couple weeks but we can start churning them out quickly.” 

“Funny,” he shakes his head, not thinking she’s serious. 

“I’m not kidding,” she stares him down. “We can have them close together, they’d be good friends and I could do back-to-back maternity leaves… it would be cool.” 

“You seriously want to get pregnant again this soon after?” He can’t believe it. 

She nods, “I have heard about people who have a baby in their 30s and then go infertile right after, so honestly I’d rather just try right away and keep trying until it happens.” 

“Okay…” he’s a bit hesitant. “Can we just wait like 3, maybe 4 months? Get used to life with her and get her settled and on a schedule and everything before we change everything again? I want her to have her moment to shine. I want to shower her in love as long as I can before I have to split my heart in half again.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely… sorry, I’m not trying to rush I’m just— you know, I’m always going to be worried I’ll never have any more babies even though I just had one,” she rationalizes. “Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he assures her. “You want a big family, I want a big family, but we can wait a bit. Even if we have to eventually go do IVF like JJ and Will, it’ll be okay.” 

She moves over on the couch, closer to him and he leans in closer to her so they can share a quick kiss. She presses her lips against his, breathing in deeply through her nose as the kiss lingers and then she pulls back with a smile. “Thank you for my first present.” 

“Am I getting a kiss for each one?” He teases. 

She nods, “That can be arranged.” 

“Open whatever you want next,” he nods towards the table. 

She goes for a smaller one, it looks like it could be a jewelry box for a bracelet or necklace… as she peels the wrapping off, she’s right. It’s dark blue velvet, soft and beautiful without any logo on it. That means it might be a custom-made piece. She cracks the box open, a little light turns on to make it shine inside and her jaw drops. It’s a beautiful necklace with 4 stones on it. 

Her birthstone is in the middle surrounded by topaz and citrine for Aaron and Jack as well as a sapphire for Juliette. It’s beautiful. She’s quick to take it from the case and open the clasp. She puts it on herself and readjusts it, holding the stones in her hand as she turns to him. “This is so beautiful.” 

“I thought you’d like it,” he smiles. “I’ll get more stones added for the others before they come.” 

“You’re too good to me,” she shakes her head, unable to stop smiling as she leans in for his second kiss. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” he smiles right back against her lips.  

Her next present is an odd shape, he clearly wrapped them all himself and this one is… interesting. She pulls the wrapping apart to reveal a purse— no, a diaper bag. A very stylish, black leather diaper bag. “Holy shit?” 

“It’s nice isn’t it?” He brags. “I also got that in LA, and kept it at the office until last week when our leave started.” 

“I love it,” she says, looking inside at all the pockets and how deep it is. “I’m going to use this all the time.” 

“And it’s one I wouldn’t mind taking around when it’s just me and Julie going out,” he smiles. 

She gives him a third kiss and then kisses Julie on the head, “Your daddy is going to look so snazzy with this new diaper bag.” 

“Okay, open the last one,” he laughs, pointing at the final gift. 

It feels like a shirt or something made of fabric wrapped up in gift paper. She slowly peels it open and her heart almost stops. It’s a baby dress that looks exactly like her baby shower dress. It’s exactly the same just tinier. “Aaron?” She says with tears streaming down her face, “Oh my god?” 

“I got them together,” he smiles. “I knew you’d want to match. We can do the next photoshoot in them. I know you’ll want to take some photos every few months.” 

“Well, it helps having a photographer in the family,” she smiles, wiping her tears. “Aaron, these are the best gifts… but nothing is better than her and that little boy you share with me.” 

—

The first week flies by and before she knows it, it’s 10:21 am on the 13th again and she’s had this baby girl in her arms for 30 days. The best Month ever. Sure, she hasn’t really showered and there’s currently puke on her shirt and she smells like spoiled milk… but she’s never been happier. 

And Aaron loves it. 

Aaron, who wakes up at night to change Julie and gives Y/N time to wake up before he hands her the hungry baby. Aaron, who makes her snacks and brings her breakfast in bed and keeps the house clean. Aaron, who brings Jack to school during their morning nap time, and never forgets to pack him a perfect lunch. Aaron, who snuggles his little girl so mommy can have a few moments of peace, be it in the shower or at the grocery store. Aaron, who’s replaced his weekend run with a daily walk with his little girl in the stroller.

He loves it so much she’s worried that he won’t want to go back to work… and he’s been talking about it. 

They’re lying in bed, Juliette asleep between them while they watch TV on the lowest volume possible. He looks down at her and then at Y/N with a smile, “I love this.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nods, “and I think I’m done… with work. I felt so awful when I couldn’t do this for Jack. I had a week off, Haley assured me she was good being a stay at home mom when I went back and then the more I missed, the worse I felt—

“But Jack doesn’t remember, he didn’t even know you missed so much,” she assures him. “He thinks you’re Superman. He loves knowing you save people… but if you wanted to stop, you’re more than allowed to.” 

“The first time Dave retired, he was my age,” he explains. “I think I want to take time off to be a family and when they’re in college, maybe I can go back? Or maybe I could teach?” 

“Whatever you want to do, we can make it work,” she agrees, with no problem. None at all. She’d actually love to have him home. “Although, that will be in 18-24 years…” 

“24?” He asks, confused. 

“I want more kids, you would go when all of them are in college, right?” She teases. 

He laughs, “Yeah… if I get antsy I can teach early. Or I could go back to being a lawyer. I could do family court or small claims, or teach law?”

She nods, “That sounds fun too. You’ll find something to fill your time with.” 

“Are you going to go back to work?” 

She shrugs, “If I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, would you mind?” 

He shakes his head, “not at all. And the same thing goes for you, when you find another thing to fill your time while they’re all at school, I’ll be fully supportive.” 

She leans in and kisses him, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” he reminds her. He thanks her every day for creating another little life with half his DNA for him to love for the rest of eternity. 

“Now, the big question… What are we dressing her as for Halloween?” 

—

Before they know it, it’s Christmas.

November flies by so quickly, they have Jack’s birthday, Henry’s birthday, and Aaron’s birthday all within a week. They have a huge party at a trampoline park for Jack, they go to JJ’s for Henry’s and they meet her mom and their babies get to spend some time together, getting to know one another before little Michael starts coming over for regular playdates now that his mom has gone back to work. 

But for Aaron’s birthday… Aunty Penelope and Uncle Derek take both kids out for lunch and time at the park so Mommy and Daddy get some alone time. Some very much-needed, loud and obnoxious alone time. 

Now, she’s standing in the kitchen at Derek's new place, holding her baby while the adults talk about work and what they’ve missed. They hired another person, Matt Simmons, who has taken over the empty spot JJ left while filling in for Derek who is filling in for Hotch. The team is pretty stacked now, especially with Spencer back on his feet and at work every day. 

Savannah, Derek's girlfriend, takes a Mac and cheese out of the oven and places it on the countertop and a whiff of it heads Y/N’s way. She doesn’t like it. Something in it makes her stomach turn, she hasn’t felt this way in a while… she hands Aaron the baby, “I’m sorry,” is all she can say before running to the bathroom. 

“Oh no,” Aaron’s face drops when he remembers the last time this happened. 

“What, is she okay?” Derek worries. 

“I’ve got her,” Penelope takes Juliette right from his arms. “Go see if she’s okay.” 

“She is,” he says while handing her the baby. “I think we fucked up… oh my god.” 

“What?” Derek still doesn’t get it. 

“Oh my god,” Savannah and Penelope say at the same time. 

“We were so used to not using protection while pregnant that… that we didn’t on my birthday,” he explains, there’s no use being secretive when the women already guessed. “Normally, it’s just boxed Mac and cheese that makes her sick when she’s pregnant, but I’m gonna—” he points to the bathroom and follows after her. 

He knocks on the bathroom door and she groans, “What?” 

“It’s just me,” he says while walking in. “Are you okay?” 

She’s hugging the bowl, wiping her face with toilet paper. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures, kneeling down to rub her back. “I should be sorry, I didn’t even think about putting on a condom, it’s been a year and we never have so—

“Oh my god?” It clicks for her. 

“Yeah,” he manages to laugh. “We’ll probably have two under two this time next year.” 

She starts to cry, overjoyed, “Oh, my god?” 

He pulls her in for a hug just as someone knocks on the door, “I have some of these,” Savannah says, tossing a pink little square under the door. “I have a box of like 100 for how many times my period is late by like a day and I freak out. They’re pretty reliable but if you need another, let me know!” 

“Thank you!” They call back. Aaron reaches for the packet, tearing it open while she gets up and starts pulling her pants down. 

He hands her the little test while she sits down and starts to pee. She gets it under the stream for a few seconds all while he gets some toilet paper to place it on. “It should take a few minutes,” she starts to explain but he’s already watching the lines appear. 

“oh no, you’re super pregnant,” he says with a laugh. “Holy shit, that’s a dark second line.” 

“It’s been, what? A month and a bit since your birthday?” She asks, forgetting how much time has passed. “I didn’t think anything of it, my period hasn’t come back while breastfeeding anyway?” 

“And you were complaining the milk had changed…” he reminds her. 

She wipes, she pulls her pants back up and she immediately lunges for him, hugging him so tight. “Oh, this is amazing news, Aaron!” 

He laughs, “You always get your way.” 

She smacks his arm as she pulls back, “You’re the one who knocked me up.” 

“You’re the one who arranged to have the kids go to Derek’s for my birthday,” he teases right back. “But We wanted this. This is what we needed.” 

“This is the best Christmas present you could’ve ever given me,” she whispers so she doesn’t cry. Leaning in for a quick kiss, despite being sick. He couldn’t care less. He loved her more than he could ever explain. Maybe even more so, because another little baby he gets to love for the rest of time is growing inside of her once again. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

BTTWS

@14buddy22 @spottedzebrasinpartyhats  @mimischaos @rousethemouse 

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Fuck Up Chapter 5

Summary:  Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

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Bucky pulled up at 2:53 p.m. to the little house. He stared at it, admiring just how much it looked like Y/N’s style before parking his bike and slowly walking up to the door. He adjusted his backpack as he took a deep breath, then knocked. He heard the footsteps behind the door and tried to steel himself.

The door opened to reveal Y/N. She froze as she gazed up at him. Bucky stared back at her, unsure of what to say or how to start the conversation. After a minute of them just looking at each other Y/N finally gave him a small smile. “Hey Buck,” she greeted him quietly.

Bucky let out a sputtered breath that he was unaware he was holding. “Hi,” he replied. He felt like he was frozen, stuck to the spot where he stood, his heart hammering in his chest.

Y/N watched him amusedly. “Would you like to come in?”

Bucky nodded, then rigidly moved forward and walked inside the house. He stood in the small entryway as she shut the door behind him then passed him to stand by the wall. “You can put your stuff there,” she instructed, pointing towards a storage spot on the opposite wall.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, quickly shedding his shoes, helmet, backpack and his jacket. He turned back to her, seeing her gnawing at her lower lip as she looked toward the hallway. “Y/N,” Bucky said quietly. She looked back at him, releasing her lip and licking her lips. He felt the tears build in his eyes again as he looked at her. “Honey I’m so sorry,” Bucky cried, shutting his eyes tight.

Y/N sighed then reached out and took one of his hands. “Come on.” She led him over to the couch behind her and sat, gesturing for him to sit next to her. When they got comfortable she turned toward him and held one of his hands in both of hers. “I’m sorry for not telling you,” she said, her fingers softly massaging his hand. Bucky shook his head but she shushed him. “No, I need to say this. I know I should have told you the moment I found out, but I didn’t want to distract you while you were out there and be the reason you weren’t focused. There’s nothing I can do about it now but say I’m sorry,” she paused, swallowing harshly and looking down. “And I’m sorry for running away. From you, Becca, your parents. I thought I needed to handle it on my own for some reason, but I didn’t, I know that now. I just needed a break, and it turned into me getting scared and isolating myself. I don’t blame you,” she looked back up at him, making sure he was looking at her and listening. “Do you hear me? I don’t blame you. We weren’t thinking. But when I saw those two lines? And heard that little heartbeat? I couldn’t give him up. And that became one of the best things that’s ever happened in my life.”

Bucky’s tears never stopped. He could sit and listen to her forever, and he had a glimmer of hope at her words. “I fucked up that morning,” he turned to face her more, his hands gripping her fingers firmly. “I should have woken you up. I should have said a proper, real goodbye. We should have talked about it before I left. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t handle it. And I’m sorry,” he choked back a sob, “I’m so sorry that you felt like you had to do it all alone. I don’t deserve your forgiveness but, I hope I can work to earn it from you.” He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “I promised you I’d come back home to you. You’ve always been home, Y/N. And now, with him…” Bucky opened her hands and kissed her palms.

Y/N was now crying, biting her bottom lip. “I forgive you, Bucky.” Bucky broke down and he leaned forward until his forehead rested against  her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, running her hands through his hair and kissing the top of his head. He held her against him as close as he could, crying into her chest. As his crying died down after a few minutes he kissed the spot over her heart and she inhaled shakily.

“I forgive you, Buck, but I’m not ready for anything like that,” Y/N said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, pulling away and giving her space. “I didn’t mean…” He shook his head.

Just then a noise came from one of the back rooms and Bucky’s head whipped towards the sound. Y/N sighed again and stood. “I’ll be right back,” she said, walking towards the room. Bucky wiped his eyes as he tried to calm his thundering heart. He sat stiffly on the couch, waiting, until Y/N came back out a few minutes later with a bundled blanket in her arms. A tiny arm reached up out of the blanket and the tiny hand tapped her chin. “Bucky?” Y/N walked towards him slowly. Bucky’s eyes were wide, his mouth dropped open as he stared at the little bundle. “Would you like to meet him?”

Bucky nodded frantically and Y/N sat on the coffee table in front of him. She shifted her arms and moved the blanket so he could see the baby’s face. When he did he gasped lightly at just how similar it looked to him. He huffed a laugh, a small smile brightening his face as he leaned forward to look at him. “I named him Avriel James Barnes. I thought a cute nickname could be Avi,” Y/N spoke quietly, watching Bucky’s face carefully. Bucky swallowed and smiled wider. “Would you like to hold him?”

Bucky nodded again and Y/N handed him the baby. Bucky slowly and carefully held Avi, his tiny head fitting into the palm of his hand as his other hand held him under his back. He gazed at Avi, memorizing his tiny features as Avi squirmed to get more comfortable. “Hey Avi,” Bucky cooed at him, his deeper voice seeming to relax him. “My little man,” he whispered as his thumb curved around and caressed Avi’s cheek. He looked back up at Y/N who was already looking at him. “He’s beautiful.”

Y/N smirked, “Just like his Daddy.”

Bucky scoffed and hung his head to hide his blush. He couldn’t stop looking at Avi. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here at first,” he said as he nuzzled his nose against Avi’s soft cheek. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He glanced at Y/N. “Can I please stay?”

“Of course you can stay,” Y/N said, reaching out and squeezing Bucky’s knee. “We’ll figure this all out.”

Bucky sighed this time. “My parents are dying to come see him.”

“They’re welcome,” Y/N said, blinking back some tears.

Bucky called his parents and Becca soon after and they drove out to meet them. Y/N hugged them and apologized, but all was forgiven with the family. Winifred and George were beside themselves as they held Avi, and Becca wouldn’t leave Y/N’s side, finally getting her friend back. After a few hours of catching up they went home while Bucky stayed.

“You can stay in this room,” Y/N offered him the guest bedroom. “My room is just across the hall and the nursery is next to it,” she gestured towards the doors. “If you need anything just let me know. Avi usually wakes up around 1:00 a.m. and then 5:00 a.m. for feedings, but that’s not consistent, so I hope you can get used to baby cries at all hours.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Bucky said as he rocked Avi to sleep.

“Alright. Do you want to put him down?”

“I’ll try,” Bucky said, walking towards the nursery. Y/N followed him, staying at the doorway to let him have his moment. “Okay little man, here we go,” Bucky kissed Avi’s forehead lightly and slowly set him down into the crib. Avi squirmed a little and Bucky rubbed his belly and shushed him. “Goodnight Avi. I love you.” Y/N smiled at the cute moment. Bucky followed her out of the nursery and as quietly as possible closed the door behind him.

“Thank you, Buck,” Y/N said as she inched towards her door. “Um…goodnight then.”

“Right,” Bucky said, looking at her wistfully. He slowly took a step towards her. “Can I just ask for one thing?”

“I don’t know, you asking questions is dangerous,” Y/N teased him as she leaned against her door.

Bucky snorted. “It’s tame I promise.”

“Mhm,” Y/N gave him an unimpressed look.

Bucky smiled and shook his head. “Could I just have one of your famous hugs?”

Y/N’s gaze softened at that. “Sure.”

He opened his arms and she stepped into them, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him close. She was a bit shorter than him, but he did his best to be close to her. His cheek rested on the top of her head as he breathed in her hair and his hands tenderly held her around her upper body. She squeezed him lightly, her face resting against his chest. They stayed like that for a while until Y/N started pulling away.

“Goodnight Buck.”

“Goodnight honey.”

****

A small whimper woke Bucky up. After Y/N had fallen asleep he had moved the mattress in the guest bedroom to the nursery and laid it next to the crib. He couldn’t seem to be able to relax until he knew that Avi was sleeping well. He’d already missed so much and didn’t want to miss a second more. As the whimpering got louder Bucky hoisted himself up and looked into the crib.

“Hey little man,” he whispered, reaching down and picking Avi up. “It’s okay.” Avi calmed down a little but was still squirming. Bucky checked to see if he needed to be changed and when he didn’t he took him out of the room. He went to Y/N’s room and knocked before entering. “Y/N,” he called to her lowly. She didn’t hear him so he moved towards her bed. “Y/N,” he sat on the opposite side from her on her bed and reached over, nudging her shoulder. She stirred and groaned.

“What?” she said groggily and turned towards him.

“I think it’s feeding time,” Bucky murmured to her, then Avi let out a wail.

“Okay, I hear you,” Y/N yawned and fully turned over. She reached for Avi and Bucky helped tuck him next to her in bed. Without thinking she lifted up her shirt and helped Avi latch onto her breast. Bucky looked away, a deep blush on his cheeks. Y/N seemed to remember he was there and chuckled dryly. “It’s not anything you haven’t seen before, Buck, it’s fine.” Bucky scoffed before looking back at her. “Might as well lay down,” she yawned again as Avi fed, making little suckling sounds. “He’s gonna be a minute.”

Bucky grinned and got himself comfortable in her bed. He turned to face her and watched her feed Avi as she closed her eyes, her arms cocooning Avi into a little bubble on the bed. He kept smiling, amazed by the beauty of the moment. The woman he loved with his baby. He had always loved her, and was frustrated with himself that it took almost losing her to realize it fully. He knew it would take time to build that trust and friendship, let alone anything more romantic with Y/N again, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get to that point with her. He reached over and pushed some of her hair that was hanging in her face back with his fingers, then caressed her face with the back of his fingers softly. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him sleepily. Bucky smiled at her, and she smiled back. They would get there, he knew it.

[nosferatini]

AO3 Ask Game

Thanks to @addledmongoose for the tag and @cheeseplants for the game!

What fandoms do you write in?

Good Omens. Although I have some Good Omens crossovers with other fandoms. One of my works was a multiverse one-shot with characters from GO, Doctor Who, OFMD, Buffy and Batman.

How many words have you published in 2024?

According to AO3 (which I just learned does statistics by year? lol) I published 435,127 words.

What is your greatest achievement this year?

Well...

I could either talk about fics or podfics here. But if I'm going with fic I'll talk about how far I've come with The Season of Nightingales, my main longfic, which has only two chapters to go.

But I've made some major strides with voice acting and making podfics for some of the wonderful folks in the Good Omens fandom, and I think that's more of an "achievement" than simply something I'm proud of, like progressing my longfic :) I'm especially proud of finishing both my Factory Settings Podfic and Someone is Calling Him Shorewards earlier this year.

What are your top three fics you’ve written this year?

The Season of Nightingales (Good Omens Post S2 Plot-with-Fluff Fix-it, currently at 168k with two weekly chapter updates to wrap it up)

Reversed Veil of Worlds - A Little History (Good Omens Angst, 2/5 chapters published based on @daneecastle's Reversed Veil of Worlds comic series, which if you haven't read you should totally go check out! [Starts HERE!])

Unhallowed Providence (Reverse Omens Gothic AU based on @theonevoice's GORGEOUS demon Aziraphale and angel Crowley art—I've published one chapter and have the story pretty well plotted for the rest, just need to finish Season of Nightingales first!)

What was your biggest pit of despair moment?

There was no one moment... not related to writing or Podficcing. Just the slow and steady realization that I was booking myself for too much stuff and in no way have time to keep up with it all lol.

What have you learned?

....I have a really bad case of FOMO.

What fic did you want to do but never made it off the ground?

I have a little side fic started about Crowley saving the runaway unicorn, and a Coney Island (excuse the period typical term "freakshow") human AU that I have a plot for and no time to write, especially not now that I've signed up for two wonderful artist collabs that are going to be my priority once I finish Nightingales.

Did you beta any fics? Any favs you want to shout out?

Yes! I've beta'd for @dbacklot99, @wingsofopal, and more short one-off projects for various GOAD Writers Guild writers than I could remember at gunpoint lol.

What three fics have you read this year that you love?

If I have to pick three, I'll name the longfics, because there's no possible way I could choose between them and all the incredible one shots and short series that I've read this year. I would recommend anything that I've podficced (which is the vast majority of my AO3 Profile right now) but I'll shout out these three longies in particular:

Someone is Calling Him Shorewards by @harlotofupdog (podfic)

2. A Little Life by @gaiaseyes451 (beware the angst tags... but damn it's good)

3. Friday I'm in Love by NooRose93 (podfic - wip)

What ideas are percolating for next year?

Fics in my queue:

I gotta finish Unhallowed Providence and A Little History first. Someday maybe I'll get to the Coney Island AU...

Podfics in my queue:

Stuck on You by @zin-lynn-c

Mon Horrible Chéri by @mrghostrat

And the Podfic for The Season of Nightingales

there might be a chance of me looking into doing Or Be Nice and maybe a couple of others that I was recced and haven't read yet, but I haven't actually asked the author(s) so don't quote me on that lol.

Who do you want to thank?

@paperclipninja for the absolute knockout musical compositions she has created for some of my podfics!

My beta readers: @addledmongoose, @dbacklot99, @wingsofopal @demonsandpieohmy and NooRose93 (aka blackjeans93)!

My beta listeners: @theonewiththeshippinggoogles and @firstvisittoearth @wingsofopal and others from the various chats who have added their comments after listening!

@daneecastle and the @theonevoice for inspiring me with their comic and/or art and for being wonderful friends to collaborate with!

@elenthyaolyenths for making me pretty logos!

@outrageousring5655 for making prolific podfics so I can absorb more fanfiction than I ever could on my own!

All of my amazing friends from the @goodomensafterdark Writers Guild and @whickberstreetwriters

All of the people who have taken the time to leave lovely, encouraging comments on my fics and podfics. I keep the best comments in my inbox even after replying, because some of the things you've said have warmed my heart, inspired me, or are just generally something to treasure.

A fond, no pressure tag to @gaiaseyes451, @wingsofopal @lemon-tart-221, @adverbian @paperclipninja and @dbacklot99 if you would like to play :)