#even this update probably took longer than it should...

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

• Chapter 41

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers

Warnings: none !

Words: 3382

A/N: Thank you for all of your sweet messages. Everything is okay, I'm just more tired than usual. But I'll try and update soon again (sooner than almost two years that is sorry). Be kind to yourself, 🩷❄️🪽

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth @mageprincess7 @lucis-noctiana @danielle143 @osakis-gf @girl-nahh @vintageoldfashionstyle-blog @neverthefirstchoice @juju-227592 @silentreadersthings @i-have-no-life-charlie @everyonehatesshani @iamkookiesforyou @dragonsflare @fangirl125reader @roseidol @frieschan @popcatx0 @liz67900 @exfolitae @plexcaffeinate @strawblueberrys @massivelyfullenthusiast @iimichie @bts-0t-7 @hannahdinse8 @hannahdinse8

(open)

Previous:

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The drive was smooth, having Yoongi as the driver, the said man paying close attention in the traffic. Seoul was always busy, it seemed, and so the minivan took its sweet time going through the many roads.

As soon as they left the main city, driving through a more secluded area of snowy nature, your attention was no longer on the movie you tried to watch. Jungkook especially enjoyed it, it seemed, as the young alpha giggled and would tell you about fun facts connected to it. The one that sparked your attention the most was when he told you a small story about one of the actresses in the Hollywood film—she used to be a professional in kickboxing, yet after a big injury, she took on a completely different job as she became a successful stuntwoman and actress.

The soft music played throughout the speakers in the car as the packalpha fidgeted with a few of the controls on the touchscreen, finally settling for one of the omega-centred radio stations after the second oldest grumbled and threatened about falling asleep at the last one Namjoon chose.

The pack was calm, occasional chatter ringing through the large car. Jimin, the alpha sitting just in front of you in the middle of the row before yours, turned to you suddenly, a soft look in his eyes as he took in your form—soft cheeks barely visible in the puffer jacket, your fingers hidden behind the sleeves...you looked comfortable, just as any omega should.

„Princess, tonight some of us are doing a VLive; is that okay? Alpha wants to spend time with you, but he must talk to the Armies too.” The young man whispered, his arm reaching over the seat as his knuckles brushed against your blushy skin.

„You can still stay with the other alphas, cub; don't worry!” The eldest alpha was quick to reassure you, noting your unsure gaze. „And it won't be for too long anyway, hm? Just before we go to bed, okay princess…?” The alpha whispered, not only trying to reassure you but also himself.

You nodded softly, having the man sigh out gently. He wasn't too sure if you'd throw a fuss over him and probably one or two others taking longer to finally settle into (hopefully) another cute nest you'd make for them. Jimin wanted to spend time with his fans; he loved every second of doing so, but now that you'd entered their lives like a snowstorm, they were mostly concerned with you and your well-being.

As you looked out of the window, you gasped softly, having a few of the alphas look and swiftly turn around to look at you, as if there should be any danger—only to be met with your big, star-struck eyes looking out of the window as you almost fully leaned over Hobi's lap to see better.

The huge mountain range just before you rippled through the cold winter air, the snow covering the nature as it just came into view after the car drew up the high hill—it looked beautiful.

You never had much time at all to go skiing or even into winter resorts like the one you were all going to now, but you were excited. „It's pretty huge, isn't it, peaches?” The alpha before you whispered softly, his fond eyes stuck to your adorable expression, his heart aching—he just wanted you to stay this happy forever.

„Pup, sit up properly... alphas will get worried otherwise.” The pack alpha strictly said, watching you in the rearview mirror, just about to click his tongue again when you finally sat back up, sharing a short gaze with the intimidating man.

You couldn't watch the movie any longer, saying a soft „So-rry Kookie oppa...” after the man tried to get your attention again with it, and you watched out of the window instead.

Just as you started to get a bit antsy with how long the journey seemed to be taking, the older alpha to your right was quick to jump in, both of you giggling as you created a creative and funny-looking photo for an Instagram story of Jin before you, the said alpha asleep as Hobi cleverly leaned forward to snap a weird-angled photo of him before he sat with you, laughing louder and louder at each sticker you placed in the Instagram app.

You didn't post it, though, saving it to his gallery instead as the alpha mumbled, „Jin Hyung would kill us if we'd let Army see this!” making you giggle softly and nod along.

And before you knew it, the car was already slowing down, as Yoongi drove it towards the parking lot where you could already see many of the staff members with all sorts of equipment—cameras, different clothes on many racks, makeup stations, and all sorts of other things.

„Okay... Let's see about this...“ the second eldest mumbled to himself as he drove near the lifting barrier, letting the window go down to talk to the staff member and one of the security members Hybe had hired. It took only a second before they were allowed an entry, though, so the pack was quick to park.

With the youngest helping you out, you held his hand tightly as you all stepped amongst the snowy nature surrounding you. You felt slight worry cloud the back of your mind at the number of foreign scents around, and your other hand reached out to grasp the alpha's clothed shoulder, the man quick to look down from listening in to a nearby conversation Namjoon was having with another security guard.

„Babybun? What's wrong? Alpha is right here, hm?” He said softly, his hands running up and down your sides in comfort. You didn't respond, letting only a soft crease between your brows set at the slight unease of everything.

„Babycheeks? Here, look what I have taken for you, baby angel...” The other alpha was quick to flank you both as you unsurely looked around at the big number of people. With Taehyung taking your soft hands in his, he crouched before you, a big boxy grin on. He had just the thing that would surely make you feel better.

Just then you noticed one of the comfort companions they had gotten you a while back, the soft plush black lamb the alphas were so careful to scent for you. At your soft whimper, the alpha was quick to hand it over, your hand grasping it to yourself as you breathed in the pack's comforting scent. Leaning your head on the older alpha's shoulder, you watched as more and more staff approached all of you, leading the alphas towards one of the makeshift tents.

„Come on, kitty, let's go now. You can stay with alpha, hm?” You nodded at the man who came back from one of the stylists trying to usher him along, taking your hand in his as Jungkook combed his hands through your hair, his scent lingering as he left a small peck on your temple.

The snow underneath crunched comfortingly as you tucked the lamb into your pocket along with your hands, holding it tight in your fingers so it wouldn't slip out. Somehow you felt shy with all of the unknown people around; should they see your comfort companion... Or were you protective over it? You couldn't tell.

„Here, this is for the young miss...” An older man said as he rushed past the pack alpha, who walked only a few steps before you and Yoongi, handing the man a black lanyard with a card hanging from it, similar to the one he wore.

The pack alpha thanked her, bowing softly as he turned to you, smiling with his dimples showing. „Here, little pup, wear this so the alphas don't have to worry, hm?” You breathed softly as Namjoon placed the item around your neck, carefully pulling your hair out from being trapped underneath the tag as he smiled at you comfortingly.

You took a look at the plastic card, noticing the simple BTS logo on a black background. Flipping it over, you read the tag: VIP; Member of close family/friends; All entries permitted;

„Don't lose it, 'kay, kitten? And keep it on for today, little kit.” The man from next to you mumbled as he adjusted the fluffy earmuffs, as he allowed his chin to rub against your head a few times, scenting you.

The pack alpha rubbed at your back as you looked at the snow below you whenever any staff member would pass by, too afraid of making eye contact.

The older alpha laced your fingers with his as you all made your way to the large tent set up by the Hybe staff, one of whom very kindly opened it for you all.

As you entered the bustling place, you were immediately met with warmth caused by the propped-up portable heaters all around the makeshift room. Even as many people hurried around it, you noticed that their smells weren't as overbearing as they were outside, since here it was just the staff, which was always required to wear scent blockers, and the air had been purified since the early morning. The lot, on the other hand, has usually been visited by many people, which, of course, weren't required to be scentless as they went to ski, and even if the resort has been closed off for today due to the photoshoot, all the mingling scents just lingered.

The first alpha you noticed as you carefully and warily looked up around the place, still worried about making eye contact with any strangers, was Jimin. The man was standing by a seemingly different section in the large tent as he waited patiently for three of the stylists around him to hand him over all of the clothes he would be wearing for the photoshoot.

At your scent, he looked up, your soft strawberries just then around, having the alpha smilinh widely, his eyes adorably almost disappearing. Before you could hurry to greet him, the older alpha holding onto you tightly stopped you as he crouched down before you.

„Kitten? Please listen to Alpha now, for only a little while, baby, okay? ...good. Kitty, you must always stay by one of your alphas now, okay? You're safe here, but I don't want you to be all on your own. Be a good girl now and always stay close.”

You nodded, whispering a soft, „I wi-ll oppa...” as he rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles, holding your smaller hands in his. Standing up and sighing at the cracks of his knee joints, Yoongi leaned closer, his chin tucking your face underneath his as he let his scent turn into calm pheromones.

„Yoongi-ssi, please come to change your attire for the photoshoot!” he heard one of the staff members call out as he nodded along, acknowledging them. Before he left you, he made sure to take you to some other pack member, mumbling about you being careful not to trip on any of the wires and such on the floors as he pulled you along towards the alpha closest, already sitting by a set-up makeup station where two stylists paid attention to his good looks.

„Cub? Come spend some time with alpha, hm?” Jin smiled at you, holding your hand as Yoongi mumbled a soft, „I'll just be behind that curtain if you need anything, kitty; you just call. Alpha is always around.” Then he left, taken along by an older smiling woman who handed him the warm winter clothes.

You nodded softly, letting the eldest gently guide you between his knees as he gently pulled you to sit just at the edge of them. At your soft whine of worry that you will be in the way of the quickly working makeup artists, the young girl softly giggled and whispered, „It's okay, I can work around you well,” settling your worries.

She seemed like a kind lady, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her dark eyes focused as she applied some makeup product to the back of her hand, warming it up with a dense sponge before she gently angled your alpha's face to apply it.

Jin wore a different outfit than he did when he left the house with you all after the early swimming break. Now he was clothed as if he was about to scale the tallest mountain in the world and still look like a model whilst doing so.

The oldest pack member wore a very soft, cashmere sky blue sweater with cream white corduroy trousers. The same shade was the crinkly puffer he wore to go with it, and his snow boots were a combination of cream and brown. To top it all off, the man had been handed another soft scarf with occasional brown stripes.

He smiled gently as you admired his nice looks, untying his scarf quickly to drape it around you, giggling loudly as he wrapped your face tight so that only your nose and eyes were visible. Quick to snap a photo of you, the alpha called to the other pack member, who just sat down at another makeup station after changing as well, laughing. „Look at cub Hobi-ah, it's like the Tutanchamon has crawled from his tomb!” Turning to watch you both, the man clapped loudly as he also smiled and giggled, while you whined, shrugging the tightly laced garment off.

Jin let his hands wrap around your waist, watching you fondly as his scarf laid around your neck normally, your chin hidden within the fabric. You smiled as you noticed the bracelet you'd made for him, a combination of silver and pink with a few cute charms on his wrist. There was a little microphone, a star, a tiny llama, and a small flower. The alpha had thanked you profusely earlier in the morning, telling you that you were 'the clever-est little omega he had yet to meet and that he would wear it forever.'

You watched as the hairstylist curled his dark brown hair to part in the middle, hairspray applied occasionally but never in your direction so it wouldn't bother you. The pretty lady who did his makeup was applying eyeshadow with a brush, blending one of the colours from a different palette to another in a practiced ease. As she set the eyeshadows down, you inched closer to touch the product yourself but didn't dare to make the move, feeling too shy.

Just then you noticed another two of the pack members taking a seat, as Jimin and Taehyung appeared from behind the curtains chatting about something in a comfortable mood. Beckoning you over, the younger was quick to spread his arms out in an awaited hug after he met your soft gaze.

Quick to say, „I'm going to oppa now...!” as Jin opened his eyes in alert from resting against the headrest, feeling comfortable with you in his arms, but suddenly moving, the older let you climb off as he hastily said, "Careful, you eager beaver!” his brows furrowing a little as you stumbled. But Hoseok was quick to catch you, his hand holding yours to help you gain your balance. He tutted at you softly, but you were already in Taehyung's embrace before he could get too far with it.

The alpha picked you up, holding you to his chest as he raked his fingers through your hair, sitting down along with you, settling you on one of his knees with your legs dangling between his own. He wore a comfortable outfit just like Jin, yet he had subtle changes—his white jacket was much longer, going over to his knees, and he wore baggy joggers instead. And as his hairstylist asked him to kindly take off his woollen bucket hat, the alpha was quick to comply and pluck it right onto your head, adjusting your earmuffs.

You just held onto his palm tighter, slowly adjusting to all of the scents and people you didn't know around you. You felt comfortable and safe with the alphas all around you—Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Hobi, along with now Yoongi as well—were all sitting either to your left or right, getting their makeup done and hair curled and styled.

In the mirror before you, you noticed Namjoon standing next to a different staff member, explaining something to him hastily, but he also wore the white-toned winter outfit they all seemed to be sporting for the photoshoot.

And Jungkook's smell was noted as being just behind one of the curtains as well, where the alpha was just changing. He was careful and considerate, his scent more calming (quite frankly, just like all of the pack members around you); the youngest worried about you dropping on them. But you were doing well today; the staff members were either not talking to you or greeting you with small bows you hastily returned.

Taehyung's makeup stylist, an older woman, worked quickly and well; his base makeup was already applied in less than a few minutes. She smiled at you kindly, not making a scene when you sat so close to the alpha. Holding the comfort companion close to yourself, you breathed in the pack's scents, finding comfort in them when you knew you couldn't lean to the alpha's scent gland, too worried you'd be in the way and get screamed at—even when you knew that wouldn't happen.

When the younger man handed you his phone to play on, you thanked him softly. All his games were boring, though, and so after you asked for his permission to download a different one, the alpha lent you his thumb to go through the touch ID needed for the App Store. Soon after, you were playing a cute baking game, with Tae choosing whichever treat you should make next when you couldn't decide: „Oh, the cake looks so adorable, babycheeks! How about you try that next time?”

After a while, the first few were ready to have their photos taken, Jin coming closer to you as he crouched down by your feet, smiling at you: „Shall we go take some photos now, cub? See the pretty view, baby peaches?” as he rubbed his knuckles over your cheeks. You nodded, letting the younger man help you slide off his lap after you gave him his phone back. You could keep the little hat for now, he thought. At least you'd be nice and warm.

Taking your hand in his, you held onto the eldest as he led you out of the warm tent, the cold air hitting you both as you walked out. Bright sun shone onto the sparkling whites around you as you allowed the alpha to tie his scarf around you even tighter, tucking it so none of your neck would be exposed.

„There, all warm now peaches. Let's go up, hm? Other alphas will come by soon; don't worry.” he said comfortingly as you begrudgingly took a step along with him.

The air was once again filled with all kinds of different scents, making you stick close to the man, his arm softly rubbing circles on your back to calm you. You both followed the many staff members going up from the parking lot to the end of the nearest ski trail, next to the ski lifts. They all carried a camera, a light, or something else, and Jin led you carefully over their already walked-through path.

You climbed a few meters upward the ski slope, and as you both turned to look onto the pretty view below, you felt at peace. The wind blew softly, carrying the overwhelming scents away, calming you slightly. The nature below was stunning, pure, and fresh. Looking towards the tents again, you could hear Jimin giggle and laugh from over here, as the said man rushed towards you both.

With the eldest alpha's scent surrounding you, you laughed yourself as one of the youngest came bounding to you both, his arms wrapping around you as he spun in the snowy nature, your face safely tucked by his neck. Before you could get too dizzy, he stopped, though, carefully setting you down above him, so should you fall, he would be there to catch you.

Hugging you close, he whispered gently: „Alpha loves you, sweetheart; never forget that.” giggling softly, letting his nose caress yours in a soft bunny-kiss after he noted the cute blush warming your cheeks.

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Next:

[devildom-moss]

Schedule Update

I'm going to be away from my computer for the next week and half or so. I've been really slow with writing. I didn't get much done last week despite spending multiple hours trying to catch up and get ahead, so I could just schedule the stuff to post on time.

Anyway, I am not going to try to write and format what will probably be a +3k word post (nor a second, probably longer post) on my phone. I still want to get the rest of the shorts requests done this month, and I'll probably do some work on them while I'm away. I'll try to get them up near the end of the latter half of the month.

[rizzanon]

update.

hello everyone. it’s been a while. but a lot has happened in these last few days and it’s a lot to take in. i will not share in detail, but i lost someone important to me recently. it was sudden and out of nowhere so it really caught me off guard. honestly, even now, i don’t know what to think about all of it. the last few days, i took the time to process this and grief because yeah, i can’t believe they’re actually gone. so i apologise for not being active here and for delaying chapter 6 of undoing fate.

to those who were worried about me and have been asking me if i’m ok in my inbox, i appreciate every one of you and thank you for caring. it truly means a lot to me. and for most of you who are waiting for me to drop chapter 6 of undoing fate, i apologise, as i will have to postpone chapter 6 for a bit. chapter 6 is unfinished when i last touched it, and it would be unfair to you all if i just posted something that i didn’t put my whole heart into, or if i just posted it unfinished and half-done. i probably should have posted a notice update sooner, but yeah like i said, i was grieving and still trying to process this recent loss.

i definitely won’t be dropping undoing fate, but i do hope you guys will be patient with me. i will definitely come back before the end of jan with the next (two) chapter(s) at least, and i promise it’ll be longer than the past chapters to make up for the time i was inactive. until then, i probably won’t be active on tumblr again for the next few days. i love you guys and wish you all well, and happy (belated) new year!

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART ONE

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 1.6K

Warnings ✦ fluff kind of, just mainly a story setup, mention of a "happy ending", overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI

A/N ✦ I've missed writing and wanted to get back into it so figured that the best way to do it was by writing a series.

PART TWO »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

“Matcha Latte for Sadie!”, you called out to the crowd inside the shop.

A woman stepped forward thanking you and taking the paper cup from your hands. As she turned to leave she slipped a five-dollar bill into the pink ceramic bowl that read “TIPS”. 

“Thank you!”, you said to her, as you turned back to your station.

Wednesday afternoons were usually less hectic, a reason you enjoyed working them, but before you were about fifteen or more drink orders waiting to be made. The small cafe you worked in was crammed with customers, mainly due to the raging thunderstorm outside. 

By now you should have had your (slightly longer than you are supposed to take) lunch break. You could’ve been eating ramen at the shop across the street, reading some more of the new book you just purchased earlier this week. But, here you were, knee deep in orders.

You scrunch your nose up in annoyance, picking up the next ticket and reading the order, four shots of blonde espresso over ice with two pumps of vanilla, two pumps of caramel, two pumps of white chocolate, a splash of soy milk, shaken, poured into a large cup with extra ice. 

With pleading eyes you looked towards your coworker, “Can I please switch off the coffee bar for a bit? I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“I was just about to ask you if you would switch to register for me”, Nat giggled, “I am about to lose my mind talking to people.”

You joined the redhead in her laughter, as the two of you swapped places and you handed her the ticket you had been holding. Her smile turned into a frown quickly, reading the order. 

“Dude, really?"

You shrugged at her and chuckled as Nat rolled her eyes and started on the drink. 

Thankfully the crowd began to dwindle down, until the only customers left in the cafe were a group of teenagers working on a school project. 

“I’m going to go take a break, if that’s cool with you?”, Nat asked.

“Yeah go ahead.”

“You know where to find me if you need anything.”, she said, disappearing through the doorway that led to the back room of the cafe.

You took a deep breath, leaning back against the countertop. Through the large archway windows of the shop you saw that the rain had started coming down even harder. The cold October air scattered the leaves that had fallen to the ground and a bright flash of lightning lit up the sky. A heavy roll of thunder followed soon after, cutting through the sound of the soft lo-fi music playing in the store. 

Your attention was torn away from the windows when you heard the soft ding of the front door opening. Two men entered the cafe, rain dripping off of them. The blonde one of the pair smiled at you sheepishly as if to say sorry for getting water everywhere. 

“Welcome in!”, you called from the counter.

As the two men walked towards you, you looked them up and down. The previously mentioned blonde, was wearing a light grey suit with a lavender button down underneath. A glittering chain sat around his neck, the price of which could probably pay an entire year's worth of your rent. 

Your eyes flitted over to his friend. The other man had longer brown hair and scruff that decorated his cheeks. His black dress shirt and slacks clung to his muscles, leaving little to the imagination. Looking down you noticed a gleaming watch on his left wrist and that most of his fingers had a large ring on them.

Glancing back up, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment as you locked eyes with a pair of stormy blue ones. The brunette man had caught you giving him a look over, smirking at your flustered expression. 

“Um–I–What can I get for you?”, you stuttered out. 

“I’ll take a hot vanilla latte, for Steve, please.”, the blonde man spoke.

“For here or to-go?”

Steve’s eyes glanced at the man next to him.

“For here.”, his friend said.

You finished ringing up Steve, who paid and went to sit down at one of the many tables in the cafe.

“Do you have anything you would recommend?”, the dark-haired man asked.

You thought for a second, “Well it depends, what do you normally go for?”

“Plain black coffee.”

You cringed at his admission. Plain coffee was bitter, gross, and undrinkable in your eyes. 

“Not a fan?”, the man in front of you chuckled at your reaction.

“That obvious?”

“Very.”

Laughing, you started asking him questions, trying to narrow down a drink for him. He did like cinnamon and holiday flavors, not super big on anything overly sweet, and preferred his drinks hot not iced. 

“Have you ever had a dirty chai?”, you asked.

“A dirty chai? Can’t say I ever have.”

“I think you’ll really like it!”, you beamed, “It’s a chai latte with a shot of espresso.”

“Well I trust you so far…”, he trailed off looking down, eyes searching for your nametag, “Y/N.”

You felt a blush rise on your face again, hearing the handsome stranger saying your name. 

“Oh-Yeah can I get a name for your order?”

“Bucky.”, he said, smiling at you. 

You finished ringing him up and he moved to join his companion at the table. 

“I’ll get started on your drinks, they should be out in just a little bit.”

You grabbed two handmade mugs from under the counter and began brewing your espresso shots. As you worked, you would look towards the men every so often. Not that you noticed, but every time your attention turned back to the drinks, Bucky would glance at you. He kept nodding along to whatever Steve was talking about, before he got a sharp jab to the ribs.

“Steve what the hell man.”, Bucky hissed at his friend.

“Would you quit gawking at the barista and listen to me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No, Buck I’m serious. This is serious.”, Steve said pointing to his phone screen. 

“Okay, okay.”

Against his will, Bucky turned his attention away from you and to the subject on Steve’s phone. 

A few minutes later you completed putting the final touches on the drinks, latte art for both of them, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top of the dirty chai. 

“Bucky and Steve, your drinks are ready.”

The brunette man quickly stood and headed for the counter. As he neared, you slid the two cups towards him.

“You’ll have to let me know what you think of it.”, you said to him as he wrapped his fingers around the handles of the mugs. 

“Why don’t I just let you know now?”, he brought his drink to his lips, and took a small sip.

You studied his expression hoping that he liked it.

“Damn, that’s really good.”

You smiled, “I’m glad you like it!”

He returned your grin, setting the mugs back down, and reaching into his back pocket, securing his wallet in his hands.

“For such a great suggestion, here’s this for you.”, he removed two hundred dollar bills and placed them into the tip bowl. 

Your jaw hit the floor, looking between the two bills and the man. 

“Thank you so much!”

“No need to thank me doll.”, he gave you another smile as he turned back around and moved towards Steve. 

Shaking your head you snapped yourself out of your dumbstruck daze and reached for the tips. You weren’t going to take any risks of someone running off with either of the large bills and headed into the back to put the tips into the safe. 

Nat was sitting at the breakroom table, feet propped up in the chair across from her and some reality TV show was playing on her phone. 

“Whatcha watching?”, you asked her.

“Real Housewives of New Jersey. I forgot how good this was.”, she looked towards you, “You want to take your break now?”

“Yes please, I am starving.”

She laughed at you, moving to stand up. You went to the safe, unlocking it and grabbing the bag marked “TIPS”. Quickly you counted the cash in your hands before unzipping the pouch and adding the money into it. You set the bag back into the safe and closed the door. 

“How much have we made so far?”, Nat asked. 

“Three-hundred and six dollars.”

Her eyes went wide, surprised the number was so high.

“It helps that this really attractive man just gave us two-hundred dollars.”

“He what now? Did you give him a happy ending with his coffee?”

You balked at her statement, “Or I am just so absolutely stunning he just couldn't help but give me his money.”

“Oh shut up will you.”, your friend laughed, tossing a stray rag at you.

You dodge the towel, laughing as you grab your rain jacket off the wall hooks behind you and slide your tote bag over your shoulder. Nat and you both returned to the front of the shop together. 

Steve and Bucky were still sitting at their table near the front door. The latter watched as Nat pulled your hood over your head, tightening the strings, giving you some sort of pep talk to encourage your escapade into the downpour outside. As you neared the front door, Bucky stood, beating you to the door handle, and opened it for you.

Pulling your hand back from the knob you shyly thank him. 

“See you around Y/N.”, he said.

“See you.”, you say as you tuck your head down and race out into the rain.

PART TWO

I AM OPENING A TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

[aealzx]

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With all the excitement from the Watchtower, Danny had ended up crashing as soon as they got back to the manor. The others had let him sleep, and Bruce had been there to help him get the dinner Alfred had left for him when he woke up in the middle of the night. Yet after eating he was quick to fall asleep again. It was a similar pattern of sleeping, eating, and sleeping more that filled up the entire next day for him. Though he did manage to squeeze in another bath during the most recent stretch of time he’d been awake. That was before he unintentionally knocked out on his stomach while lounging on the couch in the study. It really was a nice room. With the fireplace, and soft cushions. Sam had ended up telling everyone to just let him sleep since he was usually sleep deprived anyway. The rest could only do him some good on catching up on the two years of accumulated sleep debt.

It was only in the afternoon of the second day after meeting with Barry that Danny was staying awake for more than two hours. A checkup from Leslie kept him occupied for an hour, even though it was still odd to him to be getting his health monitored by an actual doctor instead of his family members and a lot of guessing. He currently only had burns in an area slightly bigger than his hand on his ribs, and they arguably weren’t even second degree anymore. Something that made Leslie marvel considering he hadn’t had any kind of skin transplant or the like, but something that was still annoyingly painful if he moved too suddenly or too far.

It was during the check up that Bruce let him know that Barry and Wally had made progress with isolating which realm was theirs, and would probably be over that evening. Part of their validation was for one of them to actually visit the realm, and potentially bring something back that the others would recognize. Danny felt it was a little unfair that one of the Flashes would be able to see his realm before any of them, but it was something he was willing to give up if it meant they could confirm everyone was alright. Barry had already called to check in with Jazz on an item she thought they should try to grab, and because of the conversation with Conner and Bart at the Watchtower she had suggested one of their cellphones or laptops.

It was strange when they were gathered down in the Batcave and Barry didn’t have either of those in his hands. Danny figured maybe he was going to try and surprise them with it since they didn’t know exactly who’s phone he had grabbed, but he also couldn’t help feeling uneasy with Barry’s mannerisms. Something seemed off about him. That smile wasn’t quite right. Even though Barry tried to be as energetic as them while they all clambered into seats, Danny couldn’t help staring at him with increasing unease. Why was he insisting that they were all seated?

Had…. Had the G.I.W. done something worse than they could think of?

Danny felt Jazz start to share his unease when Barry took a seat to face them at eye level, and drew a breath to speak.

“As you know we were able to lock on to your realm’s original location. And as part of the process Wally and I both took a trip there to make sure we could create a connection,” Barry started, giving a summary that was way too quick and caused Danny’s smile of anticipation for the good news to slowly drop. Barry didn’t seem to want to drag this out any longer than necessary though, for after a tense breath and exchanged look with Bruce he finally let his own, forced smile fade. “I’m sorry… This is never easy to say, but… there’s nothing left.”

Danny didn’t fully register standing up. A subconscious need to put himself between the others and what he considered, however momentarily, a threat forcing him to his feet and moving him to stand slightly between Barry and his friends and sisters.

“W’what?”

That was Jazz, of course. Always giving the other side a chance to clarify. To explain more. To maybe correct their statement with the other side’s feelings in consideration the next time.

“I’m sorry,” Barry breathed again, wishing he didn’t have to tell these children their home and everything in it was no longer in existence. “The space where your realm occupied is empty. We’ve seen it a few times before, after something causes the reality of the realm to be broken…. There’s nothing we can do, but we’ll make sure you’re taken care of here.”

Their world had died. While they were gone, something had happened to erase what they had left behind before they could get back to it to protect it. Millions of people were gone, but all Danny could register was a single fact, echoing repeatedly in his mind.

His parents were dead.

His parents were dead, and he hadn’t been there. His own words from before echoed in his brain in a static of spikes as his breathing became semi erratic. None of this mattered if the people he cared about weren’t safe. What did it matter that he was still there- what did it matter that he was almost healed? What did any of it matter if Maddie and Jack weren’t there with him?

His friends and sisters were in an uproar, but it felt so distant from him. He only caught pieces of their outrage.

“What are we supposed to do?”

Sam.

“Says the one whose parents probably left her an entire fortune! I have nothing now!”

Tucker.

“I have nothing either, you ass! Or did you forget none of us exist in this realm! None of us have anything!”

Sam again.

“You will be taken care of. I promise-”

Bruce, interrupted by Danielle before he could finish.

“None of that matters you idiots! Who did it? Who’s the dumbass that killed my mom and dad?! ‘Cause I’m gonna rip them to shreds-”

“Danny?”

The voice from Jazz was strangely soft compared to the others, but shaking so much. He hadn't noticed her stepping in front of him, his brain a static of fuzz and muffled noise. Her poor frame trembled as she gently took Danny’s hands, causing him to flinch and blink for the first time in the past minute. He felt hollow. Like someone had ripped open his chest and scraped it clean, spraying it with disinfectant to the point he was numb from the burn. His throat didn’t want to work, memories of the explosion destroying the Nasty Burger breaking into his memory. Only to be pushed fractionally at bay by Jazz’s warm hands and concerned expression filling his vision. If he could just focus on her, maybe he could get his body moving again. Maybe he could do something. He still had his sisters. Maybe they could keep him going until he could figure out a way to fix this. He did last time. He had to figure something out. He always did.

“Was it because of Danny-?”

The breath to Danny’s lungs cut off harshly as he heard Sam’s words sounding too loud in his ears. He couldn’t breathe, his gaze dragging through eternity to meet her’s as she tried to recover what she’d implied.

“I’I- No- Danny, that’s not what I meant-” Sam stammered around the hand that had flown to her mouth after she realized too late what he question had implied. She had just been listing potential events to consider for the cause of the destruction. The fight against the GIW ending in realm rending explosions that had transported them there in the first place. Explosions that were essentially caused by Danny’s wail.

All Danny could think as his wide eyes stung, blurred, and spilled hot tears down his cheeks, was blame.

It’s my fault.

His thoughts were a whisper in his mind as his hands pulled from Jazz’s grip.

I killed them.

The start of a scream too weak to fully manifest escaping his throat before he smothered his mouth with his hands. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t deal with all of this on top of them. He couldn’t handle being there when he didn’t know if they wanted to hate him or beg for him to save them.

So he left.

Body becoming intangible and invisible Danny leapt into the air, fleeing the source of the hurt and the confines of the foreign building so he could maybe just get some damn air and quiet. To stop being stared at with pity, and grief, and guilt, and concern, and something his sister gave so freely but he didn’t deserve. How could she still love and care about him after what he’d done? He had to leave so he could figure his own brain out before coming to terms with them, leaving behind even more voices from before yelling in an uproar.

“DANNY!”

How many people had yelled that? The more colorful cussing was easier to pick out individual voices to, but Tim gave his own explicative to the pool.

“Shit! Where’s he going-?” he cursed, eyes locking on Danielle since she was the only one he thought would even have a chance to follow the kid with abilities none of them knew how to deal with yet. They had only caught Danielle before because she had chosen to fight back. When she hadn’t wanted to be found in the past, they couldn’t find her. And Danny was more advanced in his skills than her.

“Don’t look at me! I can’t track him!” Danielle spat, her emotions getting slammed sideways with additional stress over her brother.

“Did you seriously just BLAME DANNY!?” Tucker burst, rounding on Sam.

“I WASN’T BLAMING ANYONE!” Sam roared back, coming back at Tucker with a fist raised only to have Barry snatch her hand.

“I have to go look for him!” Jazz broke, turning to leave, to do something other than stand there unable to get her brother’s soul crushed expression out of her mind.

“ENOUGH!”

Bruce hadn’t raised his voice once since they had been staying with him, and hearing him scold them now caused everyone in the room to freeze and snap their full attention to him. Even Jazz stumbled where she was and stopped.

“No one is going anywhere-” Bruce started, his tone more even, and surprisingly calm once again.

“Do not tell us to let him go, Bruce!” Tim snapped, breaking away from his almost frantic brainstorming with Barbara over the phone. “Being alone is not a good idea right now. He’s an isolated kid that got forced into being the only hero and having everyone rely on him, and just lost two people he loves. You and I both know people can’t deal with that on their own. Not even you,” he spat, rounding on Bruce defiantly.

The outburst caught Bruce only slightly off guard because of the content. But to Tim’s surprise, after flinching back fractionally, Bruce just gave a slightly pained grimace before resting his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I know, Tim,” Bruce assured. “And likewise, this isn't just on you to take care of.” That caused Tim to flinch this time, having not realized he was falling into that headspace. “No one is going anywhere until we get a plan together to make sure we have the city covered. It’s a big area after all, and Danny can fly. Which means we’ll have to work with everyone. So how about we all get suited up?”

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=7=;a I had this chapter 90% written like two months ago, and because of that I've reached the point where I've worked with it so long I think it's terrible. Also I had such a long break from the holidays I feel like I forgot how to draw X'DDD euuhhhhh I hope Sam looks okay, I'm not all that familiar with that culture so just googled and picked things that I thought suited her

Anyways, enjoy the return of suffering =u=b

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira, @nomaru666

[jakesduskwood]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?      

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don’t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

[mothandpidgeon]

Nine Lives (witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader) - Part 4

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: witch's familiar!Ezra x witch!f!reader

rating: E MDNI

summary: As you came into your powers and your curves filled in, Ezra realized he feelings for you were more than just affection. The only problem? He's a 300 year old cursed witch. Oh, and he's a cat.

contents: age gap (like 300 years), nudity, alcohol, only one bed, masturbation, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 7.1k

a/n: Hello again, my friends. This chapter took much, MUCH longer than I expected and also much longer. It probably would have been a lot faster had i not been encouraged to add some smut you know who you are. There are at least 3 more parts to this story. Thank you for being on this journey!

Big thank you to @lowlights and @schnarfer for advice on this and to @moonlitbirdie for betaing and loving me unconditionally.

🐈‍⬛

He’s having that dream again. The one where he’s human and you’re holding him, lips against his shoulderblade, fingers stroking the coarse hairs low on his belly. He’d live in these dreams if he could.

After the disappointment of the night before, Ezra revels in it, even if this is fleeting. 

He should never have gotten his hopes up. It wasn’t just the risk to consider but the complexity of the spell. You’re not a child but as witches go, your powers are still young. And, with his last minute decision, the two of you bodged together the potion in less than a day. The chances that it would have been successful were so slim, he’d been a fool to believe that you could pull off such a feat. He’d been caught up in the moment, your unfailing belief in him, the tantalizing question what if…

At least he has his dreams. Half awake, Ezra reminds himself that had the spell had worked, he wouldn’t be laying naked in your arms. There’s no knowing how things would change if he did. 

Sinking into the sweetness of the dream, he can’t help but roll over and bury his face in your neck, purring against your pulse. Instead of being met with your mouth, your hands searching for more of him, you scream. 

It’s enough not only to wake him but startle him out of the bed. What would normally be a swift leap off of the mattress, landing on his feet, is an inelegant tumble to the floor, knocking his head and pulling the sheets off with him. You’re actually shrieking. It’s not just some figment of his imagination. A string of creative expletives leave you as Ezra tries to untangle himself from the covers. When he finally rights himself, his heart beating like a rabbit, he finds you pressed against the headboard with a look of terror on your face. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck!” you shout, your heels digging in the mattress as you scoot away from him. 

“Easy! It’s me, little mage! It’s me!” he says, breathless. 

Your eyes somehow manage to grow even wider. 

“Ezra?” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “It worked.”

His head is spinning so quickly that your words take a moment to sink in. Another is spent in disbelief as he look down at his hands, outstretched in submission. Ten fingers. There are legs snarled in the bedsheets not covered in black fur but with wiry hairs. 

Ezra touches his nose, still bent from where he broke it in his youth. He feels the divot of the scar on his cheek, the whiskers on his upper lip. All as he was. 

He stares, speechless for once in his life. 

“Ez, it fucking worked!” you cry, tumbling across the bed and diving over the side. 

You clasp your hands on either side of his face, your eyes wild with delight, and your laughter is a mix of joy and relief. He joins you, it’s contagious, laughing and gripping into your shoulders. If he didn’t feel your palms against his cheeks, he’d think this was still a dream. 

Luckily he has the presence of mind not to plant a kiss on your mouth though with the amount of glee bouncing between the two of you, he doubts you’d protest. 

“We did it!” you say. 

“You did it,” Ezra corrects, marveling at you. 

You amaze him more each day. Not only did you do some incredible and complex magic but you foresaw it all. Beautiful, clever, talented. And now you’ve given him his greatest gift. He’s human once more. 

Your eyes dance across his face in turn, taking in the new details

“It’s really you,” you say. 

You stroke at his face with your thumb. It’s a light touch but to Ezra, the sensation is so powerful he’s afraid he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. 

You smile softly and reach for his hair. “Your patch,” you say, twisting the white strands out of his forehead. 

“Oh, Ez!” you exclaim.  

Overwhelmed by it all, a dam bursts. Tears are slipping down his face without him even knowing. Centuries of them finally making their escape. 

You lean in, press your forehead against his as you have so many times before yet it’s so new. The bridge of your nose brushes against his, your lips hover so close he can feel your breath. You stroke behind his ear, fingers in his hair, a sensation that’s familiar, grounding. 

He’s so grateful for you, for your faith in him. 

You sniffle and he realizes that you’re just as emotional. Your cheeks glisten with tears when you pull away, still shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Thank you,” Ezra says. Chokes. He’s never done this properly though he’s tried to show it. It’s too difficult to put into words, even for someone as verbose as he is. He’s grateful with a depth he can’t find words for though he’s always considered himself a master of them. 

Tears well in your eyes again but these aren’t like the joyful ones you just shed. Your lips quiver. Ezra catches one as it slides down your cheek with his fingertips. He’s watched you cry so many times and he’s always wanted to do that. 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. It feels better than he’s ever imagined. You fit in his arms so perfectly, he could hold you for a thousand years. He inhales your scent, familiar to him but different now. His senses have dulled but drawn close, he loses himself in it. 

“Ezra,” you say after a long moment. “I just realized. You’re totally naked right now.”

Perhaps he should be embarrassed, worried that this is your first glimpse of him and you’ve seen all that there is to see. But he couldn’t care less. 

The two of you descend into giggles. 

—

“This is how I’m to make my debut in the world?” Ezra asks, stepping out of your bedroom.

He’s wearing the clothes you picked out for him, all that you could find that would encompass his broad frame. Your sweatpants are cinched tight around his slim waist, ending far above his ankles. Below that, his toes overhang the edge of your old flip flops. The outfit is finished with a big sweatshirt you bought several Halloweens ago– the words Witch, please emblazoned on the front in a cutesy font.

A startled snort leaves you and he scowls.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your smile with both hands. “You look–”

“Like a buffoon,” he says.

“Like you need to go shopping,” you correct.

You wait for Ezra outside of the dressing room, your back pressed against the door. The very first stop outside of the confines of your apartment is the local department store to get him something normal to wear. Ezra’s an oddity, everything from the way he speaks to his awkwardness adjusting to walking on two legs make him stick out. An ironic sweatshirt and sandals aren’t going to help him blend. 

The excitement is still buzzing through your veins. Every few minutes you want to open the changing room door and make sure that he’s still there, still human. A couple of times you even peek under the door just to see his feet haven’t turned back into paws. It’s really happening. You’re out in the world with Ezra. Ezra the human, a man. You changed him yourself, just as your dream had predicted, but you’re less fixated on the feat of magic and more on what he’s transformed into.

Ezra’s not at all who you were expecting under the fur. He’s remarkably handsome. Tall and broad shouldered. A strong nose accentuated by a dark mustache. His mouth is almost always set in a pout, full bottom lip turned out, jaw dotted with stubble. 

He’s not entirely unrecognizable. There’s something about the mirth in his smile that feels familiar, a slyness in his eye. 

Still It’s hard to believe that this is your Ezra, the little cat that curled up in your lap, tiptoed behind you on the back of the couch. He’s all man, big enough to swallow you up in his embrace. If you were strangers, you’d be too intimidated to even look him in the eye.

You giggle to yourself at how ridiculous that thought is. He’s Ezra. Your best friend. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. And if you told him he was good looking he’d never shut up about it. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks from the other side of the door, his voice muffled as he brings a shirt over his head.

“Just thinking about how my sweats fit you,” you say.

“Breathe a word of that to a soul—“ he grumbles. 

“Are you done yet?”

He sighs and you hear the latch on the door and there he is again. It knocks the air out of your lungs to be face to face with him once again, with that new face. Ezra stares back at you. His eyes are nothing like those sharp, golden eyes you’ve known for so many years. They’re deep brown, big and round— funny enough, more like a puppy dog than a cat. 

Your gaze falls down onto the outfit he’s chosen.

”What happened here?” You ask. 

His shirt is only half buttoned leaving a large swath of that golden chest in view, a constellation of freckles dotting his neck clavicle. You noticed them when he was sprawled out on your bedroom floor, tried to keep your focus on those instead of letting your eyes wander too much. 

”I’m afraid I haven’t gained mastery over my thumbs yet,” he admits sheepishly. 

“Let me.” You try to hide your grin.

You work the buttons, careful not to let your knuckles brush his front. His warmth radiates through the thin cotton and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing. It shouldn’t be so tense. This is the same Ezra after all, the cat you snuggled to sleep every night. Nothing’s changed between you and yet it’s definitely not the same. You feel him watching you and you swear he’s holding his breath. He shifts uncomfortably. 

”Are you sure these trousers are right?” He asks finally, palms grazing the fronts of his jeans. “They’re exceedingly restrictive.”

”When’s the last time you wore pants?” You ask him.

“When you tried to put me in that ridiculous cowboy get up,” he reminds you. 

“You were so cute!” you laugh, remembering how he flopped down on the floor in protest. 

He scoffs. 

“Come see yourself,” you say, motioning towards the trio full length mirrors at the end of the hall of dressing rooms. 

Ezra’s a sight to behold in his new outfit. A crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of dark jeans. If you squint you can see the man he once was in one of those romantic billowy shirts. 

“Looks good,” you say. 

Ezra’s furrowed brow smooths and he catches your eye in the mirror with a bashful smile. 

“You have a dimple,” you say. 

You keep noticing new things about him as the day goes on. There’s a little bald patch in his beard, wrinkles around his eyes when he laughs. 

“I suppose I forgot,” he says, blushing. “Am I not what you expected?” 

If you didn’t know him better, you’d think he sounded nervous. 

“I don’t know,” you say. He’s not what you pictured yet he’s exactly right in every way. He’s better than you pictured. He looks like that. How could you expect he was existing in your presence all this time?

You remind yourself quickly how wrong it is to be thinking of Ezra that way. He’s the closest thing you have to a brother. How many nights did you stay up pouring your heart out to him about life? It’s just the novelty, you assure yourself. Once you get used to him, it’ll be different. 

“I guess I thought you’d look like Ichabod Crane,” you tease. 

“Hilarious.”

––

“You should go to the Grand Canyon,” you say. 

All night, you’ve been brainstorming a list for Ezra, all of the things he can finally do now that he’s turned. The two of you already crossed off the first thing— eat dinner at a fancy restaurant— and you’re working on the second item— drinks at the local watering hole. 

It’s a busy Saturday night but you worked some magic to get a cozy table. The place is rustic by design, the kind of bar invented for the Brooklyn transplants that are renovating barns into Air BnBs. 

It’s chock full of mortals but Ezra couldn’t care less if he were surrounded by the witch hunters of Salem, just being out and about with you feels like a thrill. 

“What about having a human body is necessary to visit the Grand Canyon?” Ezra asks.  

The more drinks you had in you, the more esoteric the ideas became. 

“I don’t know. You could hike?” you say. 

“I think I had the advantage with four legs. I’ll pass,” he says. 

“I guess you’re right,” you say. Then you point an excited finger at him. “Learn to drive!”

He tilts his head, considering it but you’re already onto the next one. 

“Dancing!” 

“I’m not sure I know how it���s done these days,” he says. He’d enjoyed dancing when he was human the first time, mainly because it gave him ample opportunity to touch and flirt.  

“I don’t know. You just move,” you tell him. “Come on. I’ll dance with you right now.” You reach your hand out for him across the table to show that you really mean it. 

Ezra’s seen you dance hundreds of times. At witches gatherings, of course, but many more times in the kitchen, wearing your pajamas and singing off key, you scooping him up and rocking him to the beat. You might not be a good dancer, he’s not one to judge, but he’s always loved watching your hips find a rhythm. 

He’s still unsteady on his feet with less than 24 hours on his new legs and yet he couldn’t care less if he looks a fool if it means he can dance with you. The two of you are sure to draw attention— no one else is dancing despite the fact that the music’s so loud he has to shout to be heard. That doesn’t bother him. Let these mortals see you with him for once. Let him pretend for a moment that you’re his. 

He takes your hand, his heart speeding up in anticipation of your body being close, when your face falls. Your gaze is somewhere past him and you pull out of his grasp. 

“Oh, fuck,” you say. 

Ezra looks over his shoulder to see a familiar face. A lanky guy carrying a guitar case stops in his tracks when he spies you. The last time Ezra saw this mortal he had his paws all over you. 

“Shit. I completely forgot. Connor’s playing a gig here tonight. He invited me,” you groan. 

This fuck. Ezra’s joyous mood is jolted by the memory of Connor slobbering over your neck, the sounds of the two of you on the couch that he tried desperately to block out, the jealousy that sickened him. Here was one of the mortals that had touched and tasted you in the way Ezra had only dreamed interrupting his first chance to truly be close to you. 

But his lips crack into a wicked smile as Connor’s face twists in disappointment. Ezra knows how it looks to him. You’re here at his show where he hoped to woo you with song and you’re cozied up to another man. How many times had Ezra himself been forced to endure such humiliation?

 “Hey,” you say with unconvincing friendliness, selling it by standing up to offer a hug when Connor finally works up the nerve to come by. 

He keeps a wary eye on Ezra who in turn sits up straighter, chest out. He makes himself larger the same way he would passing one of the strays in the graveyard. It’s been hard to adjust to his new body, constantly bumping into things because he’s bigger, off balance without a tail. But right now, he couldn’t be more pleased with his new form. 

“Who’s your friend?” Connor asks without exchanging any pleasantries. He’s not masking his annoyance very well. 

“Oh. This is—“

“Ezra,” Ezra offers. 

“Hey,” Connor says dismissively. 

“He’s a friend of mine,” you add quickly. “Wanted to tag along to your show.”

“I hear you’re quite the talent,” he says. 

There’s a twitch in Connor’s brow as you kick Ezra under the table. 

“I guess you need to go set up,” you encourage, so ready to be rid of him. 

Ezra has other plans. 

“You must have time for a drink first. What’ll it be?” He asks. He can feel your eyes on him, trying to figure out his ulterior motive. 

“IPA,” Connor answers after a moment’s hesitation. 

Ezra’s powers tingle as he waves over the waitress. 

Connor finds a chair and joins you at the little table. The beer sets his mind at ease as you bullshit about how Ezra is an old friend, trying to save this guy’s pride. It seems like he buys it. Like all mortals, he’s a bit dim. 

He’s ridiculous, too. Talks a lot without asking you questions. Thinks he’s terribly interesting when he’s no different from the other mortal men that have shared your bed.  

“Isn’t your cat’s name Ezra?” Connor finally realizes after droning on about David Bowie as if he were the one that heard an original pressing of Ziggy Stardust. 

You stutter for a moment but you don’t have to come up with an answer because Ezra chimes in.

“Now, what was it you were attempting to elucidate with regards to psychedelic rock?” Ezra asks. 

You stifle a laugh, choking down some of your drink to hide it. This time, beneath the table you’re pressing your knee into his. 

“Uh,” Connor says, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair then reaches for his beer again. 

“Well a lot of people think it starts with The Beatles but actually,” Connor lifts his drink to his lips in a theatrical pause, taking a swig, but his expression contorts in confusion, then disgust. He spits the beer back into his glass and with it comes a spider, it’s spindly legs thrashing about wildly. “Ah! Fuck!” he sputters. 

In his fright, Connor’s arms flail cartoonishly. The glass flies from his grasp and hits the table top, spilling its contents in all directions. You cry out, jumping up to avoid getting a lap full of IPA. The spider spins in the slippery puddle, trying to scurry every which way. Connor tries to distance himself from the arachnid but he legs of his chair catch and he topples over backwards onto the floor.

All conversation dies away around you as the other patrons have turned to watch the chaotic scene– Connor’s feet pointed up towards the ceiling, the floor beneath the table pooling with spilled beer. Ezra sits cool as a cucumber, his side of the table miraculously dry.

”Careful there, Connor,” he says. “Just a pretty little spider.”

You shoot him a look and he shrugs innocently. Your eyes say behave but it’s contradicted by a budding smile. 

“You good?” you ask.

Connor lays there wincing, probably much more embarrassed than he is bruised. Ezra offers a hand to help him up, all friendly smiles. Connor scowls but he has no choice but to accept, letting himself be hoisted to his feet by the other man. The crowd loses interest as Connor dusts himself off. 

“What a tumult,” Ezra says with a laugh. He slaps Connor on the shoulder so hard that he stumbles forward.

The waitress comes over with a bar rag and a judgemental look. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” You ask.

”I’m fine,” Connor answers a little too quickly. He flattens his ruffled hair. “Listen, maybe I should just go warm up.” He motions towards the little platform that serves as the stage.

”A wise idea,” Ezra says and Connor darts away.

”You’re bad,” you say but you’re practically bursting with laughter.

Ezra considers continuing his mischief while Connor’s performing— make him play the wrong notes or break a guitar string— but he doesn’t have to. Connor’s eyes keep finding you as he sings his whiney little songs and each time, Ezra’s right there. Leaning in close to talk to you over the music, making little quips that have you close to spitting out your drink. Right now, you couldn’t care less about this mortal, busy trying to convince Ezra that karaoke should be added to his adventure list. 

“Let’s go,” you say after draining your glass. 

“But your friend’s not done,” he teases. 

“I think we’ve heard enough,” you say. 

You offer Connor a sad little wave as you get up from the table, taking Ezra’s hand in yours to lead him through the throng of people crowding the bar. 

He watches Connor’s face fall as his eyes follow you to the exit. It’s a silly little revenge but to Ezra it’s delicious, a comeuppance for every mortal that’s been in your bed. Maybe Connor thinks you’re taking Ezra home to do the same to him. Good. It’s so delightful that Ezra doesn’t even care that it isn’t true.

––

“What have I unleashed on the world?” you ask with laughter, crossing the threshold of your apartment.

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Ezra says but there’s a smirk on his lips. 

“You’ve gone from hairballs in shoes to public humiliation.” You should be more sympathetic to poor Connor but you can’t stop giggling. Every time you recall the sight of him flying backwards, flapping his arms, you’re in stitches again.

“Just a little harmless magic to warm up my powers,” he replies. “Not to worry, little mage, I’m sure he’ll still be more than happy to accept a booty call.” 

You shake your head. Between the awful conversation, the spew of spider, and the wailing of his songs, you have no interest in revisiting things with Connor.

In the kitchen you pour two glasses of water, adding a few drops of a tincture you keep handy for hangovers. You’re still a little tipsy, will probably wake up with a headache in the morning, but you don’t care. You can’t remember the last time you had so much fun with another witch. Not that it should surprise you. It’s Ezra after all.

”You know, you can’t fuck with these mortals too much. You do that to the wrong guy and they’ll start hunting us again,” you warn. You hand Ezra one of the glasses and flop down on the couch beside him. 

“But it’s alright to toy with their emotions?” Ezra retorts. “How many hearts have you broken?”

You scoff in mock offense but you know he’s right. You’ve never let yourself get attached to any mortals. Somewhere, deep down, you knew you’d never have a serious relationship with one of them so there was no fear of falling in love, no worry about their feelings, no risk of getting hurt.

Now that you’ve stopped moving, fatigue sets in. You rest your head on Ezra’s shoulder. You’re starting to get used to the fact that you can actually do that but it hasn’t gotten old yet. An absent grin plays on your lips. 

“Did you have a good first human day?” you ask. 

You feel his chuckle under your cheek. 

“I did indeed,” he says. 

Your smile widens. Ezra’s arm wraps around your shoulders, his fingers gently grazing circles over your sleeve, and you nuzzle further into his chest. 

“Thank you, little mage,” he says. 

”Mm,” is all you manage.

Your heavy eyelids begin to drift closed. It’s so cozy, you imagine yourself as a little cat in Ezra’s arms. You wonder if this is how it felt for him, cuddled in your lap, getting scritches under his chin, and you swear you’re purring. No, you’ve fallen asleep and started snoring. 

You force yourself awake with a groan. Ezra’s sitting contentedly beside you, watching you shift and stretch.

“I’ve got to sleep,” you yawn and manage to drag yourself onto your feet. 

Ezra doesn’t move, just nods and says, “Good night.”

“Are you staying up?” you ask. He must be exhausted after such a roller coaster of a day. 

“I think I’ll sleep here,” he tells you. 

You falter just outside of your bedroom. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. 

“I should,” he says. 

“Oh. Okay.” You’re not sure why it hurts. “Well, then you take the bed. I'll sleep out here,” you offer. 

“It’s your bed,” he says. 

A pang of guilt punches you in the gut. How many times had you reminded him of that?

“It’s alright. I’ve slept here on numerous occasions,” he assures you. 

You linger for a moment, trying to come up with some good reason why he shouldn’t stay on the couch. It shouldn’t be important to you. He might want his own space, some privacy after all these years, yet it feels like you’re losing something. 

“Let me get some sheets—“

“I know where the linens are,” he says. Obviously. He lives here too. 

Eventually you have to stop standing there like a weirdo and go to the bedroom. Door open or closed? You leave it somewhere in between. 

“G’night,” you say. 

You lay in bed listening to Ezra in the linen closet, then shucking his jeans and settling on the sofa. Suddenly you’re wide awake and sober as a judge, ruminating on what this means for the future. The two of you can only slip further and further away. He wants his own place to sleep, he’ll want his own place to live. It’s only natural. He’s not yours anymore. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?

You roll over, pulling the covers up to your ears. Then off. You punch your pillow into shape. You strain your ears, listening for Ezra's breathing in the next room. Is he sleeping? You lean off the side of your bed, peering into the darkness and do your best to make out his form in the shadows. 

Soon Ezra will have his own life, his own friends. He’s always been his own person. At least that’s what you’ve always said. How long have you been deluding yourself?

You shift again, grabbing your pillow and squeezing it in your arms to mimic his cat’s body. No luck. Nothing’s the same as Ezra. The occasions when you’ve fallen asleep without him clutched to you have been few and far between. Loneliness aches in your chest. This wasn’t something you’d thought through before you cast your spell. 

Finally you throw back the sheets and march into the living room.

Ezra lays on the little couch as best he can, bare to the waist clad only in the boxers you made him buy. One of his long legs is sprawled over the side of the couch, the other tucked under his body. His eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, an arm folded beneath his head. 

“I can’t sleep,” you say.

“Likewise,” he says.

“This is ridiculous. Ez, you’ve always slept with me,” you complain.

“That was different,” he says, sitting up on an elbow.

“Well–” You want to tell him that nothing’s changed but it doesn’t really feel like the truth. Everything’s felt different today. You throw up your hands. “This is weird.”

He looks at you for a long time, the swell of his bottom lip turning into a deep frown.

“Just. Come on,” you say.

You leave the door open for him as you go back to your room and climb into bed. It’s his turn to hesitate, loitering in the doorway. Moonlight catches on the slope of his shoulder and the angle of his nose, glints in his unsure eyes. You sit with your arms crossed until finally he relents. 

It’s certainly not the same as it was to have your cat beside you. Ezra occupies a large part of your double bed but he leaves a wide swath of mattress between you, keeping his limbs close to his body. Your instincts tell you to reach out for him but you don’t want to overstep this new boundary. 

Despite the awkwardness, the delicate balance neither of you want to upset, feeling his warmth on the sheets, you’re finally able to breathe a sigh and sink into your pillow at last. His warm eyes gaze at you, giving you a long, slow blink.

“Better?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you answer. 

And soon you’re both fast asleep. 

––

Ezra’s cock greets him in the morning like an old friend. 

He can feel your breasts warm against his back, your arm curled around his waist the same as always. Despite his efforts to keep his distance, you found each other in the night, sleeping the only way you know how. His body responded in kind.

This was what he feared, why he tried– briefly– to be good and sleep on the couch. Though to say that you’d twisted his arm was a lie. He’d given in far too quickly because he wanted you too much.

He can’t keep thinking about you like this if he wants to stay close to you, if he plans on surviving as a human. But all he wants to do is crawl down the bed, bury his face between your thighs, and make you his. 

Before he does something rash, he slips away from you. You’re fast asleep thanks to the drinks and the late night. As Ezra rolls off the mattress, you let out a complaint, a little whimper that goes straight to his groin. He freezes, cock aching, and watches you roll over. You’re beautiful bathed in morning light, the sheets laying gently across your curves. If only he could run his hand over their outline. 

His movements are not exactly cat-like as he creeps into the bathroom, the old wooden floors protesting with each step. As soon as the lock clicks he’s divesting himself of these ridiculous underthings. And there he is, that old menace. His length glistens with leaking precum, tip flushed red, begging to be touched. Ezra grips the base carefully but it still elicits a groan. He’s too sensitive— hundreds of years of pent up desire and a night beside you have him dizzy. 

He gives himself an experimental stroke and it’s like lightning. His knees buckle and he has to hold himself up with his palm against the back of the door. With a silent curse and a steadying breath, Ezra spits into his fist and goes again. Slow, gentle. He knows he won’t last but he’s afraid his new body won’t be able to take the rapture. It’s divine torture, his mind soon swimming in pleasure. 

Every dream he’s had, each time you danced under the moon or came out of the shower skin beaded with water, it all rushes past his eyes a cacophony of obscenities. Thank the stars you can’t see him like this, more animalistic than when he was one. Repulsive. Fucking his fist as he thinks of you, the only witch that’s ever cared for him. Defiling you in his mind. 

He promises his guilty conscience that he’ll never do this again. He just needs it this once as his muscles strain and tighten. It’s bliss and agony all at once and he’s so close to breaking, he can hardly bear it.

“Ezra?” he hears you from the bedroom. Your voice is still rough and husky from sleep and it’s more than enough to push him over the edge. 

His head falls back, eyes squeezed shut, and he chokes down the growl that’s erupted from his chest. His hips jump and his hand is coated in hot release. 

“Ez?” you call out. 

Ezra swallows dryly, inhales as deeply as he can manage. 

“Just a moment,” he manages to croak out as his forehead comes to rest against the cool wood of the bathroom door. 

“Oh,” you say with relief. “You weren’t there. I thought-— I was afraid maybe the spell went wrong.”

“Not to worry, little mage,” he says. “I’m still under your spell.”

—

The two of you spend the day in the basement, doing magic together. Ezra shows off the spells that were something of a specialty for him. Mostly, they’re party tricks. (“This one used to send the mortals frothing,” he says as he changes a glass of water into wine.)

The only blemish on an otherwise perfect day came when you offered helpfully, “You know, if we can clean out the spare room down here, you could have a place of your own.”

It stung though Ezra knew you would expect him to leave the nest eventually. Maybe you’d heard what he’d been doing behind the bathroom door and were hinting he find somewhere else to abuse himself.

It feels good to be doing magic again, even better to share with you. He’s a little rusty, working a muscle that’s been comatose for years. You don’t seem to mind. You’re impressed, just as giddy as he is,  though you’re not amused when he turns a bowl of pasta noodles into worms.

“If you ever do that to me, I’ll turn you back,” you swear.

You’re particularly fascinated with a piece of magic Ezra shows you where he ignites a flame in his hand. 

“Show me again,” you say.

He strikes his thumb against his fingertips as though they were flint on steel and the fire sparks. You watch with a furrowed brow, rehearsing the motion with your own hand.

“You can do it with a candle. It’s quite the same,” he explains. The flame glows orange, hovering in his palm until he snuffs it in his fist.

You hold your hand forward and mimic his motion to no avail. 

“It’s not a snap,” he says in reply to your frustrated groan. “Observe.” He demonstrates again, slower this time.

“That’s what I did,” you complain.

After a few more attempts you shake your head.

“I can’t do it.”

“You turned a cat into a man. This is well within your abilities,” he assures you.

You thrust your hand towards him. “Show me.”

“Very well,” he says. 

It’s not like your touch is new to him and still he swoons as he cups your hand in his. Maybe it’s because yours is so much smaller, almost delicate. It’s the intimacy of this moment, the magic, that has his heart hammering. Your powers vibrate beneath your skin, heating you from within.

You don’t have to stand so close but you slot yourself against him, your shoulders against his chest.

“Relax,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. He can’t help himself, resting his other hand on your hip. 

You take a deep breath and he marvels at how easily you unwind in his arms. If you turn towards him, your lips will brush.

”Focus,” he says as if his own head isn’t swimming.

You nod and Ezra guides your thumb across your fingers. 

The fire doesn’t just spark to life in your hand but it ignites as if it were fed by kerosene, flaring wildly. It burns so hot he can feel it radiating through your fingers. You let out a delighted squeal, your smile brighter than the flame itself. 

“Holy shit!” You turn to share your joy with Ezra, so close your noses touch as you move. You giggle. 

He can’t help but grin himself. You are truly amazing. 

It all shatters in an instant. You hear the jingle of the shop door above and the fire in your fist fizzles to ash. You freeze except for your eyes that grow wide with horror. Footsteps cross overhead, the floorboards creaking. The bookstore is closed just as it is every Halloween week. There are no customers coming in. There’s only one person that could be here. 

Ezra hears Margot call out your name and his stomach drops.

”Are you down there?” she says. She’s just at the top of the stairs where you left the door propped open.

”Uh huh,” you answer. You still haven’t moved an inch, just stand there dumbly.

You’d talked briefly about how the two of you would break the news to Aunt Margot but you hadn’t come to a decision. You still had time to figure it out and you were both so giddy that you couldn’t imagine a world where she was anything but delighted to see what he’d become. Suddenly it’s an incredible risk and neither of you are prepared.

“”I just kept thinking about you here all alone. I left as soon as I could,” she says. “Everybody was asking about–“ her eyes finally land on Ezra and she stiffens ”–you.”

“Aunt Margot–” you try.

Percy, who’s just peeked his head out of her breast pocket, lets out a squeal.

“What have you done?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. 

He’s not sure how she knows– Margot is perceptive in ways neither you or Ezra could anticipate– but she doesn’t need to be told.  

She stares at the man before her and he’s brought back to the look on Cee’s face years upon years ago when he stood over Damon’s limp body.

It’s a punch in his gut delivered by himself long ago, it all slips away. The party is over, the jig is up. The past two days evaporate like one of his dreams. Those sweet mornings waking up beside you, the swell of your touch, the thought of a future. He’d really believed it could go on like that forever. 

You look as terrified as your aunt but you swallow it down and say, “I turned him back.”

“That’s not possible,” Margot says. 

“I’m afraid it is,” Ezra says. His words don’t hold any of their usual cool confidence. 

“Is this why you stayed home?”

“No—“ you try.  

“You lied to me,” Margot says. “And you had no right to do this.”

“We had no intention of doing this before you departed,” Ezra begins.

“The laws have changed,” you snap.  Ezra wraps his hand around yours, not sure if he’s protecting you or grounding you before you lose your cool. 

“Well, they’re still laws. And shame on you, Ezra, for letting her do that,” Margot snipes. 

“I talked him into it,” you say. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it took a lot of convincing,” she replies with an eye roll. “Have you lost your mind?” 

“It’s unjust what they did to him,” you argue. 

“He was convicted of killing another witch. I’m sorry, Ezra, but that is no petty crime.”

“That other witch was a child abuser!” you snap. 

Ezra clenches his jaw. You’re the only other person he’s told about Cee and now seems like an inopportune moment to start pouring out his guts. Margo’s sharp eyes look to him for confirmation, her frown softening with surprise.

”I make no excuse for my transgressions,” he says.

“You should turn yourself in to the elders before they find out on their own,” Margot says. 

”No,” you say. 

”She’s right,” Ezra says, his eyes cast to the floor. 

“No,” you say once more. ”Ezra served his time. And he should never have been such an inhumane punishment.”

Margot hears none of it, shaking her head with her eyes screwed shut.  “The elders will take your powers for this. Or worse. They’ll make you both into cats. And you did this all under my roof. Did you think this through at all?”

Reality sinks in the pit of Ezra’s stomach. He’s put you in danger but Margot too. She’s always been good to him, one of the few people he enjoys and he’s gotten her mixed up in a crime. 

”You weren’t even here,” you say, your voice wavering. Clearly the guilt is creeping through your veins as well. 

”Go upstairs, dear. I need to speak to Ezra alone,“ she demands. 

”No,” you say with indignation.

“It’s alright,” Ezra tells you.

You look between the two of them. Margot stares at him as if you’ve already left the room and you have no choice but to obey. 

Margot says nothing, shooting daggers at Ezra for an excruciating amount of time. At last, she puts her hand to her brow in exasperation and does her best to collect her emotions. 

”Let me get a look at you,” Margot says when she stands tall again. 

Ezra steps forward, presenting himself with a slight bow as he was accustomed to do. He has many years on her but he currently feels like a boy caught by the schoolmarm, about to get his knuckles rapped. 

She takes his hand, turns it over in her own, inspecting the magic you’ve done. Margot lets out an indignant scoff. 

“How did she do it?” Margot asks, her voice half suspicion, half wonder.

“A potion. A spell. It was by her own hand,” he explains. “She foresaw it in a dream.” 

Margot fingertips brush her lips, the whirl of thoughts racing through her mind plain on her face. 

“You know what kind of witch has the powers to cast a spell like that?” he asks.

Her answer is a nod and a sigh, her shoulders straightening. Still lost in thought, Ezra fills the silence with his plea.

“Margot, I have served your family for two centuries but I have never cared for another witch as deeply as I do your niece,” he admits. “I’m well aware that what we’ve done is bold and rash. Foolish, even. But I promise you that I will not let any harm come to her so long as I’m living.”

His heart beats so hard, he’s afraid it might leap from his chest.

Margot looks into his eyes and there’s a momentary prickle along his scalp. Her lips quirk and her expression softens and Ezra feels too vulnerable. He’s let her see too much of the truth. If he could, he’d climb out of his own skin. The moment passes as Margot masks her sympathy, raising her chin and crossing her arms in a way that reminds him of you.

“Fine. This isn’t an endorsement,” she says. “But you can tell her I’m not going to rat you out.”

��Thank you,” he says. He knows that he’s been given yet another gift he doesn’t deserve. Hopefully Margot can sense his gratitude as she did his conviction. He heads after you, towards the back door of the shop but is stopped by the sound of his name. Turning, he sees Margot with her keen eye on him.

“Be careful,” she warns.

He’s not sure what she’s referring to but he knows she’s right.

🐈‍⬛

Part 5

Comments and reblogs appreciated! Asks always open! I'd love to hear from you!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Listen to your gut

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky is assigned on a Hydra mission. Letting him venture back in the lion’s den without backup sets a deep unsettling dread knotting your stomach. Drowning out logic and reason you beg him to stay.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst, fluff

author’s note: Soft!Bucky here y’all

Masterlist

Something was wrong.

You knew it the moment you stepped foot in the debriefing room, getting unpleasantly greeted by those red tentacles of the Hydra symbol. A triggering wave of unease washed over you and a chill ran down your spine. The stark contrast of the red tentacles against the whiteboard felt like a sinister omen, a reminder of current dangers.

Technically you were on bed rest due to two broken ribs you received during the last mission you had with Steve, Nat, and Clint. Normally Bucky would join any mission you participated in even if he wasn’t needed but he couldn’t fathom the thought of not being able to protect you and stay in your reach.

Unfortunately though Tony, Banner, and he flew to Wakanda a few days prior due to research purposes on his new arm. Bucky wanted you to join him but since you were leading a training program for the new coming shield agents you were tied to the compound.

Already unpleased Bucky surely wasn’t happy to hear that you and the others got called in last minute and were already on your way to Siberia. He couldn’t get any updates on you the whole day and felt pretty helpless in Wakanda. He knew you were more than capable of holding your own in any situation. Your skills were unparalleled, your determination was unwavering. But despite his confidence in your abilities, he couldn’t shake the gnawing worry that gripped his heart. He loved you. And he worried. And he hated the thought of you being out there fighting the bad guys instead of crunching on chips on the couch, sparring with Nat, or joking with Sam all safe and sound in the compound.

So when Bucky heard of what you injured he was reeling. He couldn’t keep still, asked about updates on you every two minutes, scared a few kids with his glares after not being able to connect and talk to you on the first try and annoyed even Tony, usually immune to Bucky’s intensity, to the point where he was willing to fly back to the compound earlier than wanted.

After being able to communicate, you told him you’d be fine and you’d just be on bed rest for the next two weeks and he should just stay there until everything’s figured out but Bucky wasn’t hearing any of that. He just wanted to get home, hold his girl, and see for himself that you were truly okay.

So here you were, one week later sitting on a chair next to Bucky and looking up to Steve, who started detailing the mission plan, with that looming dread blooming in your stomach, refusing to be ignored.

You knew it wasn’t necessary for you to be here and listen to a mission plan you couldn’t participate in but it included Bucky. Healing took him a lot of time and you all knew he wasn’t completely over it. He never will be. How could anyone blame him? So you weren’t gonna let him sit through this alone to talk and hear about the organization that held him captive so many decades of his life.

Said man was currently sitting next to you, he scooted your chair to knock at his before you even sat on it to have you as near as possible. Your thighs were touching and his hand was linked to yours resting in your lap. Although it should probably be hard for him to sit here and hear Steve talk about those people while seeing them in pictures right beside him, Bucky’s main worry was you.

But you were uncomfortable. Not because of your injuries, you forgot them the second you got here, but because of that pit in your gut that wouldn’t stop increasing.

Bucky's gaze lingered on your profile a little longer the next time he looked at you, a slight crease in his brow. His concern for you was evident in every glance, every reassuring touch, but even his unwavering support couldn’t dispel the growing sense of unease that knotted your stomach. You knew you had no logical reason to feel this way, no tangible evidence of danger, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind refused to be silenced.

His name called by Steve made Bucky's head turn away from you but his grip didn’t falter.

As Steve spoke, his words washing over you like a distant murmur, you found it increasingly difficult to focus. Despite your best efforts, the details of the mission blurred together, overshadowed by the relentless drumbeat of your anxiety.

A squeeze of your hand helped you return your focus and you looked over to Bucky, his concerned gaze already on you. You sat up straighter, squeezed his hand back, and gave him a curt nod and a quick kiss on his cheek. With that, you moved your gaze toward Steve and pretended to listen.

Bucky’s focus was entirely on you still while he moved your joined hands to his mouth and kissed your knuckles affectionately. He was adamant about talking to you now, wanting to chase away whatever shadows were clouding your mind, but he knew this wasn’t the time.

You actually caught a few things here and there about what Bucky's tasks would be on that mission during the rest of the meeting and although it was pretty simple, especially for a 6ft super soldier with a metal arm, your worries didn’t ease. It also didn’t exactly relax you knowing he wouldn’t have any backup.

As the meeting drew to a close, you rose from your seat, your hand still firmly clasped in Buckys. His touch grounded you, anchoring you to the present as you navigated the seemingly endless hallway back to your room. With each step, the weight of your worries grew heavier, your hands trembling with the force of your emotions. Your bottom lip was hurting through the pull your teeth had on it. Bucky didn’t let go of you once. He opted to move his arm around you and pulled you into his side, kissing your head softly every now and then, and didn’t let up until you entered your room.

He closed the door with his foot and turned you to face him, moving his hands up to your face to cup your cheeks and take a better look at you.

“Baby what’s-”

“Don’t go!” you just blurted it out, interrupting him. But you needed to say it.

Bucky blinked, a little flashed at your urgency and the near desperation lacing your features. He swiped his thumbs over your cheeks, lips parted and searching your face. He took a breath but before he was able to utter a word you forestalled him.

“Don’t go on that mission Bucky!” you pleaded, voice wavering. It felt ridiculous and absurd to beg him to stay, to ask him to set aside his duty for the sake of your own fears. Missions were his job after all and you couldn’t explain what you were feeling exactly but just thinking about Bucky venturing into the heart of Hydra once again without any backup knocked your breath away, logic and reason drowned out. You couldn’t bear the idea of him facing such dangers alone, not after all he had been through.

Feeling hot and cold at the same time you felt goose bumps rising on your arms underneath your sweater. You didn’t need to see them to know they were there, desperately holding onto Bucky's wrists, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor keeping you grounded. Nothing you did however shook the feeling that something was wrong, that sending your Bucky into the lion’s den without any backup was a recipe for disaster.

Bucky ran his hand over your hair. He picked up on your elaborate breaths and your heartbeat increased erratically. You couldn’t even feel the normally soothing contrast of flesh and metal on your skin.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he whispered softly and leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m here, sweetheart. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Your teeth were still grinding on your lip until Bucky lifted his thumb to your chin to get it out of its death grip. He smothered the irritation on your lips with his finger while you avoided looking at him. You didn’t know how to explain your sneaking suspicion, didn’t know how he’d react to you just having some gut feeling. Cause that’s all it was. But if there was something you remembered of your grandmother it was to always listen to your gut sweetheart. It may save lives one day. You kept that in mind, a comforting reminder of the importance of trusting your instincts.

In junior high, you got asked out on a date by some guy a little older than you. You said yes and excitedly dolled yourself up later that day. But before you even got to leave the house, you felt it. A shiver ran down your spine, muscles contorted, and that uncomfortable dread loomed inside your stomach. Your body was basically screaming at you to turn away from the doorknob and not to leave the house. You listened. You sent the guy a quick apology saying something important came up and stayed inside. Up until today, you didn’t know if that suspicion was justified but you didn’t hear anything from that guy again.

Now, faced with a similar feeling of unease, you couldn’t ignore the warning signs that your body was sending you.

Your name being called, uncertain and concerned, cut through the haze of your thoughts. Baby blue eyes reached your vision again, Bucky having tilted your head to meet his gaze. You cleared your throat, a lump burning there.

“Uhm..I,” you took a shaken breath, “I just-” Your brows were furrowed and you closed your eyes for a second to get a hold of yourself and gather your thoughts.

Bucky still ran gentle fingers along your cheekbones, his body pressed against yours with his chest leaning back a bit to see you better. Worry lines creased his forehead, brows pulled together almost painfully and with a look so perturbed and as anxious as you although you hadn’t voiced what was on your apprehensive mind yet.

“I just feel like…” your voice trailed off, words faltering as you struggled to articulate the unease gnawing at you from within. You bit the inside of your cheek, but Bucky's light nod encouraged you to continue despite your doubts. “I just have a bad feeling about all this,”you finally managed to say, the admission leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

God, how would he think of you? Making such a fuss and worrying him out of his mind to tell him all you had was a bad feeling. You felt ridiculous again, burdening Bucky with your irrational fears when logic dictated otherwise. Letting out a huff at yourself you tried to leave Bucky’s hold, but he wouldn’t budge.

His metal arm wound around your back, pressing you back in his chest, the worry lines on his face might as well be permanent by now. He lifted your chin to meet his eyes. They were still so soft and understanding behind all the agitation. “A bad feeling?” he repeated, his voice gentle and devoid of judgment. All you could hear was his concern for your frenzy state.

Taking a deep breath you looked back at him. “Yeah, I just- I have that kinda gut feeling something’s gonna happen and I...I don’t know I-”

“Hey,” Bucky called again, moving his metal hand up and down your spine. “It’s alright baby. Steve said I probably won’t even have to engage in combat too much. It’s a quick in and out for all of us. It’s not an active base, we’re just there to gather intel.”

“Then they could do this without you.”

Bucky’s patient and understanding expression softened. “Theoretically they could,” he conceded. “But I’m good at going in there baby, don’t worry your pretty little head. And Steve would have sent somebody with me if he thought it wasn’t safe.”

You shook your head, frustration clear to see on your face. He just didn’t get it. And you couldn’t blame him for that. He was still not used to someone worrying about him. He was the last person to worry about himself and it broke your heart the first time you met him as it did now. He didn’t understand that you couldn’t live if something was to happen to him. So if your gut feeling could save his life you sure as hell would make him believe it was worth it.

“Buck!” It came out as a desperate plea, your voice cracking with desperation. Tears welled in your eyes as you clung to him, fists clenched tightly around his shirt “I’m begging you, please don’t go!” Your words were barely above a whisper, but the intensity of your plea spoke volumes.

All you could think about was the thought of losing him, the unbearable pain that would consume you if he were to be harmed. Your fear was raw and unfiltered, laid bare for him to see.

His initial reassurance fell away as he realized the depth of your fear, your vulnerability tearing at his own resolve. “Hey, look at me doll!” He grabbed your face in both hands again, wiping a lone tear away that left your eye. His expression grew painfully serious. “Don’t cry baby, please! It’s alright!”

He leaned down to press his lips to your forehead. More tears slipped past your lashes onto your cheeks and Bucky wiped them away immediately, looking pained himself.

With gentle hands, he kept cradling your face, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, his own eyes betraying the turmoil within him, so he squeezed them shut.

“Don’t go!” you whispered again, closing your eyes. It was all you could say.

He couldn’t bear to see you in such anguish, couldn’t fathom leaving your side when you needed him most. His forehead rested on yours. “I won’t go! Won’t go, baby, I’ll stay here.” He repeated his words as a mantra tugging you in a tightened embrace while whispering promises in your ear, his face in your hair.

Bucky’s heart clenched at the sight of your distress, his own anxiety rising in response to your tears and pleas. Your love for him was a beacon in the darkness of his past, a light that guided him through even the toughest of times. His thoughts often played with him by giving him scenarios of you dying. Of him losing you and what that would mean to his life. Well, he wouldn’t have a life anymore. Facing the possibility that you would feel the same if something were to happen to him was both, a burden and a relief. He felt a sense of helplessness wash over him. You always prided him on being strong, but in that moment, he felt powerless in the face of your fear.

You mourning his loss was a reality he couldn’t bear to contemplate, a future he refused to accept. So he did what he had to. He vowed to stay by your side, to forsake the mission and the risks it entailed in favor of your well-being.

He knew about the gravity of his choice. Steve would have to replan the whole thing, although he might be understanding, but this couldn’t necessarily be said about the other team members. Maybe he’ll be benched on the next few missions. But you finding the courage to confront your fears and laying yourself bare like that to him made him immensely proud. So in that moment, none of the consequences mattered. All that mattered was you, your safety, and the certainty of your love.

His words were a balm to your frazzled nerves, a soothing melody in the chaos of your mind. You clung to him, hands making wrinkles in his shirt, feeling grateful beyond words, and breathed in the comfort of his presence. The storm of your anxiety slowly ebbed away.

In that moment, Bucky made a silent vow to cherish every moment with you, to protect you at all costs, and to never take your love for granted. And as he held you close, he silently prayed that your gut feeling was nothing more than a passing fear, a shadow in the night soon to be dispelled by the light of dawn.

“When something feels off, it is”

- Abraham Hicks

[lj-lephemstar]

Progress Checkup! (Jan. 2025) | Scratchin' Melodii Devlog

Hey guys! Time for another progress checkup; This is actually the first one of the new year! I hope you were all able to enjoy the holidays. I took a bit of a break from working on most stuff last month and have been getting back on things this month. First, I wanna thank everyone who's wishlisted Scratchin' Melodii on Steam! So far, the game's gotten over 17,000 wishlists! Thanks so much for the support!

In the previous devlog, I mentioned some changes to the rhythm system. In the Dragon Funk preview, you can see the new rhythm system and character icons I mentioned in the previous devlog! Actually, let's unpack some of the new things you're seeing in action there:

Hold Notes This is the first song in the game to include hold-notes! They mostly work the same as they would in any other rhythm game. However, since this game has an emphasis on self expression, moving the control stick during these will let you tune the note's pitch-bend for extra expression points! I showed that off in a post here. As for Pow Notes, I've been working on a way to let the player get expression points from these too! I'd like for most of the special notes like these to be not just a gimmick, but a tool that the player can use to their advantage.

Quadruple Lines Yep! The first blue line in this one is extra long and has 4 rows! Fun fact actually, I had to implement this feature after I realized that part of the song was too long to fit in just two rows. It was pretty difficult to figure out both how to do it and how to execute it in a way that doesn't feel too jarring, but I'm pretty satisfied with the results! In fact, barely anyone's even noticed it; I guess that's just how natural it feels! Not sure how much more often I'll be having lines longer than two rows, but it's great that I have the option now.

AutoPlay You might also notice that the player inputs are perfectly timed... TOO perfect... that's because I've developed an autoplay feature for the game! At the moment, it's mostly for debugging and stuff, but if all goes according to plan, AutoPlay Mode and Replays should hopefully be available to players as well in some form when the game comes out!

"Next" Indicator & Other UI Related QoL Some of the top things players said they had trouble with in the demo were related to being prepared for the next line. So, if you look at the right-end of the rhythm bars, you'll see a little tab that shows the color and amount of rows the next line will have! Also, now each line's suggested notes can be seen before the rival performs them. This did take some thought, as I actually kinda still liked the idea of it appearing as if the characters were making it up on the spot, but to put game design first, it makes more sense to have it displayed as soon as possible so the player has more time to react and prepare. This also opens up more possibilities for future mechanics, so in the long run, I think I've made the best choice here.

Now, let's get into what I've been and/or will be working on that you haven't seen yet!

Act 2's Boss The music for the Act 2 Boss is  nearly complete! I'll likely be starting to animate it pretty soon. This song is the longest one I've done so far, clocking at a duration of a little over 3 minutes long!

More Animation Updates for Stir & Mix At this point, I've done even more cleanups on the sequence you saw in the last devlog and I've finished animating the "I wanna" scene of the song, which will probably have the most changes out of any other scene in the song. When I first animated Stir & Mix, I didn't quite have the time or skills to do everything I really wanted to do with it. That scene in particular I felt was WAY too stiff and boring, especially compared to the more dynamic and fluid scenes that appear in some of the other the stages now. I'd say I'm about halfway done retouching all the animations for this one!

Refined Model Sheets I don't talk about these very often, but sometime around 2023 I started using model/reference sheets for the characters. (I might show them off someday, but for now they're staying private!) Before this point, the designs are pretty inconsistent from shot to shot, so this helped a lot with that. Recently, I've done some revisions I'm really pleased with. Their designs are finally becoming... well, final! I'll be reworking the affected characters' hub world sprites at some point to reflect these changes.

Slight Reworks for some Act 1 Songs On the sound side, Stir & Mix's vocals have been reworked again! As I've mentioned in the previous devlog, 2cada's tuning style and techniques have evolved a bit since we first started working together, so we thought it'd be fun to go back and incorporate some of that into it. We'll also probably be reworking the structure of Nami's song a little bit at some point just to make it a feel a bit more solid, which may require a new line or two from her voice actor, Meggie-Elise! So funnily enough, it seems some of the songs will have end up having TWO unused beta versions after this.

Also, a quick PSA: Please note that beta versions of content will NOT be included in the full game. I've heard people ask for them to be "brought back" or toggleable, but in my situation something like that is both easier said than done and I also just... don't want to LOL. With as many directions I can take this game, I know I can't satisfy everyone, but I can make a game that satisfies me, so I'm aiming for that! And hey, maybe other people will like it too.

I think that's all I wanna talk about for now! Thanks so much for reading. It can be a bit of a daunting task to write these at times, but I'm glad to keep you up to date on the project when I can.

-LJ

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 06.

saturday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: mentions of IKEA, awkwardness, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~2.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should ꕥ a/n: hi guys! thank you so much for reading my work. i just wanted to apologise for the shorter chapter and that it took longer to update than usual. i was planning to post this originally around valentine's day but university started and things got a tiny bit busy. [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

Pouring salt and lemon juice on an open wound would’ve felt like a walk in the park compared to asking for any kind of help or favour. You always handled everything independently and on your own way. You were ready to drop everything on the spot and lend a hand to those who asked but always made sure to deal with your problems by yourself. Among other things, this aspect of yours was a mixture of stubbornness and pride.

So, imagine how embarrassed you felt on that sunny Saturday morning, with your phone pressed to your ears as you anxiously waited for your call to be answered. It’s so dumb, they just got back from the case yesterday. I should hang…

“Hey pretty girl, what’s up?” Derek’s usual playful tone cut through your thoughts, stopping you from pressing the little red icon. You were relieved that you weren’t the one to wake him or at least judging by the lack of raspiness in his tone, he was already up.

“Are you perhaps… free today?” you asked as you quickly paced back and forth in your unusually empty bedroom. One of your cats, who was still very much a kitten, energetically chased after your feet, causing you to come across even less collected, since you had to look out for the little furball too if you didn’t want to accidentally step on him.

“For a woman like you, I’m always free.” Hummed the man at the other end of the line, immediately easing your nerves a bit. You rolled your eyes and let a playful smile spread across your face, which was wiped off just as quickly.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake Nick...!” before you could’ve said anything else, like probably an explanation for why you were calling your colleague, a low scream escaped your lips. “Sorry, my cat is just devil’s incarnate, and he decided it’d be fun to claw his way up on my bare legs.”

“For a moment I got scared that it wasn’t really me you were looking for.”

“Impossible, you know you’re always on my mind, handsome.”

You learned quite early on that Derek’s flirty demeanour was part of his personality and it was never serious when it came to the team. Even in amongst you, he knew that not everyone was open to suggestive comments or playful dirty talk. He made sure to never make anyone feel uncomfortable. Luckily, you were completely okay with this and even became a ‘partner in crime’.

“Okay, out with it. Why did you call?”

“Ah, I need a favour. I know you guys just came home yesterday and it’s totally okay if you say no…”

“Babygirl, I don’t even know what to say no to.”

“Yeah right, sorry. I need to buy a new bed because my last one was older than me and a few weeks ago it decided to end its life, which I can understand. So, I’ve been sleeping on the sofa. I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call it sleeping. And I know that I am even funnier when I’m sleep deprived but now that I’ll soon be back in action, it’d be nice to be well rested, you know. And yes, I could just walk into an IKEA, choose a bed and ask for a delivery, but…” You were definitely rambling and overexplaining yourself, as you did whenever you got flustered or felt awkward. Just like when you gave Reid a gift, you still haven’t recovered from that. The others quickly got used to this, given that they already had a yapper in their company. However, it didn’t mean you weren’t self-conscious if you noticed what you were doing.

“Let me stop you right there. You need help with taking home and putting together a bed, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll be there in an hour, but I’m bringing help. These muscles can do a hella lot of things but getting a whole bed to the 7th floor is different.”

“Of course. Thank you, Derek.”

After the call ended, you stood in one place in the middle of your room, trying to calm yourself down, contemplating your life. Asking for a favour shouldn’t make you feel like you’re being hunted for sport. But it did, especially since it included one of your co-workers.

Originally, you planned on getting this done with your brothers, but both were out of the country for two more weeks. You’ve read so many past case files where it later turned out that the UnSubs were previously in one of the BAU member’s homes as maintenance workers or something similar that it made you a tiny bit paranoid. This is one of the reasons why you preferred to fix everything you could by yourself. It was to avoid letting unknown people into your flat. You weren’t that worried about Morgan’s unfamiliar friend though, given that you completely trusted the profiler.

Well, colour you surprised when an hour later as you hopped into the backseat of the black Range Rover Autobiography, you were met with passenger princess Spencer Reid.

“Oh… Hi.” your voice got awkwardly high-pitched. You avoided looking at him both directly and through the rear-view mirror. You weren’t quite prepared for this scenario. It was bad enough that the anxiety caused by being afraid of becoming a nuisance for Derek filled your entire body, now Dr Asshole was there too. And you appreciated the help, you really did. But now this also meant that the man with whom you had an indefinable relationship will enter your home. The home, which was so obviously, undeniably you. It was almost like a piece of your bare soul on display both in a good and bad way.

“Hi.”

“So, IKEA?” clarified Derek before things could’ve gotten even more uncomfortable.

“Yes. I already chose which one I’d like so I won’t be taking up much of your time, promise,” you said and as proof, you held up your phone, with the website open and the specific furniture on the screen.

“Oh, Tonstad was mentioned in a travel brochure I’ve read a few years ago when I was looking for places to visit.” After Spencer took a glance at your phone, his eyes almost literally lit up. He enthusiastically explained what the name of the chosen bedframe and mattress meant. His hands were just as expressive as his mouth. It was sweet, how he probably wasn’t aware the constant movement of his fingers. “It’s a little Norwegian village and was the administrative centre of the old municipality of Tonstad from 1905 until its dissolution in 1960. In 1960, it became the part of Sirdal, and it continued to be the administrative centre there.”

Weirdly, his slightly rambling, lengthy explanation somewhat put you at ease. It was one of those rare moments when his facts weren’t undermining your professional ideas and theories. These facts were simply just facts, it was interesting listening to them, and he was able to keep your attention so much so, that you didn’t even notice how curiously you stared at him.

However, he did. Since you had no reason to use contact lenses on an early Saturday when you weren’t working, those damned glasses were on you again. The sight basically magnetized his gaze to your face through the rear-view mirror, automatically triggering the memory of his weird dream about you from a few weeks before.

For a quick, passing moment he became annoyed. The genius didn’t quite understand why a simple object, invented around the 13th century—with its precursors dated back to the Eastern Han Dynasty in China—had such an effect on him. Spectacles have been around for a few hundred years now, it was quite literally a basic, everyday necessity for almost half the population. At times even he himself had to wear it. So then, why in the hells did you have this weird, unexplainable effect on him? It wasn’t fair, how you were able to cause a ruckus in his extraordinary brain without even trying.

Much to his dismay, he was very well aware how you looked at him from behind. The way the Sun shined on your irises captivated him. All your attention was his. And he had to come to the unfortunate conclusion that he very much liked this.

×××

“Is it okay if I let out my cats now?” you asked the men in your bedroom that got cluttered and chaotic rather quickly. They were in the midst of putting your bed together, however, it didn’t go as smoothly as they planned. Derek wanted to use a simple thing, called common sense, and build the bedframe how it seemed right while Reid insisted on strictly following the manual which he already read and memorised word for word. On top of that, they didn’t let you help them, not even a tiny bit. The one thing that both agreed on was that you’re not going to do anything physically exhausting while you still have a healing wound on your side.

“You have cats?” asked the doctor and he even turned his precious attention from the wooden parts to you.

“No Reid, I just prefer to eat and drink from a bowl on the ground.” the sarcastic reaction came out before you could even register it and, in a way, you almost immediately felt guilty about it. He was there to help you. There was no need for hostility. But you were very much on edge, more than usually, since this was the first time they were in your home. You were aware of the fact that just by looking at the environment you created as a home, he was able to profile the shit out of you, and you didn’t like this at all.

You had various kinds of potted plants everywhere—all safe for your pets—, even on top of stacked books that were scattered around the living room. Your dish rack was filled with colourful mugs, plates and bowls, most of them had different patterns and shapes. You bought the majority of those from artisans who set up stands at different fairs. All of them were unique but the colour scheme matched nicely, making your kitchenware organised and fun at the same time. Some were made to look like a blooming flower, some had animal or geek features on them. Penelope was over the moon when she first saw it, so much so that it wouldn’t have surprised you if she sneaked a few out of your place at the end of the occasional get-togethers.

The bookshelf at the wall between your kitchen and living room immediately caught Reid’s attention, but assembling your furniture was the main priority, so he forced himself not to pay much attention to it. Secretly though, he hoped he could take a closer look at what you read and by what system you organised your books, just so he could possibly get to know you more without having to engage in your usual bickering.

Before the doctor could’ve answered your last sentence, you took a swift turn and left your bedroom. A few minutes later the sound of long, drawn-out meows filled the small flat.

“Yeaaah, I know, I know. I’m sorry.” you answered to your pets in a high-pitched tone. The first one to run out of the bathroom was an adult, slightly chubby black cat with deep, amber eyes. You found her and her brother—the sweetest little calico, who was still chilling in the cold sink, even though you opened the door for him to leave—on a hot summer’s night, during a storm that was one of the worsts you’ve ever seen or experienced a little more than two years ago. The kitten named Nick, is an entirely different story. You found him in a dumpster, near your apartment, squaring it up with a raccoon. He hasn’t calmed down ever since. “But I locked you up for your own sakes. And it was only for half an hour.” To this, another long meow was your answer, to which you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They were dramatic, for sure.

“Should I consider my win on the last case as a result of you, not having a bed?” Reid’s voice almost made you jump; it was so sudden. He was leaning to the doorframe, curious eyes diligently taking in every single tiny detail of you and your surroundings. You were in the process of taking the sweetest little prince out of the sink. The long-haired calico was rather scaredy and hated unfamiliar people but was a total lovebug for those whom he knew. Unfortunately, the tall profiler wasn’t amongst these persons, so the cat’s instincts took over and, in a blink, he clawed his way out of your warm embrace to hide behind the washing machine.

“Shit! Daisy…” you yelped as you became more and more aware of the tingling, hot pain that spread across your upper and lower arms.

“Ah, I… Khm. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I knew he is afraid of strangers, I should’ve left him alone, but I felt guilty about locking them up for the time you got the bed to my room.” you explained the situation while you started to clean the shallow injuries with some warm water. There were only a few scratches, luckily, but they burned like hell. “The other two will be okay, though. Jordan usually sits on top of the cat tree and judges everyone while Nick brings doom and destruction to all things in existence.”

It didn’t require much brain power to put two and two together, Spencer almost immediately recognised the connection between the names of your cats, however, he didn’t mention a thing. He wasn’t sure how you’d react, and he didn’t want to start a fight. Up until now you’ve only met each other outside of work when the team went out for drinks and even then, you tended to avoid interacting with him. So, instead he silently reached for the soft, salmon-coloured towel and handed it to you, his watchful gaze never leaving your figure.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[guiltyasdave]

heaven can't help me now

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You're afraid Dave might not like you as much as you like him. ...Meanwhile, Dave is afraid of the same thing. (They're idiots okay)

word count: 6.5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, phone sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, biting, cream pie, use of panties as a gag, orgasm denial, pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, throwing around these ideas with you is so fun, i love you <3

taylor swift said “what if he’s written mine on my upper thigh” and i took that personally

thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading! <3 (and listening to me freak out about this on a daily basis)

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Dave regrets the message as soon as the small text underneath it switches from delivered to read. 

He knows that he’s been cruel to you, he could see the confusion and hurt written all over your face when he drove you home. But he has to be the responsible one, the adult in this situation. The one who’s able to hold back. Nothing should have happened between you and him, not once, let alone twice. He shouldn’t indulge in this, shouldn’t give you hope. 

He has always looked down on men who were with women much younger than them. Midlife crisis. Not able to have a relationship with someone on the same maturity level. 

That’s not who he is. He understands that the reason why you’re attracted to him lies at least partially in your relationship with your father, and he won’t take advantage of that. It’s not who he is and it’s not what you deserve. 

You’re gonna go back to college in a few weeks and he can pretend that none of this ever happened. You’re gonna meet a nice boy your age, become a lawyer, get married and live your life the way you’re supposed to. Eventually, the memory of you writhing underneath him, your voice so sweet and needy in your desperation, surely won’t be as vivid as it is right now.

But then he found your panties between the cushions of his couch, still damp with your arousal, still smelling of you. His mind started wandering, conjuring images that he should be ashamed of. The things he could do to you, the things he could show you. 

It’s like he’s lost in a haze, stroking his throbbing cock to fantasies of you, all the depraved shit that some respectful fellow student would never do, but that he knows you crave. He hears your whimpers so clearly in his head, pictures your face, so pretty begging him for things only he knows how to give you, until he releases himself all over the lacy bit of fabric that’s clutched between his fingers. 

But now you’re not answering, and shame is swirling in his stomach, surely now he’s overstepped, why did he even think– 

His racing thoughts are interrupted by the quiet ping of his phone and a message from you. Just a photo, no text. 

His eyes widen, taking in the image. He can’t see your face, only the shape of your tits, already so familiar to him, covered in dark, lacy fabric. Exactly the same color, exactly the same pattern as the fabric that he soiled and photographed to send to you.

You put on the matching bra for him, he realizes. Which is probably why it took you longer than usual to answer, you had to get into the lingerie and put yourself all prettily on display for him. He drinks in the shape of you, the skin that he knows would feel so soft underneath his touch, the swell of your breasts, the nipples hidden behind lace, how they would harden for him, how you would squirm if he–

Desire starts coursing through him again, and he feels like a teenager, reduced to this by just a photo. His thumb finds your name on the display almost instinctively.

“Fuck, baby.”

The rasp of his voice hits your ear as soon as you accept the call. Your heart had been hammering away inside your chest since you hit send on the photo. 

“You like it?” 

You hate how needy you sound, how desperate for his approval. David exhales sharply and you wish you were with him again.

“Trust me, I like it very much.” 

Your cheeks heat at his tone. He blows all other thoughts out of your head. You forget how rejected you felt, how you told yourself you wouldn’t let it happen again. It doesn’t matter, not when he talks to you like this. You whisper a thank you and he chuckles. 

“Are you in bed, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip, considering the words resting on the top of your tongue. Deciding to take the leap. “Wish you were here too.”

You don’t need to see his face to know how he purses his lips, how he slowly curls them into a smirk.

“Mhm? What would you like me to do if I was?” 

Your face burns hotter. 

“I– Touch me, use your fingers to–” 

He groans, a rich, deep sound in your ear. You’re still sore, but your fingertips ghost down your body anyway, chasing the need that’s building up between your legs again. You gasp when they find your clit, already swollen and covered in your slick. 

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes, please David, I need–”

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” 

He keeps talking to you, low murmurs in your ear, directing your fingers over your body. He doesn’t let up until you’ve come twice, until he’s reduced you to a whimpering mess without even being there. 

He doesn’t apologize for earlier, not directly at least. You didn’t expect him to. In a twisted way, that you’re not sure anyone but the two of you would understand, this was his apology. 

You’re not sure what changed his mind, but he doesn’t go back to his distant self afterwards. Maybe he’s come to the same realization as you. That neither of you is going to be able to stay away. 

He’s on your mind constantly, you catch yourself checking your phone for new messages way too often and smiling down at the screen whenever he’s texting you. You know that you shouldn’t act like this, shouldn’t give him that much power in your mind. But it feels so good, to be seen, to be wanted like that. 

You’re both busy; he’s working on an important case and you’re in desperate need to catch up on job applications and college work, which you’ve neglected over the past few days, as your father is quick to remind you. 

But you keep exchanging messages, keep sharing hushed whispers at night. It never lets up, the thrill of his voice guiding your fingers and hearing the sounds that he makes when he’s putting his hands on himself. Knowing that it’s you, the thought of you that elicits them. 

You’re having dinner with your father, who is home earlier than most days, the brightly lit dining room reflecting off the massive windows, when the bubble bursts. 

“You remember Dave, right? From the country club?”

You freeze, your fork hovering in the air over your plate. He knows, your mind screams. No, there’s no way he would know. 

You fight hard to appear nonchalant, to not let your face betray you. You nod, humming questioningly in a way that you hope sounds innocent enough. 

“I told you how he got divorced recently, didn’t I? It’s been hard on him, poor fella…” 

Your dad sighs and shakes his head. You furrow your brow, at a complete loss where this conversation might be going. 

“Well, guess who got him a date?! Cheryl from the office is single and I realized, she’s perfect for him! An amazing match. He never goes out, always been a bit of a loner, I guess… But I set them up and they went out last night! Great, huh?” 

Your mind is running a mile a minute. You force a weak smile, lifting your head to meet your father’s proud grin. 

“Y-yeah, dad. Great,” you echo. You feel hollow.

He leans back in his chair, looking extremely pleased with himself. 

“Looks like I’m gonna have to play matchmaker for you too, eventually, with the way things are going, hm?” 

Under different conditions, the snide remark about your dating life and how he’s never been even remotely happy with any guy you had dared to bring home, would sting a lot more. Right now though, you’re reeling from the fact that David went out with another woman last night. 

“Sure,” you whisper. “May I please be excused?” 

You don’t wait for an answer, already pushing back from the table and rushing up the stairs. Back in your room, you grab your phone, scrolling through your past messages. You didn’t hear from him last night, which you hadn’t found weird at the time, but it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now. 

Maybe he finally realized that someone his age would be much better suited for him. A real woman, not some little girl who still goes to school, calls him drunk in the middle of the night and can’t stand up against her father. Of course that’s not what he wants. 

You pace in your room, thoughts running through your head. Do you confront him? You never talked about it, never discussed exclusivity, but still… You don’t want anyone else and you had thought that he wouldn’t either.

After tossing and turning in your bed for hours, you decide not to ask David about it, to not contact him at all. Maybe that’s for the best. Save him the trouble of letting you down. It’s like a weight pulling under, the uncertainty and fear of this being it tying itself into a tight knot in your stomach. But you’ve been desperate enough for him already, you try to reason, you need to stop embarrassing yourself by running after him. 

He texts you the next day, sounding just the same way he always does. You can’t bring yourself to not reply to him at all, but it’s clipped, one-sentence answers, which he picks up on soon enough. His name lights up your phone as you’re hunched over your desk in your bedroom, pondering over an essay that you’re supposed to write over the break. 

“Hello?” 

“Sweetheart.” The deep smoothness of his voice travels from the speaker right under your skin, holding you under his spell the way he always does. “Is something wrong?”

You bite your lip, muttering a no in reply. You sound like a petulant teenager, everything that you don’t want him to see you as.

“Now why do I not believe that?”

You hear his smile in the way he sounds. You want to see him so badly, want to be on the receiving end of that smile. You wonder if Cheryl from the office got to see it last night too. If he’s given her all the parts of him that he’s given you. 

“Dunno.” There’s a sting in your voice, not unlike the sting that you feel piercing through your heart at the thought of him with someone else. 

Dave frowns at the way you sound. You’re never this short with him, never seemed so sad since that night you called him drunk and he turned you down. And even then, it was different, not dismissive the way you are now. 

His anxious mind immediately provides him with a variety of explanations. Maybe you’ve finally come to your senses and realized that you don’t want him. That you don’t want a man twice your age, that him wanting you actually makes him a fucking creep, that he isn’t as great as you’ve built him up to be in your head. Maybe you’ve realized that what you’re doing is wrong. He wouldn’t blame you for it. One of you should be reasonable and end things for good. He has been telling himself that.

But you sound so upset that worry settles in his gut. He feels that pull towards you again, only that it’s not explicitly sexual this time. He just really needs to see you, to touch you, to make sure that you’re okay. 

The invitation for you to come over leaves his lips without thinking about it, just the overwhelming need to have you close. You pause, so long that he gets even more uneasy, but eventually you agree.

Dave knows that something is wrong as soon as he opens the door. You look smaller, slightly curling in on yourself. You don’t meet his gaze, eyes downturned and without the spark in them that he sees in his mind when he thinks about you. He pulls you into a hug, one that you barely return.

His bedroom door is once again firmly closed, and he’s directing you towards his couch again. Still the last invisible line, the one that he tells himself will keep him from letting you in all the way. Your eyes linger there for a moment, he can almost see the wheels turning in your head. You deflate even more.

He hates to see you like this. Fights the urge to wrap you in his arms, satisfy his hunger for your lips and fuck you until every trace of that sadness written over your face is erased.

The door that you presume leads to his bedroom is closed, just like the last time you were here. You wonder if he opened it for Cheryl, if she got to see a part of him that you didn’t. Then again, he probably treated her like a lady. Wined and dined her properly, maybe a chaste kiss to say good night. Because she’s someone who’s right for him, someone worth putting the effort in. Not the quick fuck that you had been. 

He probably invited you over to tell you in person that he really can’t see you anymore. That he means it this time. You suppose that in his mind, that’s the decent thing to do. You think that you would have rather had him text you about it. That way you wouldn’t have to pretend, wouldn’t have to tell him to his face that it’s fine, that you understand, don’t worry.

Still, he called and you came running. Like a fucking idiot. 

You sit down on the edge of his couch, decidedly keeping the images of the last time you were here buried in your memories. “Do you want something to drink?” You shake your head no and he sits down beside you. You’re acutely aware of his presence, of the simmering need that you feel for him, even now. Please just get it over with.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know.” You’re not looking at him, keeping your eyes on your hands, your fingers gripping each other tightly, tense like the rest of your body.

“Do all what?” 

You bite your lip, attempting to swallow down the anger at the fact that he’s gonna make you the one to say it, but it’s no use. Your eyes fly up to meet his. 

“Make me come here, to talk to me in person, or whatever it is you think you’re doing. You– you could’ve just texted me.”

He furrows his brow, a hint of defensiveness in his warm brown eyes. 

“What are you talking about?” 

You scoff. “My dad told me. About your date.” You’re never like this, your voice biting and your eyes glaring. You’re never like this and you have no right to be like this now, getting worked up over the end of something that never even was, not really. “I’m sure she’s nice. A great match, he said, so you’re gonna tell me to fuck off. It’s okay, I understand.”

Your voice breaks on the last word. A lump is building in your throat and your eyes burn with unshed tears. This can’t be happening. It’s bad enough that you feel this much about it, but it’s indefinitely worse to have him know it. 

David’s expression softens. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s not–” He slips one hand in between yours, gently pries your fingers away from each other. “You thought that’s why I asked you to come over here?” 

You shrug, once again unable to meet his gaze. 

“The date was shit. I wouldn’t even have gone if Jim hadn’t kept bugging me about it.”

Inhaling deeply, you slowly trail your eyes up to his face again. 

“Really?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. His lips press against your forehead. 

“Promise.” He sighs. “You sounded so upset, that’s why I asked you to come–”

You sniffle, suddenly feeling stupid about the whole scene you made. He holds you a little longer, and you revel in his scent that’s engulfing you, in the warmth and solidness of his body. When he finally pulls away, his hand finds your chin and lifts it until you’re looking straight at him. A hint of amusement is glinting in his eyes.

“Were you jealous, baby?” 

You’re well aware that he can see right through you, but shake your head anyway. He allows himself a grin.

“What then? Worried that you’ll find no one else to fuck you like I do?” 

Heat is burning in your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh. He’s not wrong, at least partially. 

Your lips curling up and the soft laugh tumbling out of you soothes him, eases the sting in his chest. The severity of your reaction to the idea of him dumping you for another woman took him off guard. He never wants to see that kind of hurt written over your face ever again. 

He should have told you, he realizes that now. He knew nothing would come out of meeting with that woman that Jim had been boasting about all week, but what was he supposed to say? No need pal, I already got everything I need fucking your daughter? 

He doesn’t know when you began feeling like everything he needed. He knows that you shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t check his phone as often as he does, shouldn’t spend his days fantasizing about you, shouldn’t imagine you by his side almost constantly. 

But how can he not, when you’re looking at him like this, your eyes so wide, so filled with trust. Always ready, always desperate to give him everything of you. Like a dream come true that he didn’t know he had. 

“Maybe,” you admit, teasingly but still so, so soft. Everything about you is so fucking soft. His to touch, his to defile. Because, inexplicably, you fucking let him.

He needs to reassure you that he’s worthy of that trust. He leans in closer, feels your breath ghosting over his face as his nose nudges against yours. He pauses, searches your expression for a moment. You dip your chin down in a tiny nod and he’s onto you, chases your mouth with his. He pours all the emotion that he doesn’t understand, can’t begin to name, into the kiss. How much he misses you, how often you are on his mind. How he doesn’t want to hurt you, wants to do right by you, but has no clue how.

Your lips move against his with more fervor, a mess of tongues and teeth clashing against one another. Your whimpers drip into his mouth, leaving him drunk off you. Heat spreads through him, like a fire that’s going to consume you both. He thinks that he wants it to. 

He trails kisses down your throat, sucks at the skin, relishes in the shivers that it sends through your body. You grasp at his shirt, trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons, but he stops you. Nipping at your collarbone, he looks up at you, takes in your wide blown pupils, the hunger in your eyes.

Maybe this is all he can give you, but he’s going to do that right. He’s going to give you what he can, as long as you let him. 

He hooks his fingers under the neckline of your dress, pulls it down a little, inhales the sweet scent of your perfume. Every new inch of your skin that he reveals fills him with the need to worship it. 

“Will you let me make it up to you, sweetheart?” He mouths at your skin again, his eyes still trained on your face. “Let me make you feel good?” 

You nod eagerly, a breathy please, David falling from your lips. He runs his hands up your thighs, marvels at the almost feverish warmth of your skin, before he lifts your dress and helps you pull it over your head. 

Your underwear is white this time, a picture of innocence that only he knows is an illusion. His arousal swells at the thought, his cock pushing against the confines of his pants. 

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this,” he admits, his hands trailing over your waist, tightening his grip momentarily and enjoys watching you squirm in response. “I think about you all the time.” 

Your gaze flickers for a moment, and he realizes what he just said. It’s not a lie, but also not a truth that he intended for you to know. You bite your lip, expression turning thoughtful for a moment. Then a small smile spreads over your face. 

“M–me too,” you whisper, a bit shy, like you’re still half-expecting him to take it back, but putting your trust in him anyway. 

He has to kiss you again, remove all remaining doubts about how much he wants you from your mind. Licking into your mouth, he starts toying with the cups of your bra, pulling them down just so that his fingertips can graze over your nipples. You press your body into his touch, your back arching off the cushions, and he undoes the clasp, lets the fabric fall away from your body. 

He runs his fingers over your flesh, teases the hardening buds, loves the way you keen into his mouth in response. Palming your tits roughly, he pulls away a little to look at them. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever tire of the sight of his hands on you. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “Like you were made for me.” It stings only a little right in this moment, while he’s touching you, to know that you are not. He can keep pretending, for a while. It’s worth it, seeing how you light up at the praise, how you drink in his every word, sinking deeper into his touch. His, his, his.

David peels your panties off of you, the image of the white lace against his hand one that you know will burn itself into your memory. His eyes linger on the fabric, a grin slowly growing on his face. Arousal tingles at your spine at the sight. You’re entirely bare now while he hasn’t removed one item of clothing. The obvious power dynamic leaves you feeling vulnerable, you and your body at his mercy, but you trust him. To treat you the way you want, need to be treated, to push you to your limits and to still keep you safe.

The weight of his hands lands on your thighs, slowly pushing them apart, making room for his body between them. You’re acutely aware of how wet you are, and how clearly he can see it right now, with your folds all spread out right in front of him. You feel your slick coating your inner thighs, feel his breath ghosting against it.

He groans at the sight and sinks to his knees, almost at eye level with your pussy. The realization of what he’s about to do sinks in as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your clit that has you trembling. But still–

“Y–you don’t have to do that,” you stutter, suddenly feeling a different kind of vulnerable. A shame that you can’t explain starts welling up inside of you. 

He pulls back, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at you. His hands gently push your thighs back together, leaving you less exposed. 

“Do you not want me to?”

You bite your lip, fighting not to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know. I– I’ve never–” Your voice trails off. A fire is burning in his eyes, intimidating you. 

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” He sounds incredulous. 

You shake your head, shoulders moving up in a shrug, a wave of embarrassment growing in you. “Men don’t really… like to. In my experience.” 

He sighs and leans forward, presses a soft kiss to your left knee. “Most men are idiots.” It’s mumbled into your skin, lips moving against it. His fingertips inch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You deserve to feel good, baby.” His voice sinks into your skin, low and raspy, and you have no choice but to believe it. “Will you let me make you feel good?” he asks again.

His dark eyes are on you, his fingers still tracing shapes over your skin. So close to where you want him. You’d let him do anything. 

“Please, David,” you whisper, for the second time. 

He pries your legs back open, a low growl in his throat as you’re spread out for him. Then he dives in, licking and sucking at your clit, gently at first, but quickly getting more intense, until stars start to burst behind your eyelids and you’re gasping his name. It’s overwhelming, unlike anything that you’ve ever experienced before. 

He lets up momentarily, licking through your slit, drinking up your arousal that’s dripping out of you and groaning at the taste of you. His mouth moves to your inner thighs, kissing and sucking on the sensitive flesh. He bites down suddenly, sinking his teeth into your skin and you scream his name at the unexpected burst of pain that transforms into pleasure almost instantly. 

He does it again, and again, leaving his marks on your body. It hurts just right, the sensation of him leaving his trace on you, marking you as his. You clench around nothing, desperate to feel him on your clit again, to take you the final bit to the top. 

As if he was reading your mind, he lets up his ministrations on your thighs and kisses his way to the spot where you need him so desperately. Your fingers sink into his hair, tugging at the roots, and he looks up at you, smug pride glinting in his eyes. He licks through your folds, nudges at your entrance with his tongue, before his lips find your clit again, closing around the sensitive nub. 

You come within seconds, the waves of your arousal crashing over you so suddenly that it takes your breath away. His groans vibrate against your skin as he laps at you, drinking you down. You feel like you’re in heaven. 

David gives you time to calm down, gently mouths at your heated skin, licks over the spots where you feel the indents of his teeth, before he kisses his way up your body. You taste yourself on his lips when they connect with yours. It’s messy, and filthy, and you can’t get enough of it. 

You whimper when he pulls back and his eyes find yours again, his almost black, the pupils blown wide. He rises to his feet and looks down to where you’re spread out, thighs parted, on full display for him as he towers over you. He leans down, a finger tapping against your mouth.

“Open.” 

Your lips part immediately, giving him all the access he wants. He groans at your obedience, trails his knuckles over your cheek for a moment, before raising his hand to your eyes. He’s holding your panties again. 

“These are so pretty. Would be a shame to just leave them lying around, don’t you think?” 

You let out a sound, something akin to agreement. His grin widens. 

“Good girl.” 

His fingers push the fabric into your mouth, your spit soaking the material, mixing with the arousal that’s already sticking to it. You moan at the taste, your eyelids fluttering shut. 

His palm connects with your cheek in a light slap. Not hard enough to sting, but your eyes fly back open at the sensation. You grind down onto the cushions, desperate for friction as another wave of need floods you. 

“Eyes on me, remember?” 

You try voicing a sorry, but it comes out garbled and he chuckles. Soothing his fingers over the spot he just slapped. 

“There’s no need for you to talk. Just be a good girl and take what I give you, yeah?” 

Your body is buzzing, but your mind is blissfully empty. Ready to give yourself over to him, to submit to whatever he asks. It feels so good, so easily being able to please for once in your life. To follow rules and be praised for it. Simple. Safe. 

He wraps the lace around your head and ties it together in the back, effectively gagging you, leaving your mouth opened, the fabric stretching against the corners. Your desire is coursing through your body with so much force that it’s almost painful. 

He kisses you over the gag, pressing his lips against yours. One of his hands wraps around your throat, applying a hint of pressure. Your hips chase him, your arousal close to unbearable. He chuckles against your mouth before he pulls back.

“Such a good girl.”

He teases you endlessly. Drinks in the sight of you writhing under him as his fingers are back on your nipples, tugging them harshly and eliciting soft mewls from you. You look beautiful in the golden light of the evening sun that’s falling through his windows, almost angelic. 

An angel that he wrecked, already so fucked out when he finally sheds his own clothes and starts sliding his cock through your folds. He coats himself with the slick of your desire, taps his head against your clit, nudges at your entrance again and again without sliding inside. 

Your whimpering cries are music to his ears, your fingernails digging into his shoulders sting just right. You’re pleading with him through the makeshift gag, your words all muffled, and he revels in the desperation in your eyes. Loves the sight of it. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he coos, slides over your clit again. “Tell me.” 

You’re trying, trying so hard to get out real words, and he chuckles at your efforts. Deciding to grant you a little mercy, he pushes the head of his weeping cock into you. He throbs at the feeling of it, of how your slick pissy tries pulling him in deeper. You’re whining at the stretch, your hands desperately grabbing at him, before he pulls back again. 

Your eyes are swimming with tears, silently pleading with him. It’s like a rush. You’re always such a good, polite and well-behaved girl, so sweet, and here you are, completely bare and spread out underneath him, crying to get fucked. By him. He’s a bad man, he knows it. He doesn’t care, not when it feels like this. 

He smirks down at you. “Say please.” 

It’s obvious that you’re trying, your tongue struggling against the soaked fabric in your mouth. He lines himself up once more, looks at your face, at the desperate hope written out in your eyes. Then he slams into you. You scream, gripping his shoulders so tightly that he thinks you’ve drawn blood. He couldn’t care less.

Now that he feels your tight walls all around his cock, engulfing him with pulsing heat, it’s impossible to tease you any longer. He pulls back, just to sink deep into you, again and again. You cry out at every thrust, every time that he hits that spot deep inside of you that leaves you such a trembling mess. 

He can tell when you’re starting to tighten around him, your cries getting higher, and he knows that you’re close. Slowing down, he leans his head down to yours, his thrusts becoming more shallow. 

“Hold it,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against the soft shell of your ear. A whine escapes from your throat, fresh tears falling from your eyes, your whole body trembling underneath him, your cunt squeezing him deliciously tight. He’s breathless, high on the control you’re giving him, on your level of obedience, doing every single thing that he asks from you. 

Letting you calm down a little, he busies himself with kissing every inch of your skin that he can reach. Almost bursting with arousal himself, he knows that he’s not gonna be able to keep this up much longer. 

When he speeds up again, he sets a harsh rhythm, jostling your body with every thrust, mesmerized by the way your tits bounce with the movement. Your walls start tightening around him again, pulling him in. He can’t hold back anymore. 

“I’m gonna come. Gonna leave you just as messy as those little panties of yours. ‘S that what you want?” 

You nod eagerly, more unintelligible pleads stumbling through the gag. 

“Fuck, come here–“ His fingers scramble, ripping the fabric out of your mouth to kiss you properly, to feel your tongue against his. 

His hips move at rapid speed, pumping into you and chasing both your orgasms. He’s breathless, high on the feeling of your wet cunt squeezing him so tight. You come with a cry, muffled by his mouth on yours, and the sensation of you clenching around him sends him over the edge as well. He buries himself deep inside of you, spilling his cum to leave you just as messy as he promised you. 

“Fucking perfect, like you were made for me, only want you sweetheart…” He’s rambling, barely aware of what he's saying, still lost in the bliss of his orgasm. The words only register when an unreadable expression flies over your face in reaction. Shit. He goes through things to say, ways to somehow explain, though he couldn’t even explain the words to himself. 

His mind quiets when you smile shyly and burrow your face in his neck. He moves the both of you until you’re a tangle of intertwined limbs, resting on his cushions, watching as the light slowly fades outside. You’re warm in his arms, your breath coming softly, fanning against his skin. It feels too right to be wrong, he decides silently. 

The peaceful silence between you breaks with a chime from his phone, a message from  your father. 

“Looks like I’m invited to have dinner at yours,” he says, turning the screen towards you. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing for your own phone to check the time. “I should get going.” 

He helps you get dressed, until your still soaked panties end up in his hands again. His eyes flit up and down your body, lingering on the hem of your skirt, on the bare thighs beneath them. You take a step closer, your hand stretched out for them, but he pulls them away, sliding them into his pocket. 

A smirk grazes your features as you take another step closer. “Again? Really?” 

He shrugs, takes your hand to pull you into him. Your responding giggle is a sound that he’ll never get tired of. He sneaks a hand under your dress, palms your bare ass and presses your body against his. 

“Be a good girl and stay like this, for dinner,” he murmurs against your lips, before he kisses you once more. 

A grin slowly grows on your face as you realize what he’s saying. 

“Deal,” you agree, your eyes glinting. 

You’re sitting down next to him, sliding into the chair beside him with the most innocent, sweetest smile to both your father and him. You’re still wearing the dress that you left his place in, the one that, if you’ve been good, you’re bare underneath. 

He reaches for you almost instantly, hidden under the tabletop, the pull towards your skin too strong to resist. You tense up for a moment, throwing him a quick glance, before you relax into his touch. He draws circles, featherlight on your skin, and you part your thighs a little more, allowing him to slide further between them. 

Focussing on the conversation with your father isn’t easy, not when you’re right here beside him, so pliant under his touch. 

“So, how was it with Cheryl?” your father asks, far too invested in the whole thing for Dave’s liking. You’re looking down at your plate, your shoulders slumped forward. 

He shrugs, his hand traveling upwards, beneath the hem of your skirt, pulling your thighs apart a little more. “She’s nice, but– Not the right fit for me, I think.” 

The memory of meeting the woman flashes through his mind. “You must be Dave,” accompanied by a shake of his hand. All wrong, so different from the way it sounds when David falls from your lips. He had wanted to leave right then and there. His grip on you tightens at the memory. 

“Well that’s a shame,” Jim sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I really thought you two were a good match.” 

Dave grunts noncommittally, taking another bite of his food. 

“This one,” your father continues, his eyes falling to you, “has yet to find a good match as well. Not the best choices so far.” He chuckles, either blind or indifferent to the way you seem to shrink in your chair. You mumble something about focussing on school and your career right now, your voice so small that it breaks Dave’s heart. 

“Boys your age are idiots anyway,” he says, grinning at how your eyes widen, his emphasis on your age in no way lost on you. “Wouldn’t want to have them distracting you, right?” 

You nod silently, but fire burns in your eyes when his hand reaches so high that his fingers swirl through the slick that’s covering your upper thighs. Dave grits his teeth, fighting the urge to kiss you right here and now, consequences be damned.

It’s wrong, it’s so so wrong, but it’s like he’s lost in a haze, high on the feeling of your skin under his fingertips. On the way your thighs fall open so willingly for him, always such a good and obedient girl. On the way you both know that you’re bare underneath your skirt, dripping with the filthy proof of what you did together. On the way he’s staked his claim all over your inner thighs, to the point that he’s certain the indents of his teeth are still pressed into your flesh. All while your father has no idea what’s happening right in front of him. 

The secret rebellion of it thrills you, he understands that now. He wonders if that’s what he is to you, an opportunity to do something so deliciously forbidden that you couldn’t resist. He’ll gladly be that for you. The idea to be the person who brought this out in you thrills him too. 

He somehow makes it through the evening. Not a single conversation topic has found its way into his memories. All he can think about, all that he knows he will remember is the feeling of you under his tight grip. All his. 

You had excused yourself when your father brought out the whiskey, squeezed his hand under the table before you stood up, carefully smoothing out your skirt. Call me, you had mouthed, turning back to look at him before exiting the room. 

He knows that he will.

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

[redrose10]

Chapter 4

Here it is! I was nervous to put this out here so I hope it lives up. Yoongi realizes some things in this one but it might be a little too late. Chapter 5 should be out within a few days!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Word Count: 3,404

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Waking up with a long stretch you were more than surprised to wake up in your hotel bed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep on the beach but you have no memory at all of walking back to the room. You figured that hotel security probably found you and thought you were just a drunk so they brought you back to the room after finding your room key on you.

Looking over to the empty space next to you memories from the night before came flooding back to you. The delicious dinner you had and the joyous company of the waiter Hoseok. The sight of Yoongi and the brunette that was all over him. How he lied and called you his sister instead of his wife. How you felt lonely and betrayed and you just wanted to wish everything of the past couple months away.

Suddenly as if your brain finally caught up you realized you were sleeping in the same bed that Yoongi and that woman most likely hooked up in and that caused your skin to crawl. You jumped out of bed like something bit you tripping over your suitcase in the process and landing on the ground with a loud thud. You’d never been so happy for a vacation to end before. Getting in the shower you scrubbed your skin so hard you’re pretty sure you did damage but you wanted to scrub until you no longer felt dirty. After packing up your few belongings you walked out to the living room of your suite. Yoongi was already sitting at the dining table. You scanned his body for any new marks but nothing was visible even with the v neck tshirt he was wearing that caused you to internally scold yourself for staring at him a little too long. When he finally noticed you standing there he pointed to the seat across from him,

“It’s a chai tea. Jimin said you don’t really like coffee so I didn’t know what else to get.“

Sitting down at the table you noticed that the selection of food was all of your favorites. Chocolate chip muffins, a bacon croissant sandwich, crispy potato hash, strawberries, pineapple, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Yoongi cleared his throat, “Jimin also told me some of your favorite foods so I had them bring what they could.” Unable to hide the shy smile nodded before taking a bite.

“Umm do you know when or how I got back to the room last night? I don’t remember walking back so I wanted to go thank whomever brought me here?”, you awkwardly chuckled trying to break the silence but also piece together last night. He took another sip of his coffee, “Yeah actually I carried you back to the room and put you in the bed.” His statement caused you to choke on the strawberry you had just popped in your mouth, “I’m sorry you did what?”

He repeated, “I saw you laying on the beach so I went down and brought you back and put you in the bed.” You looked at him with wide eyes, words escaping you. You ate another strawberry trying to stuff your mouth before saying something you’d regret.

“Why is your skin so red? It looks like you washed yourself with sandpaper?”, he asked looking you over.

“Oh when I woke up in the bed I felt kind of gross, you know since you hooked up with some woman in there, and I’m sure the sheets weren’t changed afterwards. Guess I got a little carried away.”

Yoongi nodded before taking another sip of coffee, “I didn’t hook up with her.”

You laughed, “Come on Yoongi. I saw the two of you. If you didn’t hook up then what did you do with her in here? I know you guys didn’t play a game unless it included clothes coming off.”

“I told her to leave.”

“What?”

“I told her to leave.”

“I know I heard you the first time but why?”

He returned back to his bagel without a word and you rolled your eyes, “Okay fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t really care at this point anyways.”

Yoongi let out a long deep sigh, “After a while I realized that you didn’t come in the room with us. I didn’t know where you’d be able to go at that time of the night and I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be wandering around by yourself so I told the woman that we should continue somewhere else and that I’d book us another room so you could come back to the room. So when I went to grab my wallet on the table next to the balcony I saw you laying out on the beach. It looked like you were sleeping and I didn’t want you to stay out there like that because it was late and it’s dangerous and you might get eaten by a crab or something so I told her that we were done and that she needed to leave. I walked down to the beach to bring you back. I was gonna wake you up but you looked really comfy so I just carried you here and put you in the bed and went to sleep myself.”

You were dumbfounded at his story. Your face was full of disbelief. Taking a bite of your muffin you nodded, “Oh well uh thank you for bringing me back.”

He nodded.

“Also if there was a crab out there big enough to eat me I think we’d have some major problems.”

He rolled his eyes before he walked off to the bathroom trying to hide the blush creeping down his neck. You continued to eat but confusion plagued your mind. You just can’t figure him out. One minute he’s hooking up with some random woman on your honeymoon and the next he’s going out of his way for you and trying to be kind, almost seeming kind of protective. You really weren’t sure what to make of him but you wished he would just make up his mind because you’re starting to get whiplash from the back and forth.

The flight back home was uneventful. The two of you sat in comfortable silence other than the occasional statement. Yoongi sipped on a whiskey and you even decided to get wild and sip on some champagne.

The car pulled up to an extravagant looking building confusing you as to where you were and then it hit you. You had to move into Yoongi’s place and of course he lived in the most luxurious building in the whole country. You thought spending a week in the same hotel room was awkward so you had no clue how living together was going to go but part of you hoped that maybe the two of you can finally work on some things in your relationship.

Once in Yoongi’s penthouse he gave you a very brief tour. The home was incredible. Jimins apartment was nice but didn’t compare to the penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. All the furniture appears to be high end and high quality. You’re pretty sure your entire apartment back home could’ve fit in the kitchen alone.

Thankfully Jimin was able help you coordinate with the movers to have your stuff shipped over. You didn’t have to bring much since Yoongi already had a fully furnished home. You just brought some clothes and a few sentimental items.

“My office is the third door on the right. If I work from home I’ll be in there but please keep interruptions to a minimum and only if necessary. My bedroom is the second door on the left. Don’t go in there. Your room is right here.”, he said opening the door. You were thoroughly confused. “Wait we have separate bedrooms?” Yoongi sighed irritation evident again, “I have the space so I figured why should we have to share a room. This way we can stay out of each others way.”

When you saw his eyebrow move up you knew what he meant by that. You sat on the edge of the bed staring down at the floor. Sure it was a nice room and bigger than any room you’d ever had before with it even having a private bathroom. But that didn’t stop the loneliness and hurt that you felt. You were more like a roommate or even worse, a nuisance that that he just wanted to shove away so he didn’t have to look at you.

That thought made you chuckle though, “Good thing you don’t have any staircases in this place or I’d be stuck sleeping under there I guess.”

Yoongi looked at you with eyebrows furrowed.

“What you’ve never seen Harry Potter before?”

“Do I seem like the kind of guy that watches Harry Potter?”

“I guess not but you sure have a lot in common with a certain he who shall not be named.”

“What are talking about?”

“Nothing never mind.”

Yoongi noticed your change in demeanor. Stuffing this hands into his pockets he spoke, “You’re welcome to paint or decorate the room however you want.” You met him with continued silence. He continued, “I have to go into the office to catch up on things. I ordered some groceries to be delivered later. Jimin told me about you liking to have a mug of warm milk before bed and I was out so that’ll be here later along with some other things for you.” You nodded in acknowledgment whispering a thank you before he turned and shut the door behind him.

Due to your small amount of belongings you were unpacked in no time. Luckily you just put your last piece of clothing away when the doorbell rang signaling the grocery order arrived. Taking the bags from the delivery driver and thanking him profusely you set to work putting everything away while also familiarizing yourself with the kitchen. As you pulled out the groceries you chuckled a little more each time. There was the milk just like Yoongi had promised. There was also a large package of chocolate chip muffins, multiple containers of strawberries, your favorite ramen, some cookies, a box of popcorn, and cookie dough ice cream. All of your favorites. You made a mental note to thank Jimin and maybe also send a thank you to Yoongi depending on how he was acting later.

Over the next few weeks things between Yoongi and yourself didn’t improve much. The two of you barely spoke other than the occasional question or statement and that was if you even saw each other at all. You spent most of your time in your bedroom while he claimed to be at the office or other work functions. The one time you did venture out and sat in the living room your movie was interrupted when Yoongi came strolling in with a woman in each arm heading towards his bedroom after giving you a quick nod like you were just one of his friends who he was trying to brag to about his “score”. Suddenly not feeling so well you turned off the tv and got in bed. It didn’t take long to hear moans and a headboard banging against the wall from down the hallway so you grabbed your headphones hoping to block out the sound and fall asleep as quickly as you could.

The next morning Yoongi and his new friends were long gone by the time you got up. You set out on checking off some things on your to do list that you created. One thing you wanted to work on was learning Korean. You knew a few phrases thanks to Jimin but now that you were living in Korea you thought it would be a good idea to get to know the language in a proficient way so you started calling around to different companies trying to find someone to give you lessons.

That’s how a few weeks later you were sitting at your kitchen table with the teacher the company you chose had sent you. Kim Namjoon was a handsome man no doubt about it. He was tall with broad shoulders. The cutest dimples you’d ever seen. His glasses framed his face perfectly and they looked great with his caramel colored hair. His cologne the complete opposite of Yoongi’s cinnamon and vanilla scent. Namjoon smelled light and citrusy. It was clean and refreshing and somehow managed to take the stress away from you. The way he spoke was so elegant. It was nice being able to have a full conversation with someone. You loved Jimin but you guys mostly just goofed off and went on rants to each other and trying to have a conversation with Yoongi was like pulling teeth. You hadn’t realized just how lonely you were before Namjoon came into your life. This was only your fifth session and you found yourself really excited that you were getting to spend some time with him again.

“I don’t know Y/N. How will baking cookies help you learn a language?”, he sighed trying mask his playfulness. You giggled, “Well I could learn all the names for the ingredients and I can try to give YOU the instructions in Korean while you make the cookies.” He sat there and pondered before you continued, “Come on Joonie. Back home I’m famous for my double chocolate chip cookies and I know you can’t say no to chocolate.” Finally he ran a hand through his hair, “Alright but you have to tell me each step in Korean.” Excitedly you jumped up running around to collect the ingredients.

Watching Namjoon try to make cookies was one of the funniest things you’ve ever witnessed. He told you he had no business being in the kitchen but you didn’t think it was this bad. He was currently trying to mix in the flour to the chocolate batter and you couldn’t stop laughing as you watched half the flour fall onto the counter which covered him in a puff of white smoke.

“Here Namjoon let me help you.”, you said placing your hand on his much larger one so you could guide his movements to slowly mix in the flour. You looked up to see him smiling down at you dimples on full display. His lips looked soft and warm. The thought of kissing him definitely crossed your mind. Yoongi hadn’t kissed you since your wedding day and the most physical he’s got with you was carrying you to the room from the beach and to be honest you wouldn’t let him touch you anyways without seeing some test results first to make sure he didn’t pick up anything along the way. The ring on your finger caught your eye before you could act on your thoughts. Yoongi may be an insufferable adulterer but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. Two wrongs don’t make a right in your book but damn if Namjoon wasn’t making you think about doing all the wrongs regardless of the rights.

You were so focused on trying to explain to Namjoon how to add the chocolate chips in Korean that neither of you noticed Yoongi walk in. He watched you gently grasp Namjoon’s hand while smiling up at him. You looked so cute in your daisy printed apron. Namjoon said something that made you burst into a fit of laughter. Yoongi felt a pain in his chest. He had never heard you laugh like that before. You looked so happy with Namjoon. He knew that was all his fault so he didn’t understand where this jealous feeling was coming from and why his brain and heart were betraying him.

He watched you reach up to wipe away some of the chocolate that had gotten onto Namjoon’s cheek. The two of you definitely sharing a moment and Yoongi felt his heart rate increase. He quickly pushed that feeling aside as he had no right. He had slept with multiple women since you got married and he was the one that told you that you were welcome to see other people so if you took Namjoon to your bedroom right now he had nothing to say.

He thought back to that night he carried you back from the beach. You looked so adorable with your lips slightly parted, your skin a beautiful hue of pink thanks to the sun, the way you wrapped your arms around his neck nuzzling your face into his shoulder. At that moment on the beach he realized how harsh he had been and that you didn’t deserve any of it. It’s not your fault that at 19 years old another woman ripped his heart out and stomped on it and then lit it on fire and he decided he’d never allow himself to go through that ever again instead choosing to be the breaker of hearts. The night after he carried you to the hotel while laying in the bed next to you he made a decision that he’d change if not for him then at least for you. Obviously, he failed once he returned to Seoul and he was introduced to the two female interns that he brought back home while you sat innocently watching a movie waiting for him. He knew he was a coward. He was too scared of getting his heart broken again that he decided to continuously break yours and now it looks like you found someone to help mend it and who was he to take that away from you. Deciding he saw enough he rushed off to his bedroom before you could find him standing there.

Once the cookies were baked and cooled you packaged most of them up before handing the box to Namjoon.

“Here take these. There’s no way I’m going to eat them all.”

He smiled but shook his head, “What about Yoongi? I’m sure he’d love to have some of these. I don’t want to take them all.”

You chuckled, “Yoongi never eats anything I cook. He’s probably worried I’ll try and poison him or something so I could get out of this marriage.”

Namjoon laughed at your joke and then confirmed again he was okay to take all the cookies before thanking you and heading out the door. You did a quick clean up of the kitchen before heating up a mug of warm milk and grabbing the two cookies you had saved and headed off to your room for the evening after shutting off the light.

Later that night you woke up hearing a loud bang come from the kitchen. It sounded just like a cabinet closing so you assumed it was Yoongi making himself something to eat. Not being concerned you turned over and went right back to sleep.

Yoongi however, had checked every cabinet and drawer looking for the cookies you made. He always snuck little tastes of your food in the middle of the night when you weren’t there even though you always offered him food each time. Part of him being too stubborn and not wanting to give you the satisfaction of eating the food you cooked and another part of him just felt like he didn’t deserve your food and was too embarrassed to eat it in front of you. He had heard all about your famous cookies from Jimin and he was really looking forward to trying one when he saw you and Namjoon baking them. Giving up he turned to shut off the light and that’s when a little baggy on the counter caught his eye. Inside a perfect looking double chocolate chip cookie with a stick note attached to the bag saying ‘Yoongi’. He took one bite and was in heaven. He thought back to you and Namjoon looking so happy together. Like a real couple. How you smiled and gently touched him. How Namjoon made you laugh. Yoongi finished off the cookie but he was no longer enthralled by the chocolate goodness. Suddenly the cookie tasted like a mix of heaven with a pinch of jealousy and a dash of regret.

[lilactwilights]

A heathen clung to piety

priest!gojo x reader - series masterlist

summary — everything about satoru gojo is pristine. from his charming looks, to his unblemished family name and his exemplary priesthood. because of that, attraction is nothing more than fuel for what you assume is a one-sided fantasy, a carefully kept secret you are content to keep deep within. but when you end up in his bed, the vows he broke end up cracking the surface of his immaculate facade and bringing forward the painful memories and the cruel truth of a tragedy all too familiar.

or, you find out the angel named Satoru Gojo may have fallen a long time ago, and that you might end up falling with him too.

chapter summary — with satoru’s return, a new arrival at the city and winter prevailing, you are forced to confront all you have been trying to run away from.

word count: 10k

Hello there! ฅ≽(•⩊ •マ≼ Thank you for your interest in reading! This has been in my drafts for some time, and in my mind for considerably longer. I have thought about Gojo a lot. And Priest Satoru Gojo spawned after playing with his canon counterpart like a Barbie, witnessing the talent of fandom creators and exploring a bit of my catholic memories. Let it be known that, funny enough, I have never experienced attraction towards a real-life priest and I don't think that day will come. Nonetheless, there's something about Gojo that has made his lil priest self my favorite plaything and that´s why I promised myself that, if I ever posted a fic again, I wanted him to do the honors. Excited to say that the day has finally come. I won't say much more here other than be mindful of the tags here, I will be updating them accordingly and letting you know if there is any specific thing you should keep an eye out for in the upcoming chapters. English is not my first language and I'm more than a bit rusty so it's a bit nerve-wrecking to put this out there /ᐠ ╥ ˕ ╥マ. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it ♡ (Might edit this chapter a bit in the near future) I'm new to tumblr so I apologize if the formatting looks a bit wonky, I´m still working on it

You don’t like winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the best part of it are the droplets of melting ice announcing its imminent departure and the first sightings of green peeking through the remnants of snow. Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall but, between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays. 

As you stand on the platform, you claim the only spot touched by the sun, though it does little to alleviate the stubborn reminder of a winter you would chase away if you could. The wind remains almost freezing cold, it makes you shiver and shut your eyes tight every time it slaps you in the face, every hit of air chafing your skin. 

You mourn the scarf you left hanging at the rack back home. You were already two streets away when you realized you had forgotten it and you were quick to dismiss it in favor of catching the train on time. 

Now you are here, with no scarf, a freezing frame and a train running late, because, of course, only Satoru Gojo would manage to be late even by train. 

In fact, if a person could be blamed for making a train run late, it would probably be Gojo, somehow. Last time you took a train together, a few months back, you almost missed it because of him. He doesn’t have anyone to nag at him this time, so you can only hope he boarded on time, like he always seems to barely do.

This town needs an actual train station, you think, as you nuzzle further into your winter coat. There’s a little lobby next to the platform that is “closed for remodeling” because the administration had to choose the worst time of the year to modernize the cozy little lounge.  The platform you are currently shivering on was renewed by the Gojo Family almost two years ago, upon the arrival of their heir. The outline and build of the little ticket booth attached to the side of the station is reminiscent of the village props you saw at The Nutcracker the winter before. It’s too fancy for such a little spot outside of a small town like yours, too opulent for a place that’s not used as much anymore, but it’s a nice view you appreciate. However, all the cutesy and intricate carving does next to nothing to shield you from the cold. You heard the Mayor refused the Gojos’ offer to donate a proper train station and you can’t help but resent him too. After all, his pride is costing you your body temperature.

You nuzzle further into your clothes, pressing yourself against the column at another hit of wind. When you first arrived, the nice lady at the booth had offered you a place inside while you waited, but the space was already cramped enough with just one person in it, so you had to politely decline. It might have been a good decision considering she is currently nursing a cigar and likely emitting more fumes than the train you are waiting for. Right now, you can barely see her silhouette through the window with all the smoke condensed into the little booth. You have the itch to tap on the glass to see if she hasn’t passed out. Maybe if she is still conscious you can walk back your decision and ask for a little place in there with only your nice perfume and healthy lungs to pay the price. 

As you take a hesitant step towards the impromptu smokehouse, your attention is caught by a distant whistle, the telltale sound of a locomotive approaching. You perk up, waddling further into the platform to take a look as the sound of the machine gets louder. Indeed, the outline of the wine red train greets you between smog and frosty wind and you sigh, retreating once more to your waiting place.  

“About time,” you huff. 

Satoru left two weeks ago for a series of meetings with some higher ups from the Church. He called you every other day, mostly to nag or entertain himself. 

You don’t ask too much about what goes in there nor does he go into detail, he only ever talks about them to complain. Sometimes you think he has caught on to how much you truly dislike most of them and you are the only person he can sincerely unload his grievances with. 

As expected, only Satoru is getting off in this station. Your eyes meet through the window as he stands in the door waiting for it to open. His eyes widen for a second but crinkle immediately after as he smiles, all perfect teeth, mouthing something you can’t quite understand. You wave at him with a smile, cheeks feeling suddenly warm despite the cold. 

You point at your wrist while you lift a brow but it’s hard to keep the stern expression when the uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach makes you nauseous. 

You step back as the doors open and stand there, changing your weight from one foot to the other as he gets off, sturdy suitcase in hand. He doesn’t even take two steps into the platform before he leaves his luggage on the floor, gaze fixed on you. Someone that appears to be a young train worker, judging by the uniform, is trailing behind him with a bunch of boxes that Satoru ends up maneuvering in one hand after he places the suitcase on the floor.

Before the young boy can say something else, Satoru shoves one of the little boxes in his hands with a loud thank you. The boy blinks and bows his head awkwardly, a low expression of confused gratefulness escaping his lips as he retreats. You lift a brow at the display, your own confusion tampering with your smile but Satoru, as always, just returns it wholeheartedly, balancing the boxes on top of his luggage.

“I asked if you missed me,” he says in lieu of a greeting as he straightens up, bright blue eyes regarding you from above. 

The color in his gaze somewhat softens thanks to all the white and the gray around. That’s probably how the blue of the seas in the frozen lands far away look like. He is all pale colors, a striking contrast to his black jacket and dark blue scarf and his pink lips. He rarely flushes, but there’s a pleasant blush in his chiseled cheeks from the warmth that hasn’t died down under the harsh wind. He speaks again. And you see the way his lips curl. They look soft and plump as they dance and mold to the words that your cottoned ears can’t quite catch: “…missed”

“I asked if you missed me”

“Huh?” is your elaborate reply.

Satoru’s grin evolves into a chuckle. It’s a pleasant sound that you indeed have missed . Other days, when he directs that sound towards you, you find the sound irritating enough to pretend it doesn’t cave a pit in your stomach. Not today. 

Today he extends his arms, his wide form taking up the space with his broad back and his long limbs. You don’t think twice before sinking into him. You have missed him too much for your own good, you resolve, as he squeezes you so tight it steals a breathless huff of a laugh from you. 

“Get off…”

Satoru chuckles too, a rumbling sound vibrating against your smothered cheek. His hands don’t go lower than your back, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you through your clothes projects all over your body.

“Not before you answer,” he adds, against your temple. 

“What?”

“If you miss me”

You gulp. It’s only the two of you between the cold and the fog on the platform. “I didn’t hear you say that at all.”

“But I did,” he retorts, leaning back just enough so your eyes meet, “And you still haven’t answered.” 

He smells like warmth and caramel. He probably ate sweets onboard and the smell of it swirls along his fresh cologne. Not unpleasant, but sure overwhelming when it’s paired with those intense eyes looking at you. 

“So?”

“I didn’t,” you answer. Way too quickly, way before your heart and your brain realize you are lying and make you stutter as punishment. 

Satoru smiles lazily, letting you go with a languid movement that has his fingertips sliding off your waist. He tugs at one of the strands of hair hanging at the side of your face instead. 

“That’s a shame,” he laments, sighing, puncturing each word with a twirl of his fingers, the start of a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Because I did”

“It’s been two weeks,” you huff, gently pushing his hand away in a lighthearted gesture. You don’t mind his touch at all. Or, you didn't mind it. You are now bothered by the appalling urges born in your core and traveling to your every limp. 

“And? That’s more than enough to me,” he switches the grip of his hand to grasp at yours and give it a squeeze. “Believe it or not, I prefer your pretty face over the nagging of our dear church authorities” 

“I’m touched,” you deadpan, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself. 

Satoru hums. “I am too, considering I wasn’t expecting a welcome back committee”

Your lips part, brows furrowing. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to come!?”

“That was before I realized our lovely weather could turn you into an icicle,” he says, eyes scanning you intently. He takes a few steps forward and places both his hands in your cheeks. You feel yourself stiff. “Although the flush of your face is rather pleasant to look at, there’s no reason for you to stand here and freeze for little ole’ me”

Your frozen hands try to peel away his wrists on instinct. Satoru is touchy, probably more touchy than a priest should be, but he is also more nonchalant than the average gentleman is so you can’t say you aren’t used to it. 

It’s the mortifying somersault your stomach does and the warmth that bleeds from your chest to your lower belly like molten what you are not used to. He is not even touching you directly, the fabric of his gloves is less soft than his hands, but it’s warm and kind in comparison to the wind. Nonetheless, the sole implication of him touching you so casually is enough to make you short of breath. 

For a few seconds that stretch incredibly long, Satoru rubs your cheeks intently, as if trying to coax the warmth of your blood to bleed into your skin. There’s something in his eyes as a slow, cheeky curve takes place on his lips. You forget the flustered feeling for a moment, but your body stays locked on it, a prickling sensation climbing up your neck as you frown up at him, tugging at his wrists. 

“Father?” 

Satoru’s well trained to react the exact opposite way to your flustered, hurried flurry. As you jump, he waltzes back in calculated steps, casually sliding his hands down to your shoulders, squeezing them only slightly before taking his hands off you for good. By the time his hands are by his sides, yours are still fidgeting about, tugging at your winter coat. 

You turn your face towards the familiar voice and force down the lingering feeling of self-consciousness, sketching a smile that lacks the blinding brightness of the dishonest one Satoru offers to the clueless newcomer. 

“Ah, Ijichi, you are finally here!” he announces, eyes crinkling. The cherry on top is, of course, the thunderous clap that accompanies his words. “I started to think you had forgotten about me”

You have known him for almost two years, so you can catch it. The way his smile curves and hardens before it stretches all the way. He seems slightly bothered about something you can only theorize about.

“N-not at all!” Kyotaka bows his head, face a bit flushed because of the cold or because his eyes are also trained in Satoru’s micro-expressions. “Welcome back, Father” 

You think you have imagined it, though, because Satoru’s expression is back to his relaxed, jovial façade. Or maybe it never really changed. You try not to stare too long or think about his face too hard lately. 

“C’mon Ijichi!” he protests, “I’m not wearing the habit right now! We can be a bit flexible” 

Ijichi is not deterred, sharing a look with you as a resigned, little smile grazes his lips. He is one of the very few people that has fallen victim to Satoru’s overly familiarity and, just like most, he is not playing along. That always makes you consider if you should also be more mindful of the difference in your positions, but Satoru’s arm casually slinging around your shoulders chases any further reflection away.

Ijichi is abruptly intercepted by one of Satoru’s arms as well when he steps closer to retrieve some of the boxes laying over Gojo’s luggage and you can see the way his shoulders fall in a reluctant acceptance. His glasses are crooked now by the unexpected motion but he makes no effort in shrugging Gojo as the latter pats his back energetically. You share a look once more.

“I-ji-chi! Guess who was freezing on this platform, waiting for me?” Satoru asks, squeezing his hold on you as he rhythmically pats Ijichi’s frame. “Certainly not you!”

At that, Ijichi’s resigned face tenses back to his default expression, a mix of mortification and surprise in his widened eyes. 

“I a-apologize, I wasn’t aware you were coming here as well! I would have offered you a lift!” 

“Oh, see? You are so formal with me but you call her by her name!”

You both ignore Satoru as you shrug his arm off your shoulders, offering Ijichi an appeasing smile, lifting a hand in a dismissive gesture. 

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t know you were picking him up either,” you reply earnestly, brushing your hair out of your face as you start to walk, “I think it’s his fault”

As Kyotaka takes the boxes Satoru brought with him, he regards you with a look that seems suspiciously close to a silent agreement. Once again, both of you ignore Gojo’s whines, moving along the platform until he desists on his protests and easily falls into step with you, suitcase in tow. 

“I’m glad Ijichi and you have found friendship, but I don’t appreciate you bonding over disregarding me” is what he says,  with a suffering sigh that evolves into a little smile when you eye him up. 

“I’m sure making everything about you is a sin” you comment lightheartedly and Satoru rolls his eyes. “For your information, Kyotaka and I have been friends for a while and agreeing on your obnoxiousness is not the reason our friendship begun”

“But your blatant animosity is what makes it thrive,” Satoru points out, with an accusing finger. “It’s the same thing with Sister Uta–”

“Is your nagging my reward for picking you up at the train station?” you inquire. “I should have stayed warm and cozy at home”

“You waited for me. If we want to get technical, my dear sister, Ijichi is the one picking me up.”

He watches the beginning of an indignant protest in your face, to which he walks back his teasing statement and raises a calming hand. “Both of which I deeply appreciate,” he adds, and there’s a softness in his honest smile that mellows you down enough, until he pokes at you once more. “A good Christian doesn’t expect anything in return for a good deed, anyway” he chirps. “God shall provide” 

“Good thing I’m not a Christian then,” you retort and Satoru huffs a laugh, shutting it too quickly in favor of shaking his head in disapproval. “So you shall provide”

“I’m not but God’s humble messenger,” Satoru bows his head, eyes glinting as he regards you “So consider the souvenir I brought God’s way of acknowledging your selfless act”

He is serious, but there’s an amused tilt to his gentle smile that warms and softens you up enough to forget about the banter and grin earnestly.

After a silent look that lingers enough for the prickling feeling in your face to make a comeback, you simply turn your face to the front. By your peripheral vision, you notice Satoru’s gaze linger just a few seconds more before he follows your lead.   You both keep walking side by side, arms brushing at every swing. Your throat closes up and you focus on ahead. 

Ijichi is a fast-walker by nature, you have learned, and you saw him hurry his step as Satoru reached your side with long strides a few moments ago. If Satoru wanted, he could outpace you and Ijichi with ease, but he has decided to linger beside you and you soon realize there’s a reason beyond any friendly banter or the announcement of any souvenir. 

You step over a branch peeking through the melting snow on the ground and that’s when he speaks.

“The snow is finally melting” he whispers, “I’m relieved” 

There’s a sympathetic inflexion on his voice that’s not lost to you. The same off-handed tone present on his words these last two weeks through calls and letters. You lean against him almost on instinct, shoulder surprisingly at ease as it bumps against his arm. “Me too”

On a personal level, being friends with Satoru means a lot of things and has plenty of implications you don’t want to get at most of the time. You were both relieved and saddened by his absence during the last snow storms of this winter which tells you enough about the dichotomy that persists in your relationship. It’s easier to dwell on it during this season, which is why you occupy yourself like a maniac during it, which is why you cling to any semblance of sun or warmth amidst the cold. 

The car ride is silent enough, the soft sound of the wheels scraping against the road lulling you as you lean against the window, eyes chasing any rays peeking through the clouds, even if you have to narrow your eyes at the unexpected force of a sun recovering its strength. 

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice is soft, a callback to the time and space you are in right now, tugging you away from cruel memories. 

He offers you his hand, without a glove. Long and pretty and pale. Warm as you press your hand over it.  “The other one too”

That’s when you notice he took both his gloves off and, as he envelops your hands with his, your thoughts linger on how warm and soft and soothing his skin is. 

When he rubs his palms over your cold, trembling fingers, he triggers a scorching heat in your hands and your arms and your whole being. “Your hands are freezing,” he says, none the wiser to your melting insides. “I noticed earlier, you weren’t wearing gloves, or a scarf” 

There’s more than a hint of disapproval in his tone. For real this time. Not like the one he uses to half-heartedly scold your thinly-veiled anti-church sentiments. 

“I-I forgot”

Does he know your mouth feels dry and cottoned? Can he notice the way your breath catches in his throat at his proximity, or the way your heart skips at every motion of his thumbs over the back of your hands? 

“You shouldn’t have walked there with this weather” Satoru whispers, and there’s something in his eyes that goes beyond the earnest care you have grown acquainted with. “You are not even properly clothed for it,” he hums, there’s a bit of the teasing back that gets lost on the deep look in his eyes. 

You don’t even know what to make of it. 

It’s like that one time, over a year ago. 

Just like his voice grabbed you away from the claws of the cruel, painful past, his eyes push you back into that void, except in a kinder, warmer part of it. 

The train ride to the next city and the memory of the gorgeous display on stage. 

It’s a nice memory. 

Nevermind the mortifying discoveries about yourself that trip uncovered. 

Absolutely not. Because it is the beautiful memory of your first ever trip to a professional ballet production, a long-time dream, the one guilty of the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

Not the memory of the seating booth in the train back home feeling strangely suffocating, or his hands over your skin, trying to cool away a fever you couldn’t get rid of. A fever and itch that has been chasing you ever since you sat way too close in the same room, the same bed.

That’s not it. 

It’s the pretty parts, the softer parts you should focus on because it is a nice memory, one that is not tainted by the origins of the crude ruminations that keep you awake at night to this day. Not at all. 

“I wanted to,” you say with a shrug. “To go there, I mean.”

To wait for you. To see you again.

Satoru hums, blowing hot air into your fingertips. Your whole being rattles. 

“You should have waited for me at the church, then” he whispers. His lips are inches away from your hands, you almost want to stretch your fingers, just to try–

“I don’t like to go there when it’s empty,” you respond, voice steadier than your beating heart. 

“It’s never empty,” he replies, thumbs massaging up to your fingertips, squeezing them for barely a second. “It’s the house of God, he is always there” 

He isn’t. And you aren’t either. What’s the point? But you don’t say that, you don’t say anything more. You almost feel like you don’t need to, because Satoru smiles at you then, and it’s almost sad.

You feel you might be privy to what most people in town are not. Your friendship with Satoru didn’t blossom out of shared faith or thrived because of your trust in him as a recipient of God. Quite the contrary.  It was born despite your reservations and your disagreements. As such, you are allowed to see beyond the charming, quick-witted, perfect priest image he projects for all believers to see. For you, he is equally if not more charming and wiser when he is “just Satoru” but you won’t ever tell him that out loud.

Instead, you let your shared secrets and time together speak for you. He knows a lot about you. You know a lot about him. Or so you think. 

Satoru has always given you the impression of false openness. He makes people, you included, feel as if he is sharing a lot, but most of the time, it’s just superficial lore or inconsequential sentiments.

You don't usually pressure him to share anything beyond what he usually does, but there’s a trust that has been nurtured during your time together that has given you both a space to share what you both know is no common knowledge. He doesn’t need to tell you “I have never told this to anyone” but you have learned to recognize when it’s the case. You know when it’s something he wouldn’t share with the world. 

It is often, though, that you get the impression that these secret things have been shared before with someone else out there. There’s something about his speech, the careful distant expression on his face that betrays a sense of dejavu or melancholy that disappears as soon as it appears, between a blink and another. He has travelled the world and he has confessed his sins often. It could be any person out there, a priest or God himself. 

Who knows? You don’t push. You never do. After all, there is a whole story you haven’t shared with him. And you don’t think you will soon. He has the right to have his secrets too, and despite the big chunk of your life that remains hidden close to your chest, you bet he has way more secrets than you do. 

You wear your heart in your sleeve, he doesn’t. You could be fooled by his easy smile and his running mouth, though, like everyone else. 

And you are. 

It seems rather meaningless, but in retrospect, this little thing that Satoru willingly withholds from you unravels the whole mess and tells you more about all the things he doesn’t tell you. 

At some point, it becomes public knowledge that a newly ordained priest will come to your little town. The people are concerned their angel darling of a Father is being moved away. But it doesn’t seem to be the case, as one particular Sunday, Satoru addresses the whispers and concerns from the altar with good humor. 

That’s how you find out, like everyone else. 

Kento Nanami, a priest from the same college as Satoru, will become part of the little community. 

When you question Satoru about it later, ignoring his who-know-what attempt at explaining checkers to you, he sighs, shoulders falling. It is so different from the usual flair he would answer you with, he seems almost defeated for a second, the flames of the chimney of his office flickering all over his face, raising his high cheekbones further. 

“We used to be together in the seminary,” he finally says.

Satoru doesn’t talk much about the seminary. It’s one of the things he pretends he enjoys being open about except all he has ever told you has to do with the multiple headaches he induced on everyone around him. 

“But,” you say, leaning forward in your seat. You try to ignore the way Satoru’s foot brushes against yours as he shifts and stretches his legs under the table. “The people say he is newly ordained”

“Ah, our lovely town is as adept in gossiping as it is in their daily praying,” Satoru comments, propping his chin over his hand with a lazy tilt of the head, a shaper one on his lips . “He is.”

You don’t need to do the math for that one. It doesn’t add up.

“But if he was with you–”

“He left,” Gojo cuts you off with a bit of a bored, resigned expression. “Then he came back.” 

He is not even hiding his unwillingness to share any details. The tense smile is the same he uses when he wants to cut a conversation short. It’s the first time he has used it with you.

And it’s the first time you decide to press, as well. 

“Why did he leave?”

Satoru takes a few seconds to respond, eyes focusing on the dancing flames in the chimney, gaze concerningly distant. For a moment, you think he might tell you it’s none of your business. Strictly speaking, he would be right. 

“Some people aren’t made for it,” he whispers, in the most monotone voice you have ever heard from him. It brings a chill down your spine, suddenly feeling an infinite wall rise between you. You feel you might reach out to touch him and you won’t be able to snatch him away from whatever place he is sinking into now.

But, as it always happens, the wall crumbles as soon as it builds. And Satoru, seemingly sensing your unease, seems to snap out of whatever haze the flames have induced on him.

He smiles, again, eyes flickering towards you. 

“But don’t worry,” he says, even if you are less worried about priest Nanami’s abilities than you are about the all-seeing eyes that look right through you. “Nanamin is. That’s why he came back.”

Kento Nanami sure seems like the kind of guy made to be a priest. He is sober, proper, humble. Kind and polite at the welcoming party your good-spirited town throws for him. He seems genuinely taken aback by the warm reception, but earnest in his shy appreciation. You study every interaction from afar, just like you did back when Satoru first came to town. 

Satoru had been charming, talkative, and full of initiative in every interaction. He had had the hard task of living up to the expectation the priest before him, a beloved local, had risen in forty years of service. Satoru was young. Maybe a bit too young, people had first observed with wariness. But it was that, along with his good-natured humor, his refreshing speech and his impeccable looks, that ended up making him the darling of the town in no time. 

Nanami’s regal presence is impeccable as well, in a different way. There’s nothing out of place, not a hair, not a button, not even a blink, as if everything is carefully crafted with little to no effort. And while he doesn’t seem to have the social energy Satoru has delighted everyone with these past years, he appeals to the community all the same with that mix of youth and firmness reminiscent of a soldier. He looks older than Satoru.  There’s something in their interactions that suggests something you can’t quite put your finger on. Satoru is cheery, as always. Friendly and familiar with his arm thrown over the other priest’s shoulders, with his animated voice raising over the bustle of the party but something in Nanami’s shoulders remains tense in a way they weren’t in any other interaction. 

It’s so weird once you see it. 

It could be simple shyness at Satoru’s familiarity, but he doesn’t seem shy or flustered. You don’t even know if, judging by his stern expression, he is even capable of it. 

It’s seems there’s a world they are part of you are not privy to. That’s probably the case. Priesthood and seminary life it’s not something you ever can or want to fully comprehend.

But, despite whatever weird energy surrounding them, they make for a nice picture, standing side by side, overlooking the party and the towners from the first landing of the stairs leading up to the church. The single photographer from the local paper thinks the exact same, snapping a shot with little warning. It captures Satoru leaning towards Nanami, a smile frozen midway as the flash explodes in their faces. 

Nanami is tall, but looking at them like this, you can truly put into perspective how tall Satoru truly is, his shoulder some inches above the other man’s. 

No matter, you have to lean your head back to look at the two of them properly. 

Kento or “Nanamin” is polite enough to stay quiet through Satoru’s enthusiastic introduction but it’s soon clear to you that he is barely tolerating the other’s incessant, loud chatter right into his ear. He still smiles, bows his head at you, as he introduces himself as if Satoru hadn’t done it for him over three times already. There’s a distant echo in your head that bothers you and there’s a weird feeling in your chest as you catch Nanami’s eyes looking at you as if he is trying to decipher a puzzle himself. 

“Sorry if I overstep but, have we met?” he finally asks.

Satoru finally pauses beside you, only then paying attention to the fact that Nanami is not listening to his vibrant spiel, but he doesn’t seem baffled, face dropping to a rather curious, questioning glance more for Nanami than for yourself. Your smile doesn’t waver, tensing just the slightest bit as the echo in your head raises its volume. 

“I don’t think so, no” you say. 

Just like you did almost two years ago, when Satoru first came to the church, you leave the party early and find yourself pulled towards the limit of the woods at the outskirts. Once you step onto the only proper road leading to the next town, your eyes focus on the giant oak tree that stands at the top of the one little hill overseeing your step.  The path is painful yet soothing in its familiarity, your heels digging in the dirt and light layer of snow enveloping the steep as you balance your weight and propel forward. 

As you make your way to the top, the big, old oak greets you with a rustle of leaves. The leaves persevere during winter, for a reason you would like to think you know. 

You feel your face warm with the effort and you can see your breath escape in little puffs of hot air that evaporate into the frosted wind as you walk towards the wide, rough trunk, and press your cheek against it.

You lean on the trunk and focus on the sounds coming from within, the endless shifting of it akin to breathing. Even if you wanted to hug it, you wouldn’t be able to. The immensity of it makes it impossible.  It’s ironically cruel. You can’t hug him again and you can’t hug the one breathing thing that reminds you of him either. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited,” you  say, closing your eyes. You can almost pulsing with life against your face. One of your hands curls over the trunk. “I missed you today.”

At this time of the year, you are forced to confront plenty of things. You thought you had survived this winter without having to think, but there’s a sweet and painful song of melancholy in the air that follows you through these events. 

It makes you think again about how you would have forgiven him, if he came to town like Satoru did. Like Nanami did. You would have forgiven him. Even if he was clad in priest robes and stood over the altar with the pride of a soldier of God. You would have forgiven him even with the sting of all the broken childish promises. 

“It would have been okay, at the end,” it's the only other thing you say out loud. 

It’s a sad and embarrassing thought, that you don’t have to say much. Wherever he is now, he knows what he didn’t know before. And everyone knows too. Everyone that loves you and loves him knows. That the pain has subsided and dulled but lingers like a chronic nightmare that sharpens every so often. 

That you spent years mad at him and now you can only be mad at yourself. You have matured and you see things in a different light now, left to wonder if you , rather than him, could have done anything in another way. 

It’s sad and embarrassing when Satoru meets you at the entrance road to the main street, concern or pity barely veiled as he heaves, cheeks rosy, his rebellious white hair slightly dancing at the tune of the frosty wind, all that betraying the hurried steps he took upon realizing your absence. 

You offer him a little smile, finally having cried what you had to cry these past days, your head doesn’t feel as heavy with dark thoughts anymore. You can leave your penances with the oak tree.

“Did my mother ask you to come look for me?” you ask, not thinking twice before hooking your arm with the one he is offering you.

Satoru stares at you intently, head tilted as you both turn back towards the main square in a dance you don’t have to rehearse anymore. It feels natural, walking with him like this. 

“More like I offered,” he replies, eyes finally focusing ahead. “Watching her pace around pale with worry, I had to ask what was her cause of concern”

You feel a pinch of guilt.

“She—”

Satoru spares you from having to offer an excuse or apology.

“She knew where you were, but she was worried you would stay there until dark so I told her it would be better for me to bring you back.”

You sigh, head leaning against his arm, gaze focused on the thin mantle of snowflakes in the ground. 

“I didn’t need to stay for long.”

“That’s a good thing.” You don’t know if you imagine it, but you can feel Satoru speak against the crown of your head.  “It’s still pretty cold out here.”

You answer with a hum, hiding your face into his arm, even his jacket is impregnated with his cologne. Moments like this are met with such intense yearning everything else you feel along with it melts into a pool of sweet resignation.  

“You know you can talk to me,” he says, stopping on his tracks. You inhale a bit more of his perfume and the winter air before looking up at him. 

You know he can probably see the red trails and rims that expose your silent, lonely tears from earlier but you don’t mind. He looks into your eyes, brows furrowing just a bit, before he shifts his body to face you as well. The snow crunches slightly under his boots. 

“What?” you ask. 

He raises his hand and reaches for your face. Your eyes flutter in anticipation of his touch and that’s when you feel the phantom pressure of his fingertips against your heavy eyelashes. There’s a sole huff of air that resembles a laugh escaping from his lips, in tandem with the sigh that escapes yours and his soft smile and sad gaze is all you see as you open your eyes.

“There’s frost in your eyelashes,” he whispers, his thumb barely grazing the apple of your cheek, probably following the abandoned path a tear left behind. 

Your breath hitches and a surge of adrenaline makes you turn your face to the side, just in time for Satoru to caress your cupid bow and the curve of your upper lip. Your eyes flutter close. It’s only for half a millisecond and his hand retreats as if you were burning him, curling on itself in the air, hovering over your face. Not a sound comes from him. 

“I know,” you breathe out.

“Hm?” 

“I know I can talk to you,” you clarify, blinking up at him with a soft tilt of your head and in your lips. 

He doesn’t escape your gaze, and you can see yourself reflected on his darkened, tempestuous blue eyes.

“But you won’t,” he says. 

“Not about this,” you reply honestly. 

“But we are–”

You cut him off, before you can hope, protest or rejoice on whatever epithet escapes his lips.

“I know,” you unhook your arm from his, pressing a hand over his forearm. “But you don’t tell me every single thing about you either,” you squeeze slightly and you can feel his muscles clench under the pressure. “Do you?”

After seconds that feel like minutes stretching, he presses his hand over yours and squeezes in a thousand unspoken words.

“No.”

“And that’s okay.”

After all, there are things you don’t want him to know about, even if a part of you thinks he does already. 

A part of you wants to believe he understands.

But how could he? 

Someone like him can’t never lose, not anything nor anyone.

Your mother forgives your brief disappearance and requires you to run a few errands to pay back any concern you may have caused, mostly to soothe any lingering guilt from your part. It’s always like this between you both, the silent agreements and the subtle conversations. 

You can talk about pain freely but you are candid enough about it for her not to worry about you letting it eat away at you in silence. 

“Did the visit help?” she asks, hands busy and eyes fixed on you, as you wait patiently, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Hm,” you nod, a faint smile. “It had been a while, I think that’s what I needed” 

“I know you usually like to go up there alone,” she starts, “but please try not to linger too close to sunset, the air gets colder and the path is too dark for my peace of mind”

“You know I don’t like to walk in the snow at night.”

Your mother’s eyes trail away from you. “Right.”

“I’m okay,” you say, voice not wavering. 

“I know you are,” she replies, looking back at you with love and concern mingling in her pupils. Your throat would close up at the sight on worse days. 

Today, though, you smile at her with veiled gratitude and a hint of apology as she hands you a knitted bag, heavy with homemade goods.

“You know,” you point out, weighing it in your hands with a pensive pout in your lips. “I think you spoil that man way too much.” 

“Those are for Father Nanami as well,” your mother protests, lifting her brow at you, affronted. “And ‘that man’ is our priest” 

“It’s just Satoru,” you said. A slip up that you paid mind to a little too late. 

“Precisely because it’s Father Satoru,” your mother replies, casual, as swift as her hands rearranging the last few envelopes. Her brief yet disapproving sideways glance is the only other indication that she has taken note of your disrespectful nonchalance. “He is a friend.”

“It doesn’t matter,” was the answer that made its way to your tongue. It didn’t come out of your lips though, it was too much of a lie. 

“He should be thankful we prepared him anything at all.” 

The piercing glare your mother throws your way is enough to seal your lips shut and make you swallow your complaint. You smile innocently, fluttering your eyelashes. 

“Last time that look worked on me was when you were nine years old” 

You don’t receive yet another earful regarding your lack of respect towards the so-called angel of the town, though, so you are thankful. Your mother is aware of the particular familiarity between Satoru and you and while you both have talked about the level of casualness you are okay with, she insists you follow the proper etiquette with a man of God. 

“Smile when you deliver this,” she reminds you, planting an obnoxious kiss on your cheek. “We made such an effort putting this together,” your mother comments, eyes much softer than her admonishing voice. The ghost of a smile in her lips suggests a tease that you decide to ignore pointedly, your cheeks flaring. “Presentation is everything.” 

You roll your eyes, making your way to the door, “Right...” you drawl. 

“Don’t forget your scarf”

You hum in response, stopping at the foyer and grabbing it from the rack next to the door. As you tie it around your neck, a thought makes you pause.

“Mom?”

She peeks into the foyer. “Yes?”

You grab the door handle, eyeing her just briefly before twisting the knob. 

“Did you tell Satoru?”

As you open the door, the cold wind blows into the warmth of the house. Your hair waves with it. 

“About the tree?”

It’s always like this between you both, the silent connection and the subtle communication. 

“About why I go there,” you say. 

Your mother is quick to answer both with words and with a firm shake of her head.

You almost regret asking when you see the sorrowful lines that map her face.

“Of course not, it’s not my place to tell.”

You nod, smiling a bit. “Okay.”

As you step out, her voice reaches your ears. “But–“

You look over your shoulder. She looks sheepish, hands dancing on her lap. “Don’t you think it would help? Talking about it with him ? He is your friend and he is closer to God.”

You let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “I think it would be the most awkward conversation to have.”

Whenever you walk towards the parish, you think of Satoru. At the beginning, it was out of curiosity and wariness, as you imagined and played around with the endless possibilities of the mystery of his personality. Now, it is unbearable. The sense of anticipation that used to precede your meetings has mixed in with a yearning, an itch that you can barely scratch and which nature makes your stomach twist. 

You are aware there’s an inherent wickedness permeating your feelings now, that most of your thoughts linger close to the line of impropriety and don’t reciprocate Satoru’s unconditional respect for you. 

Because, even if he is unconventional in more ways than one, especially in comparison to the strict mold a catholic priest is expected to fit in, there’s nothing about him that suggests a questionable morality.  Even with the way he is always getting close, shimming in your head and personal space, talking your ear off about everything and nothing and making jokes that walk and tether the line of strict propriety. And even with your proximity and the familiarity that allows him to touch you freely, there’s a delicate balance and respectful boundaries in your relationship. 

His hands never wander or linger beyond the socially acceptable, invisible limits society has mapped a woman’s body with. The looks he gives you, while filled with open interest and regard, are void of a dark, twisted intention you have seen other men possess. 

You are the one that avoids looking at him too much or staring at his eyes for too long, fearing the kind of expression you will see reflected on his all-seeing eyes. You are the one terrified about the possibility of him reading the hidden thoughts swirling in the depths of your brain. 

The innocence of your friendship has mixed in with a dark pull that makes you crave Satoru’s proximity in a way you shouldn’t dare to entertain. It’s a cruel irony. Even beyond all the key reasons why your fascination should remain concealed behind platonic affections. 

It’s wrong. 

For the first time in the entire winter, you feel grateful when a whip of harsh, cold air hits your body. It’s heaven’s warning. A way to tell you to focus on the goosebumps instead of whatever black holes your mind is spiraling into.

You walk up the last steps leading to the entrance of the parish feeling nauseous, fighting and locking away the last thoughts. You inhale deeply before walking through the open doors, your nose filled instantly with the sweet smell of incense as the muscle memory takes over and you sign the cross over your upper body.  It’s true when they say the church is truly never empty, and not because of the hypothetical presence of a higher being, but because it’s always open. During the day hours, there are always a few believers praying or waiting for a confession, head down, silently holding a conversation with either God or themselves. 

Your eyes scan the few people scattered in the pews and you are not surprised to realize you are familiar with the back of the heads of half your neighbors. You walk to one side, moving along the rows of pews and nodding politely to those that are alerted by the movement in their peripheral.  Nonetheless, as you get closer to the partly hidden hallway that leads to Satoru’s office and the sacristy, a smaller frame catches your attention. He is sitting right at the edge of the pew closest to the hallway leading to the offices. You walk closer and look over the scrawny shoulder, making sure he is not praying. 

“Yuuji?” you whisper.

The boy raises his head, turning his gaze away from the missal on his lap. You smile down at the way his slightly bewildered expression morphs into a wide grin. 

“Miss—!” he whispers back. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ruffling his hair. 

He gestures for you to get closer. When you do, he leans forward. 

“I’m here to tell Father Gojo something” 

You raise a brow, leaning back just enough to admire the anticipation in his expression.

“Father Gojo said I could be an altar boy next Sunday if Grandpa agreed,” he chirps.

You resist the urge to raise both eyebrows. You would think Yuuji is too young to be an altar boy, and you know Satoru does too, having denied his multiple, enthusiastic and incessant requests. Nonetheless, you also know Wasuke is spending more time at the hospital lately and that might be enough reason for him and Satoru to reconsider. Yuuji seems excited enough though. He thinks Satoru is the coolest guy around and has been trailing after him like a baby duck for a while. 

“Let me guess,” you lean down with a conspiratorial whisper. “He said yes”

“Yes!” 

Yuuji’s outburst bounces off the old rock walls but he doesn’t seem to mind it. You notice some people looking in your direction, raising their heads from their silent prayer with varying degrees of bewilderment. You shrug at them, an apologetic grimace, before turning back to Yuuji. 

“Oh my” you huff out a laugh, keeping your voice at whisper-level. “Congrats on the promotion!” 

Yuuji almost bounces off the pew but his voice is lower this time. “Thank you.”

“What’s your salary?”

“I-I don’t think I have one,” he perks up, intrigued. 

“You should ask for one” 

“Oh,” the boy doesn’t even question you, but furrows his brows a bit after a moment. “It shouldn’t be money, though”

You nod, mimicking his serious expression. “Of course.”

Yuuji’s legs swing over the edge of the pew as he looks at the bright colored windows.

“Movies” he suggests, doe eyes looking for your approval. 

You bite back a smile but click your tongue and reign in your expression for the sake of the serious aura around him. 

“He already lends them to you,” you tap your chin before your expression brightens. “I will help you negotiate weekly cinema tickets and all-you-can-eat ice cream” 

Yuuji’s eyes are bright and wide as a gasp escapes his lips. “You would?”

“Uh-huh,” you wink, straightening back to your height. “I’m sure Father Satoru will honor this deal”

Yuuji beams up at you, body almost bouncing off the pew. You giggle, ruffling his hair before fishing some baked goods from your knitted bag.

“For you and Gramps”

“Thank you!” He promptly opens the envelope with enthusiasm and eyes at them. He sniffs unapologetically, “They smell so good! Did you make them?”

“My mom and I did,” you confirm, gently pressing your hand over his so he closes the paper. “They are better hot, so don’t open until you eat them”

“I will go eat them now!” he declares, clutching into them as if you would change your mind and snatch them away. “Outside,” he adds. 

You laugh, propping a hand over your hip. “Wait, don’t you want to come to see Father Satoru?"

Yuuji is already sliding off the bench. “He told me to wait a few minutes, he is busy having a grown up talk with Father Nanamin!”

“Nana—“ you trail off. “Isn’t it Nanami?”

The young boy shrugs, already munching on a cookie despite his earlier promise. “Father Gojo calls him Nanamin and Father Nanamin says it was okay if I called him that. He doesn’t seem to like when Father Gojo does, though”

“I see.” 

“You are a grown-up, so you can talk to them now,” Yuuji instructs sagely, pointing towards the hallway.  

You salute, “Understood, boss”

Yuuji waves at you before skipping out the church. You observe his bouncing frame until it disappears beyond the entrance and you shake your head fondly, before turning around. As you pass the side of the altar, your gaze lingers in the Virgin Mary figure, the flickering flames of the candles at her feet dancing along her body. The candle you lit up many years ago should be right there.

With that last thought, you look forward and slide into the hallway. 

At this point, you are familiar with every single corner of this place. Satoru gave you a personalized tour last year, almost scandalized at the thought of you not being familiar with the parish you had grown up in. So, w ith time, you found yourself feeling comfortable enough to explore around on your own, mostly to pass the time while Satoru is attending his priestly duties.

You have grown familiar with every nook and cranny of Satoru’s office as well and you know you can waltz right into it when the door is left ajar. Which is always.

Well, almost. 

Strangely enough, you are greeted with the side of a closed door. You frown a bit, eyes fixed on the engraved name at the door. Satoru Gojo. You raise your hand to knock, fearing to walk into a serious conversation you shouldn’t overheard.  Something makes you hesitate, though. Probably the hushed whispers traveling through the door. 

You stand there, even if you know you shouldn’t. 

“…it’s been almost seven years.”

“Didn’t know there’s a rule that says I should stop caring after–”

It takes you a few seconds to realize but what you assumed was a casual conversation sounds way more heated than that. You can’t always quite tell what’s being said, but there are moments the whispers evolve into louder 

“….I’m just saying, a long time has passed, maybe you should let it go.”

“You want me to forget it!?”

“I’m not saying you should forget it, but God knows moving on is the best thing we can do. I did–”

“Jesus Christ,” Satoru huffs, “don’t you dare lecture me about moving on, you are here .”

You are so baffled by the fact that Satoru’s voice has the capacity to reach that level of defensive hostility that you don’t quite register how long the silence stretches after his last retort.

“I thought you had matured,” Nanami finally says and the casual coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. “But you are the same impulsive, hot-headed, imprudent kid from all those years ago. Be mindful of your role.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell do you think I have been doing?” Satoru’s voice raises further, a sardonic tone permeating every word. “I’m so close to–”

“You have plenty of people depending on you,” Nanami cuts you off. “If you care about them, you will move cautiously.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence after that. You shift the weight from one foot to another, raising your hand to knock. 

“And [Name]–“ Nanami starts.

And you startle. 

Nonetheless, Satoru clicks his tongue. You can hear him pacing around in the room. Or it might be Nanami. 

“Don’t even bring her up,” the former hisses, in a fiery protest. “Don’t even start. We are friends”

“It’s not that, Satoru, she’s—”

“I’m done with—”

You can barely register the sudden movement, a surge of warmth and a woody, earthy aroma hitting you right in the face. Your eyes focus on the wall of Satoru’s office. Opposite of you, there’s an ample bookshelf of the same expensive yet old wood of the desk. There are no windows and the lights are out which makes the flames cast shadows and dancing figures all over the room and on Nanami’s surprised face as he leans against the desk.  “—this.”

You take a stumbling step back when your eyes meet as if the force of it was enough to make you lose balance. Only then, when your eyes run away from his, you find yourself face to face with Satoru Gojo, still with his hand on the knob, the most baffled expression you have ever seen on him. “You—”

“I–” your mouth feels dry, your heartbeats ringing in your ears. “I was just…” 

“Not now.”

Whatever fluster, shame or guilt you might have begun to feel instantly evaporates into a cloud of pure befuddlement. Satoru’s face is not a display of perplexity anymore but rather an inexpressive, almost dismissive mask. It’s so foreign it makes you take a step back. 

“H–huh?” you let out. “I was just—”

“[Name], I apologize,” he mutters in a tone that doesn’t suggest a hint of regret, “but the confessional opens at ten, so not now.” 

“I just wanted—”

“[Name]…” there’s a hint of a plea this time, as he tilts his head to the side and avoids your gaze, as if he is trying to repel you.

Nanami frowns, stepping closer. “Gojo—”

The cloud of bafflement dissipates to expose a mix of indignation and humiliation. It’s the fact that he has never spoken to you like this. Ever. Not until today. You feel yourself ruffle and warm up under his gaze, a glare settling on your eyes. 

He opens his mouth again and you clutch the strap of your knitted bag, feeling defensive. 

“Gojo,” Nanami speaks, pressing a hand over his shoulder. 

Satoru bites his inner cheek but doesn’t say anything else. He shrugs Nanami off after a few seconds, though. You can only observe, trying to wrap your head around what you are seeing and hearing and what you thought you would see and hear and how you imagined your day would go. 

You retrace every step in your head as you physically walk back, affronted. Before you can even say anything, though. Before you can defend yourself or protest, something catches your eye.

You wish you had never seen it.

Nanami is wearing a black cassock, just like Satoru is. The clerical collar is pristine and there’s a cross hanging off his neck. It catches the light of the flames in the chimney.

At the left, an ornate badge is proudly fixed against his chest. It’s a beautiful one, the fanciest kind of needlework. And a very familiar one. You have spent hours staring at the embroidery, the design, at the way the crimson and the plum and the gold thread harmonize in an intricate embrace. 

All of a sudden, you feel bile rise up your throat.

“[Name]–”

You don’t care if Satoru's tone is kinder this time. The sight surely isn’t. 

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

The words ring in your ears, the voice all too clear after all these years, hands without a body handing you a box too light.

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

Your hand tugs at the fine chain around your neck, your hand molding around the little case in an anxious grip. Your hand is sweaty and your thumb traces over the curves and lines of the initials engraved on the locket in a silent callback.

“H–hey…”

You turn around without looking back. Your steps are swift, desperate. The hallway seems to stretch on and on and the rest of the church closes in on you as you focus on the light of the outside world ahead. Your hurried steps echo off the walls, the beginning of a sob held back by your tight-sealed lips.  You might have heard your name but you don’t mind, you want to keep running until you can finally breathe. Until the light outside erases every memory of the cold winter. 

In reality, you run until you physically tire out. Until you are heaving, leaning on your knees, droplets falling from your face and into the snow. They could be tears or sweat, you don’t know. 

We recovered a locket, a badge and a cross. The ring is missing.

You might want to retch out of the sickening voice replaying in your head over and over again or because you have moved forward like a mad-woman. Either way, you inhale and exhale as frantically as you have run until the need for oxygen subsides and you don’t have a choice but to kneel down. Your hands and knees are partly buried in the snow. 

You hate winter.

It brings cold and sickness and painful memories with it. For you, the worst part of it is the phantom hold that clings and suffocates you like a constricting vine.  Trees are still skinny and mostly naked, branches trembling at the wind, bending under the weight of the last snowfall. 

All but one. 

Your head rises. It’s easy to see it from the bottom of the hill. 

Between the leisure movement of a heavy cloud and the other, the sun has started to reach out with its lukewarm rays and, right at the top, the giant oak tree stands proud and imposing. Its monstrous shadow seems to stretch impossibly long, all the way down the hill where it reaches you and envelopes you like a mantle. 

“You have finally come back to haunt me” 

hi again ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ i want to thank you for reading all the way to here. You absolutely rock and I'm profoundly flattered. this post is crazy to me because despite my long time in fandom trenches, this is the first time I post a self insert / OC fic aaaaand a fic on tumblr. Kudos to Satoru Gojo and my catholic upbringing for mingling in my brain! Anyway, you probably have more questions than answers and for that I apologize. I feel this introduction is a bit more confusing than anything but that's exactly what I wanted to go after. Hopefully it gives you an idea of the messy state of things. There’s a whole menu of mildly fucked up stuff here and I'm so excited for you to browse it in the upcoming chapters. Anyways! Any doubts you have feel free to drop in the comments or in an ask, I will be more than happy to answer if it's nothing to spoilery :v If you don’t have any questions yet, don’t worry i'm looking forward to read your thoughts and comments or constructive criticism about the chapter as well! Thank you so much for taking the time to give this lil work a chance! Til next time my beloveds ♡ Have a good day/night!

©️ lilactwilights | no repost allowed | likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

GOJO SATORU X FEM! READER

PART 12

check out final part here

a/n: Hiiii I'm back with another chapter, only one chapter left till we reach the end if this story. I apologize for the late update, my schedule kinda changed and it got busier so that's why I wasn't able to write and post, but good news that I'm back now yay ✨❤️.

Anyways I hope you enjoy this part as well. Some Angst, so grab some tissues and a snack of course to munch on while reading 😀.

Enjoy your reading session, love y'all so much 🫶🏻

Not Proofread ❌ Slight smut at the end.

You took another glance around the room, but didn't dare to ask any of your students about him. You sighed in disappointment but forced a smile to not worry your students and look suspicious or sad. You hated to admit it even within you, but you wished he was there, holding your hand till you awake. But you woke up surrounded only by your students, it's not like you don't appreciate them or they're not enough, you just wanted another kind of feeling, and that feeling could only be with your husband, Satoru. Once again you felt neglected by him even in this terrible condition.

Megumi was too focused on you, he knew right away by the way your gaze was shifting in every corner, every face in the room that you were looking for Gojo, he knew you needed him.

"Ehm, I'll go get Gojo since you're awake now" he said in a reassuring tone without meeting your gaze, and left the room to look for him.

"Where the hell did he go" he mumbled to himself.

"Hm Megumi? Is Y/n awake?" asked Nanami

"Oh yeah she's awake, and she's fine! By the way, did you, perhaps see Gojo around?"

"He's not here"

"Then where?"

"He'll be here later, don't worry about him"

"Nanami Sensei! I. Need. You. To. Tell. Me. please! It's important " he insisted,

With a tired sigh, he spoke,

"Alright! he's at one of the interrogation rooms at Jujutsu High, probably interrogating Mei Mei-"

"or my father"

and without further words, Megumi headed to Jujutsu High to bring Gojo to the hospital, to bring him to your side.

"Hey Megumi wait" yelled Nanami but je was already gone.

*1st Interrogation Room*

"Happy now? Where's that usual dirty smirk at? Gone?" started Gojo as he looked down at Mei Mei who got both her hands chained to the chair.

"How dare you chain me up? A well respected Jujutsu sorcerer!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Oh no no trust me, after releasing Toji from prison, paying him to kill my wife and putting the Jujutsu community in terrible danger, officially you're no longer respected" he spat and started to walk away

"NO NO PLEASE WAIT! GOJO WAIT I BEG YOU! I did this for you!" she started crying,

"I did this for you Gojo, just for your sake. You know about the prophecy, I couldn't let her exceed you and become stronger than you, you're the strongest Gojo and it should remain that way–please, I wanted to protect you–" she pleaded desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks, each sob echoed in the vast empty room.

With a mocking chuckle, he approached her again and bent down till he met her eye level, tilting his head to the side, his blue eyes piercing through her soul,

"oh yeah?" he started

"Y-es, yes just for you Gojo" she said with a soft smile while sniffing.

"Hah, pathetic how hard you're still trying, how hard you're still trying to manipulate me and get me to believe your lies–lemme give you the real fact behind all of this, the fact is that you desperately wanted Y/n to die. You knew Y/n will become something, more powerful than any of us, and of course your jealousy, ego and hate were triggered because another woman effortlessly stole the show and your desperate ass always wants to be in the spot light, taking all the attention, you've always wanted to br known as the strongest woman sorcerer, the perfect match for me, the strongest man! But all of that collapsed when I married Y/n" he paused and pointed his index finger at her,

"You desperately wanted to be her, you envied her even at her lowest, you're obsessed with her to the point that you betrayed the jujutsu world. But lemme tell you something, Mei Mei, Y/n didn't only steal the spot light, she also stole my heart! I love my wife, I love Y/n so much and if you dare to think of any possible plan that could possibly get you out of prison to hurt my wife again, then I'll end you–" he said calmly in a serious and low tone, moving away from her to open the door and leave.

"–end me? just like you ended Geto?"

she wanted to trigger him, to hit his weakest spot, to make his heart ache like hers and to see him all vulnerable, but he swallowed it, even though the name Geto was killing him and slicing him to pieces for years. His hand clutched the door handle tightly, turning his head, side eyeing her,

"Yes I'll end you just like I ended Geto"

Then he shut the door, leaving her all alone.

Right then, she knew she lost Gojo forever, and her last attempt to convince him by bringing Geto was only another reason for him to hate her even more.

"NO GOJO WAIT, no! don't leave me here! GOJO PLEASE"

She begged and begged, but for nothing he's left already and outside that room her screams are inaudible, no one is able to hear her loud cries, no matter how hard she tries.

..

Gojo reached the other door handle, moving into the next interrogation room,

"Gojo Satoru, we meet again" said Toji with a smirk, his hair falling on his face, his lip bleeding,

"Toji Zenin"

"I go by Fushiguro now"

"And I don't give a fuck, you're a criminal either way"

"Oww, too salty Satoru"

"I don't have time for this kind of chit chat, what was your plan to do to my wife?"

"Kill her obviously, duh!" said Toji rolling his eyes

"You son of a bitch, and you're proud of that, I'm not allowed to kill you, that was the higher ups call so be thankful for that, or else I would have put you through the most terrible death you could possibly think of"

"Are you threatening me? besides it wasn't my plan, it was your side chick's plan"

"The fuck did you say?" said Gojo angrily, taking quick steps to Toji punching him once again, making his nose bleed.

Toji started laughing hysterically,

"Alright you win, you win for the second time Gojo Satoru, but I don't think you won her heart, pity all this effort to save her is for nothing"

"Shut up"

"What? You think now you'll live happy ever after? That you'll start over and become a happy couple? Nah you're egocentric, selfish and fucking arrogant, and you've never known love and never will, I've spent three days with her and I can tell she can't live with someone like you. Both of you are far away from each other, two extremes, too empathetic and too apathetic. She'll leave your ass"

"I SAID SHUT UP" yelled Gojo, once again punching him,

"G-gojo?" said Megumi as he opened the door and witnessed it.

"Megumi?" said Gojo and Toji at the same time,

Megumi looked at Toji with what appeared empty eyes, but in the inside his heart was breaking into pieces.. He shifted his gaze to Gojo,

"Gumi what are you doing here?" asked Satoru

"Came to see you Gojo, you have to go to the hospital Y/n is awake and she was looking for you!!"

"D-did she tell you to l-look for me?" he asked hia heart skipping a beat,

"Nah I just figured out, you better go now"

"Wait aren't you coming with me?"

"No, I have to talk to him"

"Megumi! You know you don't have to stay here, you don't have to talk to him, he'll soon get the punishment he deserves–"

"I know, but he's my father and I need to ask him why!"

"Then I'll stay with you, it's not safe!" he reached to grab Megumi's arm,

"Gojo, please! just go to your wife, she's waiting, don't make her wait any longer! I promise I'll be fine" said Megumi with a smile,

As soon as Gojo left the room, Megumi approached his father standing right in front of him,

"S-son!"

"Why? Why did you do that?" said Megumi in a cold tone,

"Son please!"

"You've almost killed one of my close friends! Y/n is not just a teacher to me, she's my friend as well! and now I can't even look her in the eye, you know why?" he paused, trying to swallow back the lump that formed in his throat making him struggle to talk,

"Because of you! because of the shame I'm feeling whenever I see her or remember that MY FATHER WANTED TO KILL HER JUST TO GET SOME DIRTY MONEY FROM MEI MEI"

"Megumi! you need to listen to me! I had to do that!"

"No, there's no excuse that can get you away for murdering innocent people, first Riko and now attempted to do the same to Y/n just because Mei Mei told you?"

"I did all of this for you, to buy a house, a house that we can all call home! Where we can be a family again, me and you!"

"A family?" said Megumi in a mocking way,

"Yes, we can try again, I can fix everything, and make up for the years that I wasn't by your side–"

"You know what dad!"

"Yes son tell me!"

"I'm glad you left when I was young, I'm glad Gojo raised me and not you, or else I might end up a criminal like you. If my mom was alive she'd be the most disappointed in you, SHE WONT EVEN RECOGNIZE YOU DAD!"

"Megumi don't say please!" said Toji, tears forming in his eyes,

Megumi's words destroyed him because he knows they were true, his wife would be disappointed in him if she was alive.

"You ruined my life dad! Enough of it, stop trying to ruin others' lives just for money, just because you were neglected by the Zenin clan! Don't make others pay for what your clan did to you..." he added, taking steps backwards to leave the room,

"Son wait please! I'm so sorry I caused you all this pain, I'm sorry I wasn't there–"

"Just forget you ever had a son, just like what you did with your humanity....goodbye -dad"

with that he closed the door forever, not only the room's door but the door in his heart that he kept open for his father, wishing that some day, he would repent and fix his mistakes even though he knew deep down they can't be fixed. And now he's finally ready to let go, he can never forgive him for all this mess, for all these mistakes that he willingly committed.

Unable to keep it inside, unable to hide his true, delicate, sensitive self, after maintaining the cold, strong image for too long as a coping mechanism for always feeling inferior than others for being parentless. He finally let out the child thay was kept locked inside, and finally broke down into tears. With each loud sob, his chest rose and heaved with sadness. He cried because of the shame he felt, and because of the fact he's now letting go of his father, once and for all. He cried alone, hugging his knees like a baby, till it became hard to breathe.

..

But was he alone really?

"MEGUMI!!!!"

That voice, the voice that used to annoy him for telling jokes non stop, for laughing really loud and not letting him sleep, that voice now is saving him.

He looked up, his eyes puffy and red with tears.

Yuji and Nobara running towards him, worried expressions drawn on their faces, their eyes wide since it was the first time they see their friend shed a tear. They finally reached him, joining him on the floor.

"Megumi??! what's wrong buddy what happened?" asked Yuji his eyes softening,

"Fushiguro? Is everything okay? Why are you crying did someone hurt you?" asked Nobara her voice shaking with fear and worry.

He just started at them, not saying anything single word. Looking ay their genuine worried and confused faces, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, realizing that his friends got his back, that they won't let him down and most importantly he realized that he doesn't have to feel alone anymore. They truly loved him and cared for him. He was too broken to realize that, he thought his dad abandon him because he hated him, so he grew up with that mindset; his father hates him let alone people out there. But now, finally realizing that love, friendship saved him, from himself, from his dark thoughts and now he can start anew.

Nobara waved her hand on front of his face,

"Hey Fushiguro??"

Without saying anything he hugged both of them, finally feeling the love he's been rejecting. Allowing himself to feel it for the first time and damn it felt good to have someone care for you, it made his heart at ease.

He hugged them really tight, refusing to let go, without hesitation they hugged him back in a comforting way, their warmth radiating.

"Awww Fushiguro-Kun is being soft" chuckled Nobara

"Shuh Nobara, we love this version of Megumi, geez didn't know you're a good hugger Fushiguro" said Yuji smiling,

"Aaaaa why'd you ruin the moment guys" groaned Megumi

"Nah nah we're sorry, we're just wondering where's the real Megumi and what did you do to him" she added,

"Nah it's the real Megumi here, you just unlocked a premium version. Get used to it" said Megumi pulling away from the hug a smile still decorating his face.

"Well for sure we'll get used to it" said Yuji and Nobara at the same time.

"Wait!! did you leave Y/n alone at the hospital, till Gojo arrives?" said Megumi in a moment of realization.

"Nah nah she's home now, we brought her at the dorms" explained Yuji

"Oh shit"

"What?"

"Gojo went to the hospital to see Y/n, so he won't find her there"

"Come on, he's a married man, his wife would tell him" said Nobara smirking

"Wasn't she supposed to spend the day there, till Shoko makes sure she's fine?" he asked again,

"Yeah but after you left the room to get Gojo she insisted to leave as well, she said she was feeling okay and doesn't need to stay there" exclaimed Nobara.

*At The Hospital*

Gojo pushed open the door of the room that you were in. A mix of anticipation and stress took over him, not knowing how he would behave in front of you, is he gonna hold your hand, kiss you? What was he going to say? Baby? My love? I missed you? All these thoughts disappeared when he found the room empty, devoid of your presence. Confusion clouded his features as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the surroundings, trying to find any of your belongings, but there was absolutely nothing. Anxiety took over him, his heart racing inside his chest. He got really scared, thinking that someone abducted you, still terrified from the last incident that happened to you. With shaky hands he reached his phone to call one of his students, but before he can do he received a message from Nanami informing him that they moved you out of the hospital and took you to the dorms to rest there.

He let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, calming down slowly.

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the edge of the bed, blaming himself for not being there when you woke up.

*Flashback*

You laid unconscious on the hospital bed after being treated by Shoko. No one was there except Gojo. He held your hand tightly, staring at your soft features as you were in your pretty slumber.

"I'm here Y/n, my beautiful wife, my princess" he whispered to you as you slept.

"I'm sorry, please wake up..wake up so I can tell you how much I love you, how bad I want to make you mine, how I want to fix things and start anew with you as a true husband, a husband that will love you, care for you and protect you, I won't let anyone hurt you.." he paused, remembering the state he found you in, on the floor, bloody nose, shirt almost torn off, his body tensed up.

"I'll punish them for what they had done to you" he added and left the room heading to the interrogation rooms at Jujutsu High.

*End of flash back*

*Time skip, night time*

Your students and Nanami already brought you everything you might need; food, water, some snacks and some manga books that Yuji gave to you to pass time.

You laid your back on the bed frame, grabbed a bag of chips, a manga book and started reading enjoying your own company, trying your best to distract yourself from thinking about Satoru.

Engrossed in the pages of your book and in your own world, the soft rustle of the door opening brought you back to reality. You already knew who it was, it was your husband Satoru. Even though, you were distant from each other, you got used to his footsteps. He closed the door behind and greeted you gently,

"Hii Y/n"

However, you remained absorbed in your reading, refusing to look up at him or even greet him back. He thought you were too focused on the book and didn't notice him arriving so he cleared his throat, attempting to get your attention this time and said,

"A-are you feeling better now? How's your leg?"

But again you remained silent, as if he wasn't in the room, as if his voice was inaudible to you. He received the message and realized that you don't wanna talk to him, and he respected your decision, he chose to not push too far especially that you're still traumatized from what happened to you.

With a resigned sigh, he took some clean clothes from the dresser, and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower that might wash the tiredness away. The sound of the running warm water that fell on his body mingled with the quiet of the room, a gentle reminder of the distance between you and him.

You put the book on your nightstand, and shut your eyes, you tried to go to sleep before he joins you again, you've already took your decision, you'll ignore him, you'll distance yourself even more, you won't let him pity you and help you because he feels sorry for what had happened to you. You refused to be the victim, you won't allow anyone to feel bad for you.

...

Opening the door again, he found you fast asleep, hugging your pillow for comfort. He smiled to himself as he saw your sleeping face.

He missed being in your presence, even if you were only sleeping. He dried his hair and then gently approached the bed, already dressed in his pajamas. The mattress sank as he joined you, getting under the covers. He used his elbow to keep himself up a bit while he watched you sleep. Your pouty lips that he craves to kiss, your soft skin that he wants to caress, your chest that rose and fell with each breath. It was the small details that made him fall for you, that made you so special. He was watching and watching till your comfy sight lulled him to sleep, and now he joined you, his head next to yours, his arms fell on your waist as he spooned you. Finally both of you not only sleeping under the same roof again all safe and sound, but being this close to each other.

.....

You woke up in the morning to him all over you, his arm laid comfortably on top of you. You rubbed your eyes, thinking it was a dream but it was reality. As much as it made the butterflies in your stomach go crazy, it made you feel sad as well. And the small smile that instinctively formed on your lips, disappeared.

"Maybe he just rolled over" you said to yourself, still convinced that whatever he was doing was everything and anything but love.

You pushed his hand away, getting ready to get breakfast with the rest of teachers and students as well. You missed those mornings, with Nobara talking nonstop, Panda eating everything on the table and Nanami annoyed whenever principal Yaga announced a new mission. You felt like family, you felt included but it's always something missing, the true love, the love of your husband.

It is indeed hard to live a one sided love story, realizing your feelings towards Gojo were more of a problem than a realization, maybe it could have been a lot easier if they remained undiscovered, because starting from today you'll live with the fact that your husband that you fell head over heels with doesn't reciprocate your feelings, at least that's what your mind told you.

The mind works in mysterious ways, sometimes when you're used to some kind of feeling, it becomes like a drug, so when you experience another feeling you always find a way to include that specific feeling again. And that's the case for you, you've been feeling lonely and unloved your whole life, and you thought you'd be feeling that way for the rest of your life not even giving yourself a chance to ask if he feels the same.

...

You walked towards the table, the food was ready, the scent of coffee was intoxicating. Your students already there, excited for food like every single morning.

"OH Y/N - SENSEI GOOD MORNING" said Yuji excitedly,

"Good morning Sensei" said the other students in union with a big smile.

You nodded smiling at their morning energy that was circulating in the air,

"Good morning everyone"

Nanami and Shoko joined, followed by Principal Yaga and then Gojo who came running and out of breath looking for you, but then letting a deep sigh once he saw you sitting around the table safe and happy. It became his new freshly unlocked fear; you not being by his side.

"Oh you're here" he mumbled,

"Huh Gojo what's up with that face? did you see a ghost?" said Principal Yaga

"I'm fine" he shrugged and then joined you, sitting on the chair that was right next to you.

He gazed at you, clearing his throat,

"You woke up early today, I thought about bringing you food to bed so you don't have to tire yourself" he started almost whispering.

You shoved the spoon full of rice in your mouth, not bothering to look at him. The others exchanged gazes but started eating shortly, not wanting to get into your business. Gojo started eating as well thinking about ways to approach you or find a key to start even a small conversation and get you to talk to him.

"So Y/n are you feeling better?" asked Nanami

"Yeah much better actually, thank you Nanami!" you smiled,

And Gojo felt his heart crash, as if he received a stab right in the chest. He wished it was him you were smiling at.

"Yuji can you pass me the salt please?" you said gently,

but before Yuji could reach it, Gojo already snatched it from in front of him and gave it to you,

"Here!" he said with a silly smile,

You poked the inside of your cheek and took the salt from him not even looking at him.

"Um Y/n–" started Satoru but you cut him off by starting a conversation with Yaga sensei.

"By the way Sensei, I feel like I'm ready to start teaching again–"

"WHAT NO!" yelled Satoru

You raised your eyebrow,

"You need to rest Y/n, you've been through a lot" he added worriedly.

But you ignored his concern and his comment and shifted your gaze to Principal Yaga again,

"My students must be missing my classes"

"But y/n Gojo is right! You need to rest! it's been only one day" exclaimed Principal Yaga

"I'm feeling okay!" you said smiling.

"Alright then, do as you please but don't tire yourself, okay?" said Yaga sensei with a smile

You nodded smiling.

"Y/n please, you've been through a traumatic experience, this phase is the hardest even if you're not realizing it" said Gojo with worried eyes.

But you ignored him again, getting up from the table, wiping your mouth with a napkin heading to your room to get ready for a day full of teaching.

......

It was a long day full of laugher with your students, they did everything they could to make sure you were comfortable and happy. Especially Yuji he acted extra silly to get you to laugh uncontrollably. They wanted to help you forget about the terrifying experience as soon as possible.

You were in the balcony at night, enjoying the night sky, getting back to your favorite night activity, watching the stars. It always put a smile on your face. It reminded you of how vast our universe is and how small our problems seem in front of it.

"sensei?"

You looked back,

"hm Megumi? are you okay?"

"Yeah! is it okay if w-we talk a bit?"

"Sure Gumi, tell me!" you replied with a soft grin, now giving him your full attention, anticipating his words

"I–I w-wanted to apologize!" he said looking down at his feet unable to meet your gaze

"Hm? for what?"

"I - I'm sorry sensei, I'm ashamed of what my father did to you, he doesn't represent me, I'm not like him and I completely oppose it, always been I–" he said nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

"Megumi" you started, placing your hands on his shoulders,

"I know who you are! I know how kind, caring and loving you are! You don't need to apologize, you don't need to explain anything. It's not your fault that your dad chose the wrong path, so don't ever blame yourself! Stand proud Megumi! You are an amazing student, an amazing person and an amazing friend of mine" you insisted giving him a light squeeze.

"Really?"

"Yes you are! Don't ever doubt yourself! come here" you added and pulled him into a warm hug.

.........

*2 days later*

"Yaga sensei, since Toji is in prison now what about Y/n and I go back to our house?" suggested Gojo.

"Huh? Why the rush you don't like it here?"

"No it's not like that, it's just since our marriage we had to live here so it would be nice to go back to our own house"

"I like it here" you said out of the blue, showing that you refuse to live with him in a vast house alone.

"But y/n, our house is big, you'll feel more comfortable there, our room is waiting for you–"

"Oh Yaga sensei I thought about making a writing test as well not only a practical one" you said cutting Satoru off, as if his words didn't matter.

Starting a new conversation, totally neglecting him. Everyone around the table noticed it but have no right to interfere. Your inside was screaming, wanting to give in and move back to your house again where you can live only you and your husband, enjoy each other's company and privacy but it was complicated, life is not a movie scene and you can't wipe away the bad memories easily.

*Time skip*

You were in the balcony, waiting for the sunset. You've been lying to yourself, thinking that teaching again and distracting yourself with some jokes would make you forget about the hell Toji and Mei Mei put you through. You were already suffering from anxiety and this incident made it worse. You were getting a good night sleep just because you were using the pills that Shoko gave to you or else you'll wake up screaming from your night terrors, from the trauma you had lived. You started getting random panic attacks whenever you were alone, your hands would get all sweaty and start shaking, cold sweat dripping from your forehead and you felt like being choked.

Maybe it would have been easier if you told them what you truly felt and not pretending to be okay. Maybe it would have been a lot easier if you confessed your true feelings to Satoru even if he rejects you.

A tear rolled down your cheek, knowing that it got worse and that Gojo did a mistake by saving you. Maybe the world would be a better place without you. You felt useless and a heavier burden now, going back to teaching to prove yourself useful in something, only to find your students pitying you and trying to help you instead of you helping them. With a deep breath, lost in your thoughts, you came to a conclusion, that leaving is the best option. It's been weeks and your curse didn't break, and you've already lost faith that it would break, and you can't live on false hope that one day you'll become a sorcerer and make your family proud. You feel like your husband that was forced to marry you, is now forced to take care of you and treat you differently because you were the unlucky one to get kidnapped by one the most dangerous murderers. Your family won't accept you or treat you fairly as long as you remain a monkey with no curse energy.

"It's all related" you chuckled to yourself,

You checked your phone, and credit card, already clothed in your jacket to protect you from the cold.

You took a moment to watch the sunset first, it was mesmerizing, the color degradation representing different phases.

"Sunsets are a living proof that endings can be beautiful too" you said to yourself.

You started walking away, leaving Jujutsu High behind, not knowing where your legs would take you but at least you know you'll be safe, Mei Mei and Toji are in prison now. You just wanted to get far away from everyone, you knew you didn't fit anywhere, you don't belong anywhere. So maybe you'll start as a normal simple human, with a normal simple job. It broke you to run away from them, you considered them a family and you knew you'll carry all those beautiful memories with you whenever you go, but what broke you the most, is leaving Gojo without a proper goodbye, but for your self-respect you chose not to give him another reason to feel sorry for you.

*Time skip*

"SENSEI! SENSEI HAVE YOU SEEN Y/N?" asked Gojo as he rushed downstairs after asking literally everyone and they said no.

"No!"

Panic coursed through his veins,

"Sensei what if someone abducted her again?"

"Relax Gojo, she's not a kid I'm sure she's safe, Toji is imprisoned so is Mei Mei, I'm sure she just went for a night stroll"

Gojo looked at him in disbelief, and left Jujutsu High and start searching for you, maybe he's being paranoid now and scared by the slightest thing but he can't afford to lose you, not again.

...

He searched everywhere, anywhere possible, he even went to Mei Mei's house to make sure you weren't there even though he knows damn well that both of them are paying for their mistakes. He check every corner, every street, every alley but you're nowhere to be found.

He started sweating, his heart hammering against his ribcage, feeling the sky narrowing around him and suffocating him.

"Where are you y/n, please!" he said to himself.

He paused when a thought crossed his mind, he knows you're a space enthusiast. You enjoy watching the clear night sky and chase the stars, but to do so you need an excluded area, away from Tokyo lights. A hill 2 hours away from Jujutsu High, but it's Satoru, he doesn't need 2 hours to reach that hill in a matter of seconds he found himself there.

It was dark, but he could see a figure standing, head's up to the sky. The city light bellow on full display. He knew right away that it was you. He wanted to announce his presence to not scare you, so with a soft voice he spoke,

"y/n?"

Yoh turned around, looking at him in disbelief. Without saying anything you started to walk away but he rushed towards you and grabbed your arm,

"Wait y/n please talk to me!"

"Satoru leave me alone"

"No! no I'm not leaving you alone, not this time! Why are you ignoring me? Why are you being being so cold towards me? I understand it was my fault and I'm so fucking sorry about it but please talk to me–"

"Satoru! For god's sake, let me go, let me live, let me try a new start away from all of this"

"Why? you can start anew here? with us! with me!"

"No you don't understand! I don't belong to your world, I don't belong here! I'm sick of it" you explained a tear fell down,

"You belong with me y/n, please let me help you"

"I don't fucking need your help, I don't need anyone's fucking help, I'm tired of being the one in need, I'm tired of being the one who needs to be saved. Because no one of you will, and because it's so fucking degrading, I'm sick of myself, sick of not being able to protect myself-"

"Y/n you're not realizing your potential, please don't rush things!"

"Don't rush things? It's been weeks Satoru and nothing worked, I can't let you go through this, you deserve to be with someone like you, you deserve to be with someone strong, a sorcerer not a talentless human. It's over okay!! I was ready to send you the divorce papers so you don't need worry about anything, I'm no longer a burden, and you won't take my responsibility, I know you're sick of me and of all this prophecy shit" you paused,

looking straight into his blue eyes, if you could trade the night sky for his eyes then you would, you would choose to look deep into those blue canvas. You wanted to take into his face, to stare longer memorizing his features so they take a longer time to fade from your memory.

"Rejoice Satoru, you're free!" you said and freed yourself from his grasp, walking away,

His heart beats escalated, watching you walk away. No it can't be, you can't leave him, not when he realized that he couldn't breathe without you, not when he realized he can't sleep without your scent in the room.

"No, you can't leave me"

He grabbed you again, pulling you against him,

"I can Satoru, that's what you fucking wanted so don't act like you don't want it"

"I'm not acting, I don't want you to leave"

"Why? So you can feel less guilty by making it up for me even if you don't want it?"

"NO!"

"Then fucking why?"

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!"

A moment of silence fell over the place, looking into each other's eyes, only your heavy breathing is being heard,

"I love you y/n, I love you so fucking much that I can't take it anymore, I love you that the only thing I can focus on is you, I lOVE YOU THAT I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF IT MEANS I GET TO BE WITH YOU, BECAUSE YOU'RE MY HEAVEN Y/N, YOU'RE MY BLESSING. I WAS YOUR CURSE AND I HATE MYSELF FOR THAT, BUT LOVE, LOVE MADE ME A FOOL, A FOOL FOR YOU"

You didn't say a word, you were too shocked, words still processing in your mind. You froze, trying to figure out if it was a dream or a reality. But when he crashed his lips on yours, you knew it was real, by the way his soft plump lips felt on yours. His big hands grabbing your waist pulling you towards his body that was screaming, yelling for you, for your touch. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation, a sensation you dreamt of for many nights, and days. Daydreaming, wondering how his lips would taste.

Instinctively your hands moved around his neck, pulling him closer. Your breath mixing, breathing each other in and out. Kissing each other so passionately as if your lives depend on it as if the world stops rotating, the clock stops ticking, and humans stops breathing. Only you and him in a vast world.

He pulled away, intoxicated by your taste, his eyes full of love and lust at the same time, growing impatient as the seconds passed by, the he spoke with a foggy voice,

"Let's go to our house, our home, tonight I'll make you mine and you'll make me yours.. let me do your duty as your husband, allow me to get a taste of you and get a taste of me"

Your chest rose and fell, feeling the electricity run in your system, turning you on even more.

"mhm" you nodded, you'd follow him everywhere even to your decease.

You were ready to finally give yourself to him, to allow him to do as he pleases to you and you do as you please to him. Finally, a few moments till you become a real husband and wife, a few moments till you taste heaven.

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[phan3145]

Title: Slippery Slope. Fandom: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Implications, Possessive and aggressive behavior ) Pairing: Eventual Noa x Human!Reader.

***Notes: I will be going on a HIATUS for a few weeks. Work is switching over tech this week to new software I need to learn, and then next week is my one year anniversary with my husband. We are going to swim with dolphins at Discovery Cove in Florida! I’m excited, but I’ll be writing in my free time and banking chapters so everyone will have more regular Wednesday updates when I return. Until then, thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting up to this point. You all mean the world to me ❤️

Chapter 10: Bad Words, Bad Feelings

Noa

When she turned, the look in her eyes had him wanting to kneel on all fours in submission. Ridiculous. He was Master of Birds, he submitted to no one. Anaya did not have the same title as him, actively looking down and shuffling back a step. He would have teased him for it, for his submission to an Echo, if the next step she took did not have him questioning his own assurance. He fought his spine’s urge to bend, remaining upright by sheer will.

Her anger was somewhat confusing, but it became clearer as she demanded, “Is that what I am to you? A pest?”

Ah. That seemed to be the cause of her mood shift. He tried to explain the situation, hoping to calm her, “Humans are…considered pests…to my clan…they have never met…a good Echo…that could speak.”

Unfortunately, this did the opposite of what he had intended. She took another step towards him, hands balled into fists at her sides. He knew she was not foolish enough to try to fight him, let alone hit him, but the idea itself was amusing to think about. He recalled her nails digging into his shoulders a few days ago, that was probably the most pain she could inflict on him if she tried. Still, he had seen that look in her eyes once before. Only once, during a time in his life that seemed so long ago now. It was when Mae had killed Lightening, using her human weapon to save Soona. It was angry, it was resolute, and there was a trace of fear behind it all.

“If we’re such pests, and you had to convince your elders, then why even bring me?” She asked, shuffling in place as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to take another step forward or go back.

“I had…no choice,” he admitted. “You…saved my life…you..spend time with…Master of Birds…but do not…show yourself…makes apes…uneasy.”

“No choice…” she muttered, looking away from him and back towards the village.

He could see many expressions dance across her face, her eyes distant as she seemed to be thinking on his words. Whether that was a good or bad thing, he could not say. He noticed the muscle along her jaw become more prominent, before her head snapped back to him like a cobra strike, eyes holding heat worse than fire. This time, he did flinch back. It was scary, how Echos could be calm and docile, then turn like a wild animal ready to defend its existence. He did not understand it.

Her voice raised, louder than he had heard it before, “No choice? There’s always a choice! There should always be a choice. What frustrates me the most about this, is you say you didn’t have one, but I know that’s not true! You’re the Master of Birds, no one…higher than me, remember? You expect me to believe you didn’t have a choice?”

He could not meet her eye, casting his gaze downwards. He had a choice. Of course he did…though it really did not feel like one. He had responsibilities now, he was no longer a youngling. He could not keep running off with his Sunset Brother and Sister to visit a strange Echo as if his life had no purpose. The clan demanded more of him, they needed a leader who was present. Anaya and Soona deserved better from their leader too, having to assist him on days they did not see you to make up for the days they did. They each would hunt and gather food equal to three apes, while he tended to eagles and prepared for Big Climbs of this season’s apes.

Though she also assisted with gathering, there was only so much an Echo and three horses could carry. It would be better if he could bring a larger party, but that meant not seeing his Echo, or worse, scaring her. That is what it came down to. He was choosing her comfort- choosing her, over his clan. If she could just meet them, maybe even be accepted as part of his clan, then he would not have to choose. There would be no choice.

The elders of course, were the cause of this. They learned of his meetings with an Echo, smelling her on him when he returned from their visit to the library. They ‘advised’ him to either chase her away, to avoid further distraction, or present her to them so that they may learn her scent and know her. She was not a threat of course, so that should be no problem. The real problem was, if her first exposure to apes of the clan after everything she had been through was the elders, then she would never come back. The elders were…elders. They would not treat her with the respect she deserved immediately, if at all. They still did not care for Humans. Mae certainly had not helped his cause either. He thought his mother, the younglings, and a few apes only a season or two younger than him might be enough to sway her opinion in a positive favor towards his clan.

She scoffed, his continued silence stretching too long for her liking. “I knew it. And when we first met you accused me of being a liar.”

“I did not…lie.” He growled, gaze jumping back to hers. He made sure his canines were not bared, anger creeping up on him now as he confessed, “The other option…was not a choice…I had to…think of my clan.”

“Of course! Oh, and since we’re on the subject of choice,” she was quick to add. “Were you going to give me a choice? You didn’t think it might be important to tell me that you were blindly leading me to your village of apes?”

Shame burned the pit of his stomach, knowing he was untrue when it came to this. She was right, and oh, how he hated it. Still, he could only argue, “Thought…it would be better…if I did not…if you could…only meet apes.”

“I have met apes, Noa.” She hissed, teeth bared now as she paced towards him, stopping with only a few inches separating them.

Any other time, he would enjoy being this close, her scent becoming this familiar yet ever changing thing that he had memorized countless versions of. It brought comfort to him, certain scents of hers calling forth memories he had shared with her in private. He did not understand how or why her scent was not constant, but he decided he did not dislike it. At present, her being this close, hissing and baring her teeth? Her scent was an unwelcome distraction, forcing him to fight the natural instinct to bare his own canines and force her to yield to him. He did not like this feeling of having to defend himself from her. It was not natural, as an ape or as her companion.

“You know I’ve met apes before. You also know what they took from me, and what that has done to me.” She continued, voice lowering. It was softer in volume, but harder in tone, like it was coming from the back of her throat. It sounded hurt. “You know this, because I told you. I told you because I trusted you. I have never trusted an ape like I trusted you. That’s because you were never like them, Noa. Never. Not once.”

He felt his own rising anger cool and mellow, hearing her praise him even while hurt by his actions. She wasn’t done though, “Today was different…you were different. Instead of setting yourself apart like you always do, instead of being the Noa I’ve come to know…you took the choice away from me. You decided for me because you believed that you knew better. This is why I live alone, no one gets to make decisions for me. Especially not an ape.”

“Trying to fix…” He began, but she cut him off.

“You don’t get to argue this!” She said, raising a finger to point at him, “Just because I trusted you, doesn’t mean you suddenly get to make decisions for me. You’re trying to fix something that’s not broken! The way I react, the way I am, it’s what keeps me alive! But why am I surprised? This is the way apes are. With enough power and time, you and your clan will become just like them.”

The words stung, and he gritted his teeth, lips pulled down as far as he could over them, “Not..true.”

“No?” She questioned, “How are you any different? You and your clan already see humans as pests, something lesser than you, to be chased away. Do you think that’s any different from how they saw me?”

A part of him recoiled on the inside, remembering similar words he had spoken to Raka regarding Echos. He did not know then, but he knew now, and that is not how he saw her. “You are not lesser…but you are…alone…you do not have to be…apes in clan would…welcome you.”

“You think so?” She challenged.

“Know…they would.” He replied, “Anaya…and Soona did.”

Her eyes cut then to Anaya, who was swaying on his feet, arms tucked into his chest, taking in everything happening around him. He looked as if he wanted to leave, but also would not tear himself away from their Echo while she was upset. He had become strangely loyal to her…though maybe he was not the only one. Her gaze returned to him, something underlying in her tone as she argued, “Not every ape is like Anaya and Soona.”

“Come and…see for yourself.” He tried, grasping for her. His palm connected with hers, and he had just started to curl his fingers around her wrist, when she swiftly ripped her hand away. She avoided his touch, a first for them, and took several steps back, completely out of his reach. He saw her overlap both arms across her chest, hiding her hands away from him within the crook of her elbows.

It was another sting, but he refused to chase after her. “You said…did not give you…a choice…I chose…because I know…you would have…chosen to run…like you always do.”

Her eyes went almost comically wide before narrowing, “Excuse me?”

“You are…afraid.” He continued, thinking he could potentially goad her into following him. “Ridiculous…dumb…Eagle Clan…would not harm you…yet Echo is…scared…so scared…always scared…of apes…jumbled.”

With every word her breathing increased, hands clenching and jaw tightening. Anaya, seeing the same thing he did, grunted, “Noa…stop.”

He raised his arms, keeping them wide as he challenged, “Prove…wrong.”

She stood there, unblinking as she stared him down. He thought she would march back up the hill, so strong willed and stubborn when she wanted to be. A few more silent moments passed before she finally decided to respond. He could not have predicted the next words out of her mouth.

“No.” She said, no anger or malice in her tone. It was flat, emotionless. That scared him.

His arms bent, lowering slowly as he parroted, confused, “No?”

Her steps were strong, purposeful, her shoulders back and head raised as she devoured the distance she had placed between them. Though her movements were not threatening by any means, he tried to keep some space between them, feeling his breath become heavy in his chest when a tree suddenly met his back. There was something about her now, this new stance, that made his own mind jumbled. He forced himself to focus as she spoke, “No. I do not have to prove anything to you, I owe you absolutely nothing. Not my time, not my attention, not my life, and certainly not my trust.”

His brows furrowed, “You…would rather run away…than trust my clan…trust that I…would not let anything…happen to you?”

Her words were scathing as she answered. “Let me explain this to you in a way your chimp brain can understand. I want nothing to do with your clan…or you, Master of Birds.”

“Echo does not…mean that.” Anaya interjected, finally stepping forward and somewhat in between the two of them. “Echo is…upset…Noa is wrong.”

He huffed at that, “Echo thinks…but it is true…she will always…be afraid…if she runs now.”

She pivoted around Anaya as he attempted to edge her away from him. “What are you trying to accomplish here? Do you think I’ll meet your clan and just forget what happened to me? Or are you naïve enough to think your clan will suddenly accept an Echo pest because you told them to? I’m not an ape!”

“As good as,” he countered.

She scoffed, “Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Only human…would think being called ape…is an insult.” He snorted, realizing how this was the first time in a very long while he referred to her as a human and not an Echo. When he had actually begun to separate the two terms, he was not sure. “Having the mark…will be enough…for most to…accept you.”

Her hand rose to her crown, eyes narrowing in what he believed was confusion, “The mark is enough? Why? Because there is no other ape who currently has it?”

He puffed out air from his cheeks and rolled his eyes at that, “Echo is naïve…there has never been…anything other than ape…to wear the mark.”

“So, what?” She shrugged, “I’m the first Echo, that doesn’t change anything.”

“Changes everything!” He snarled, the fact she didn’t understand the importance of her situation frustrated him. “You are not only first Echo…but first outsider to wear it…only meant for apes…of the Eagle Clan...symbol of belonging...stronger than…my word as leader…cannot be undone…once honor has been granted…that is why…I did not want to give it…in the first place.”

There was silence, her body almost going slack, allowing Anaya to push her back a few steps with ease. She looked surprised, as if a tree limb had smacked her during a climb, one she did not see. He had seen that look many times before. Even Anaya, noticing her expression, simply let his hands rest on her arm. She was far enough away now not to be considered a challenge, his mind reeling before quickly righting itself. He knew better, with humans, they were more of a challenge when they were silent than when they spoke. He waited for another turn, for her to lash out when the shock wore off.

“That’s why Soona and Anaya…” she trailed off. “Why give it to me then? You didn’t want to, and it’s not as if I was aware of what it meant.”

Still, she did not understand! She was important to Anaya and Soona, and whether he liked it or not, she was important to him. She was not an ape and she was not part of his clan, but with her defense of them from the boar, she had earned it. There were witnesses, and Soona had called upon him as a worthy leader to bestow it. He had been unsure when both Soona and Anaya pushed for the honor to be bestowed. It was not as simple as it being against The Law, that would have made his argument easy, it had never been done before! He believed it impossible.

To make it possible, he had practically re-written The Law for her. His first true act as leader; not to present a new birth to the clan, or celebrate a completed bonding of ape and eagle, but to bestow the mark of Eagle Protector on an Echo! The elders passed must have felt great shame- it was completely against ape tradition. He was more ashamed that he was not more true when the time came. He tried, but when Anaya had asked him to vocalize the reason for his refusal, he could not. He was too afraid that to say she was not ape, would hurt her. Ridiculous. She was not, she said it herself just now.

It was his own jumbled spirit that lead to his decision to honor her. He had been terrified for her safety when she had taken his horse and engaged in battle with the boar. He felt helpless, Anaya and Soona too far away to coordinate with, and no trees for him to use to assist her if she needed it. He owed her his life already, but more than that, there was a fire inside of him that screamed out that she was his to protect, and he was hers. It had been a dull sound in the back of his mind since they met, which became louder the more time he spent with her. It had reached deafening heights when he saw her body hit the ground and then go still, blocking out everything else around him as he ran to her.

He had been so angry, and so relieved to see that she was mostly fine. He was more impressed by her display of capability, that he knew that to not honor her would be wrong. It had soothed that fire inside him, to see her wearing his mark, but that same screaming terror returned when he could not wake her later that night. The only thing he had been able to think about while she slept was what would have happened if she had been alone in the same situation. She was so smart, protecting and providing for herself, which was appealing, very admirable in an Echo alone. It was not suitable. She needed someone to take care of her, to provide for her, at least in times when she was sick or injured. She was more than worthy of a capable mate to live out her days with. Someone should take care of her.

“Noa!” She snapped, pulling him from his thoughts. He was no closer to understanding the right thing to say as she looked at him. Her eyes were full of hurt and betrayal, her body looking as if it was on the verge of collapse. “Answer me. Tell me why!”

“Sh-Shelter is not…home.” He began, carefully. He did not want to be at odds with her, and he did not want to hurt her. He needed her to understand, to know that what he did, he did with good intentions. “Echo would be…difficult to accept…apes do not trust…Echo for…good reason…but if Echo arrived…wearing mark of Eagle clan…mark of honor…then you would be welcomed as any other…clan member would.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You gave me the mark so they would know I’m trustworthy, that I’m not dangerous?”

“You are…dangerous.” He amended, “Mark…shows that…but to wear it…also shows that… you would…one day welcome…a place not only…amongst the three of us…but amongst the clan…a bond…belonging…a home.”

“I would never join your clan,” she spat quickly. She found her strength again, his careful wording seeming to cause that other turn he had been concerned about. She swatted Anaya’s hand away as he attempted to pull her back once more. “Stop touching me Anaya! What do you think I’m going to do to Noa?”

“Sorry,” Anaya grunted. “Not afraid…of what…you will do.”

Her brow raised at that turning from Anaya to him, “Really? Does that mean I should be afraid of what you will do, Noa?”

“Petty human,” he muttered, his instincts flaring once more at her obvious aggression.

“What was that?” She mocked, “I couldn’t hear you over your own pride!”

He was done holding back, she certainly was not. What good had it done him anyway? The more he tried to reason with her, the more she gnashed her teeth. Might as well be the brutish ape she was accusing him of being. He raised himself to his full height, pushing back from the tree and bridging the small distance Anaya had managed to put between them, baring his canines as he roared, “You are ungrateful…selfish…only care for yourself!”

She pushed her shoulders back, stepping forward to be toe to toe with him, not afraid to look him directly in the eye as she screamed back, “Ungrateful? Selfish? Are you sure that’s not you? I don’t care? You forget, I taught you how to read!”

She had him there, but something was wrong with his mind. He could not concede, he needed to win now. “Better off…thanks to apes…would not leave…your hole in the ground…without us!”

“Better off? Better off! I was just fine before you came into my life!” Her eyes were red, but there were no tears, not yet, and he had to wonder if Echo’s cried when they were angry too. “Can you say the same?”

“Yes!” He answered, without really thinking about it. “If Echo was not here…would make life…much easier!”

“If Echo was not here, you would be dead!” Her voice cracked as she screamed that final word.

There was silence for a few racing heartbeats. She seemed to be panting, and it was echoing in the forest around them. No, that was his own breaths. He was panting just as hard as she was, anger physically rolling off of them both. She would not bend, and he would not bend. He felt the fingers of his left hand twitch, something in him whispering that he should make her bend. His canines were pushed further into his gums then, he ground them in harshly, attempting to force that thought from his mind.

What she said was true, and that brought him pleasure as much as it brought him frustration. Those two emotions were mingling his thoughts together, and her scent-…it was different today. Past the bitter and sour smell of her anger, there was something else. It was the same smell as before. The one that made him want to get closer to her, made him lose the ability to speak, but this time it was…more. It was something he wanted to investigate, to understand. Where was it coming from? How much closer would he need to be to find it? She was practically on top of him now, and still he felt too…

Too close. He was too close.

He was breaking an unspoken promise right now, and if she were not so angry she would know that too. Angry…she was too angry. He was too jumbled to think clearly, and her scent was too enticing. He needed to get her away somehow. He would not touch her, fearing that would only make things worse between them. He could only speak a half truth now, hoping to push her away using his words like he had before.

“No longer…in danger,” he huffed. “Do not…need Echo…to be here…anymore.”

“Fine!” She growled, turning abruptly away from him, “Then I won’t be here! You don’t need anything from me, and I don’t need anything from you!”

“Noa…Echo please…stop.” Anaya pleaded, following alongside her, “Both are…untrue…bad words…from bad feelings…friends do not…mean it.”

She stopped, turning abruptly to Anaya, eyes searching for something in his features. Her brows furrowed and her face crumpled, “I wish I could believe that.”

Anaya visibly shrunk, releasing sorrowful hoots, looking helplessly between their Echo and him. He snorted through his nose, unwilling to back down. She was wrong. He was wrong too, but he believed he had more than earned her trust. She obviously did not trust either of them as much as she said she did. If she did, she would have agreed to go to the village. She turned then, eyeing him up and down before raising a shaking hand to her head.

Shaking? When did that start?

She removed his gift, hair sticking up in places as she gently pulled it away. She stared at it, thumb grazing over the eagle mark. He saw the sadness reflected in her gaze, before she tossed it at his feet. It landed in front of him with a dull thud, mocking him as a dirt cloud swirled up around it. He felt the anger and desire to win melt away from him, eyes seeking hers out as his jaw went slack. Something in his chest physically hurt now, feeling as if he was back in that burning tower, plummeting to the ground and unable to do anything to stop it.

“Echo…?” Anaya questioned, hesitating as he watched her. She turned to his Sunset brother, mournful smile obvious as she reached for his neck and brought her head forward to meet his. He heard her whisper something to Anaya, but could not tell what it was. As she pulled away, Anaya’s hand hovered over her arm, but he chose at the last second not to touch her. Anaya turned to him then, begging, “Noa…fix…please.”

He reached down to pick up the crown, straightening up and locking gazes with her once more. She was watching him, her anger seeming to have completely vanished. With his own mysteriously missing, all that was left now was regret and shame. He did not know what to say, how to stop this, or how to fix it. She visibly swallowed, tears clear in her eyes, “I don’t need it. I don’t belong to…your clan.”

He could not argue with her. Her words were true, but there was a strange ache in his chest that told him those were not the words she wished to say. Instead, he nodded. He thought he heard a high pitched noise, like a whimper from her, but it was so faint it could have been his imagination. He opened his mouth, but found words had deserted him again. They had fled to her, as she hummed, “It was nice while it lasted…goodbye, Noa.”

The words caused him to feel cold, an awful realization dawning on him. Did she mean forever? She turned and began to walk away. Was she leaving for good? He had to know! He called after her, first using the term Echo, but when she did not react, he called her name. Still, she did not stop.

He called her name again, “Stop…come back!”

He took several large steps to try to bridge the space between them, when she suddenly became a blur of movement. She had crouched to the ground, straightening up and spinning around at the same time, before he felt an intense pain in his jaw. His left hand came up to clutch his muzzle, hearing Anaya gasp and screech, jumping back a few paces.

He looked down, finding a stone at his feet. His movements were sluggish now, head turning up to see her arm raised, another matching stone resting in her palm. It was poised to be thrown. The surprise was so intense he could not find it within himself to react. She on the other hand, was still shaking, shifting from foot to foot, arm still raised. It shook too. Her breathing was shallow as she said, “I’m leaving. You can’t stop me, so don’t try to.”

He nodded again, huffing several times through his nose while backing away from her. Anaya shuffled over to stand next to him, looking just as shocked as he felt. Her shaking became less intense, but did not stop. She finally lowered her arm, eyes darting to the stone in her hand before shifting to the one on the ground. She looked distraught as she stared at it. Did she not know she had thrown it at him? Had she acted out of instinct?

One thing was for certain, she was leaving. She had dropped the rock in her hand and taken off in a full sprint before he could blink. She was soon out of their line of sight, and that seemed to finally shake Anaya out of his silence. He looked to Noa, confused and upset. He screeched, slamming his fists on the ground, before turning and racing back up the hill on all fours. He called out, much louder than he had heard him screech before, “Soona!…Soona!”

No matter how many seasons passed, he would be able to recognize that sound. By the way he was calling her name, by the tone of his voice, he knew that it would not lead to good things. He chased after Anaya, yelling, “Anaya…no…Anaya…stop!”

“Soona!” He screeched louder, creating even more distance between them as he ran. Anaya was still faster than him. He would never be able to catch him as he continued to call, “Soona…Soona…Echo gone!”

He was definitely in trouble.

…

Soona was screeching at him before he could even get a word in. Not for the first time, he cursed Anaya’s natural ability to run fast and speak faster when he wanted to.

“Why would you…say that…to her?” Soona asked, throwing an old piece of nesting at him.

He had brought them into the eagle tower, not wanting Anaya to panic half the village, or worse, alert the elders to her absence. Apes never needed privacy, but at the moment, he could not face any other after what he had done. He hung his head, whispering, “I do not…know…thought I could…convince her…she is usually…not like that.”

“Why was she?” Soona wondered, sitting down next to him, her own annoyance subdued. “I have…never seen her…angry…or upset.”

“Noa…knows.” Anaya accused, sitting away from him, crouched on the floor with his arms around his knees. The stance was a familiar one of mourning, and somehow this hit him harder than the Echo’s rock. Anaya refused to even look in his direction as he added, “Noa knows…about Echo…and apes…something not good.”

Soona turned her head, raising her brows, “Noa…?”

“Anaya…speaks true,” he said. Whether she returned or not, he decided that for the sake of understanding what went wrong, he would need to reveal her story. “We are not…the first apes…she has met.”

Soona was quiet next to him, but Anaya turned abruptly to face him. He still looked upset, but pushed himself to his feet, moving closer to Noa before asking, “Was…a pet?”

He was surprised by Anaya’s words, huffing, “How…do you know?”

“Guess,” Anaya said. “You are not…the only one…who speaks with her.”

He hesitated now, the statement catching him off guard. He knew that Anaya was close with her, but the moments he had shared with her, he wondered if she had shared similar moments with Anaya. When? When would they have had the opportunity? He recalled Anaya returning his arm band, not thinking anything of it when he mentioned finding their Echo by the water. He obviously did not know the whole story, but she must have trusted him with some of it, for Anaya to know the Echo’s meaning of that word.

Soona nudged him then, his original thoughts returning. “She told me…the night…after the boar attack…felt like a secret…so I did not speak of it after…she agreed that it was best…not to.”

“But you decided first,” Anaya grunted.

He felt his own brows furrow, “What…does that…matter?”

Anaya huffed, turning away, “Echo does not…like decisions being made…for her…yet you do…all the time.”

“I am…Master of Birds…need to decide things…sometimes.” He defended.

Soona shoved his shoulder, taking him off guard, “Still…dumb male…she is not…part of the clan…yet…you cannot…decide things for her…honor means…nothing.”

“Noa dumb,” Anaya agreed. “Echo…did not like…surprise…did not want to…be taken to village…Anaya said…so too.”

“I thought,” he defended. “If she did not…have time to…think about it…could see how…peaceful apes are…she would...be okay.”

“She met…apes before.” Soona asked, “That were not…peaceful…like…Proximus?”

He shuffled, arms folding around his own knees as he confessed, “I think…worse.”

[holdmymallowsweet]

What are you doing here? 05

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC Word count: 5491, properly tagged on AO3

Chapter summary: Time heals all wounds, but some things help speed up the process.

a/n: Sorry this took me much longer than I said it would, (I should just stop making promises about when I’ll update this thing) but this is a chapter that I actually really like and feel good about, so I hope you’ll enjoy! And this chapter was beta read by the very sweet and lovely ladyelisabeth from AO3, who did an absolutely amazing job ❤️

Warnings: mentions of nausea and throwing up, no detailed descriptions but I thought I’d mention it.

Chapter 04 || Masterlist || Chapter 06

Chapter 05 - End of the night

Ominis made the remaining few steps to the common room in a daze.

He gave the door the password- it didn’t open. Then he realised he’d said it in Parseltongue. He couldn’t remember the last time his mind had been so addled.

Inside, he made his way past the table where he’d done his homework mere hours earlier, but now it felt like a different lifetime, and a different person. Haphazardly, he ran his hand across the surface- his mess was gone, someone must have cleaned it up. A prefect, probably. 

Oh, but if they hadn’t, he would have dragged his fingers through a sea of ink. Would he have cared?

Near the window, someone laughed, someone else joined in, briefly drowning out the calm tunes of the piano. And Ominis stood there, in the middle of it, not willing to believe that he’d made it back into a world where there could be laughter, or music, or anything good at all.

The nausea came back, and he dragged himself off towards the dormitories to spare his housemates the sight of him throwing up.

A few steps up the stairs, then through the corridor and the door to the room he shared with Sebastian.

Sebastian. Where was he?

Ominis opened the trunk at the end of his bed, carelessly throwing out his belongings, until he found it, the wooden box he always kept safe but never opened. Now he did, for the first time in years, with shaking hands. He felt the letters, the pin in the shape of the Gaunt family crest- he’d never wear it but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it either- and underneath, there it was, the small stuffed animal, the only one he ever had. 

Given to him by Aunt Noctua, like all the other things he’d locked inside that box after she’d disappeared. Too afraid that touching them again would be too painful, but it didn’t matter now. He could hardly imagine feeling worse than he already did.

Ominis sat on his bed, clutching the stuffed animal to his chest, feeling the little face, the small beaded eyes. Noctua had told him it was a Kneazle when she first put it into his tiny, eager hands. It had felt so much bigger then. He’d never been sure how much it resembled an actual Kneazle, as he never had the opportunity or the urge to pet a real one, but he’d loved it all the same.

His parents only ever gave their children toys that would challenge their mind, or kept them occupied at least. They saw no value in something that was meant to be loved, to provide comfort. But Noctua did. She was the only one who’d gift him something like this, and he couldn’t ever bring himself to part with it, even after all the happy memories faded. 

Ominis squeezed it so tightly he feared he might accidentally dig holes in it with his fingers, and then the tears finally fell. It was too much. Aunt Noctua was gone- yes, he’d known, he’d known, but he never had to face it, not like today.

She’d be gone too. His new almost-friend. Not from this world, but from a future where they would be more than strangers sharing a friend.

And Sebastian- 

Ominis let himself fall on his side, face smushed into his pillow, hugging his Kneazle and his knees tightly to his chest.

Sebastian did it because he had to. Because he had to, not because he wanted it- but he had to want it. And it had been too easy. That disturbed him more than anything else.

He didn’t know how long he’d spent curled up on his bed, quietly sobbing, until he had no more tears left. Now he just felt exhausted, like he’d aged a hundred years in a matter of hours.

The door opened slowly but he didn’t bother getting up, there was only one person it could be. 

“Are you asleep?” Sebastian asked cautiously. 

Ominis considered pretending, just for a moment. “No, I’m not.” His voice sounded hoarse from all the crying, but if Sebastian noticed it, he kept it to himself. At least he didn’t insult him by asking if he was all right- his swollen eyes and blotchy face were probably all the answer Sebastian needed anyway.   

“Ah.”

Silence. Should he ask where Sebastian had been, since they split up outside the common room? Did he want to know? He heard Sebastian sit down on his bed.

“Will you tell Anne?” Ominis asked numbly. 

He waited several moments, until he was about to repeat the question, assuming Sebastian hadn’t heard him.

“No, I don’t think so,” it finally came from the other bed. “Will you?”

“No. She has enough troubles, I think.” 

There was a time when they’d told each other everything. 

“Do you think she’s all right?” Sebastian asked after another long pause, and with so much hesitation, Ominis wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

It was obvious they were no longer talking about Anne.

The honest answer was no- she’d only suffered the curse once, and it likely wasn’t as strong as it could have been, given Sebastian’s inexperience. Like his own back then. His father had called it weak, but the screams of his victim suggested otherwise. So no, he did not think she could possibly be all right, but as much as Sebastian should feel the weight of what he’d done, he knew what it was like to live with that guilt.

“Don’t worry too much about her.” Ominis said softly.

Ominis heard the rustling of fabric and thought Sebastian was changing into his nightclothes, but after several long moments realised he must be fidgeting with his bedsheets, or the curtains.

“She wasn’t quite herself, was she? When she left. Quieter.”

“You would know better than me.” It was a lie.

The realisation of it came suddenly, digging into his heart with iron claws. He’d gotten so used to it, her being a constant guest in some corner of his mind, always so close but out of reach, behind the wall he’d put up between them. 

And he’d subconsciously tried to make up for it by remembering every single one of her unique little habits and peculiarities, learned to decipher her mood by the subtle way it tinted her voice instead of asking how she was, let her smell tell him where she’d been instead of simply talking to her.

…he could have simply talked to her.

He could have.

Not anymore.

Sebastian’s fidgeting had turned into him nervously tapping against his bedpost. It was starting to wear on Ominis’ already frayed nerves. “Sebastian, she’s better off with the other Hufflepuffs. They won’t ignore it if she’s still in pain.”

“Pain?” Sebastian audibly jolted out of his bed. “In the book, it said the pain only lasts until the curse is lifted. Why would she-“

Something in Ominis snapped.

“You’re unbelievable.” Ominis sat upright, letting go of his stuffed animal, and faced Sebastian with a cold look, which he hoped was very noticeable. “Has it ever occurred to you that I would know better than your bloody book?” 

“I… well, it’s not something you ever-”

“Obviously, did you think I’d want to relive the experience over and over again?” Ominis’ hands were shaking. “You thought the book was going to tell you? That someone who writes instructions on how to cast an unforgivable would have compassion for its victims?”

“She’s not a victim, she agreed to it,” Sebastian said quietly. 

“Did she know what she agreed to? Truly?” Ominis turned his back to Sebastian and threw himself down on his bed again. Now he regretted not pretending to be asleep when he’d heard his friend come in.

“I… fine, I’ll go- I’ll make sure she’s alright, if she needs anything-“ Sebastian had already half crossed the room before Ominis could reply.

“Don’t. What do you expect her to need from you? If you regret what you’ve done, deal with it on your own. Leave her alone.” 

Ominis heard Sebastian shuffling around uncertainly, then the distinct sound of something being kicked- a stack of books, probably- followed by him storming out of the room and slamming the door shut.

Ominis squeezed his eyes shut. He felt the beginnings of another wave of nausea, the shiver from his hands now ran throughout his whole body. He felt so cold, but it wasn’t because of the never ending chill of the dungeons. It didn’t help, though. 

It was too similar.

He wrapped his blankets tighter around himself. At least the Hufflepuff common room would be nice and warm. Bright and comforting. Not at all like the scriptorium, perhaps that helped. He hoped it did.

Hopefully she’d find some sleep tonight. He knew he wouldn’t.

He had no sense of time as he laid in bed, not knowing whether he’d rather fall asleep to stop the never ending waves of regret and self-loathing or spare himself the nightmares. The little Kneazle laid somewhere on the floor, where it must have fallen at some point during his argument with Sebastian.  

Seconds turned into minutes and then hours.

Sebastian returned eventually, in the middle of the night, wordlessly changing into his pyjamas and going to bed, but the lack of his usual soft snores told Ominis that sleep didn’t come easy to him either.

Ominis drifted in and out of consciousness, though he couldn’t tell if he was ever fully asleep. Sounds and slivers of their conversations came together in his mind to form a dissonant mess, incomprehensible, but they made his airway close up and his chest painfully tight. Then he thought for a moment of true horror that he felt human bones scraping against his fingertips.

He woke up shaking and covered in sweat, barely making it to the bathroom before he finally threw up. Hands clenched tightly at the edges of the sink, sweat soaked strands of his hair sticking against his forehead, he stood there, retching for another few minutes even as his stomach was long empty.

It hadn’t been the first time they’d tortured Muggles for sport, and it wouldn’t be the last. They’d usually wipe their memories clean and throw them out on the street, not knowing what had happened to them, only that it was something unspeakable, something unnatural they couldn’t explain. But that time had been different, that time it had a purpose, to teach him a lesson, to make him understand.

They told Ominis they’d make it stop for them, once he’d manage to use the curse. In his child’s mind, he hadn’t understood what that had meant.

The walk back to his bed seemed to take forever and yet felt too short at the same time. When he finally laid back down, he couldn’t fall asleep again, not that he wanted to.

After an eternity, he heard Sebastian get up. The patter of his sluggish steps on the way to the bathroom. The sounds of running water, the wardrobe opening and closing, clothes rustling and falling to the floor. A familiar symphony signalling the start of yet another school day. 

Ominis stayed in bed, clutching the sheets.

Footsteps getting closer to the door, then they paused.

“Ominis…” Sebastian hesitated. “If you still want to get breakfast before classes, you need to get up now.”

Ominis curled up tighter. “I don’t feel well. Would you please let the Professors know?” he said hoarsely.

Uncertain shuffling. “All right. ‘Course I will. Want me to bring you something from the Great Hall?”

“No, thank you, Sebastian.”

“Are you sure? It’s no problem, I have time.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I’ll check on you between classes.”

“Don’t bother.”

“When I see her, should I say something?”

Ominis flinched. “No.”

“I’ll let her know you’re worried-”

“Please don’t. Please.”

Silence.

“Get well soon, then,” Sebastian said, and while both of them knew fully well that Ominis hadn’t suddenly fallen ill last night, Ominis could tell his friend was happy to go along with the lie. He was probably glad to keep his distance as well, to make it easier to pretend nothing happened, and truly- who could blame him.

The door closed, and for a moment, he felt relieved. It didn’t last. The dread crept back in, all the questions and uncertainties that had wracked his brain all throughout the night. And being completely and utterly sleep deprived didn’t help in sorting them out, so they just sat there, stewing and festering. 

How concerned should he be about Sebastian, being so adept at using the dark arts that he could flawlessly cast an unforgivable on his first try? What was he going to find in that spellbook- Ominis had been too out of it to pay it much mind yesterday, but now he wished he’d been able to pay more attention when the two of them talked about it.

How was he ever going to face her again?

If he hadn’t tried to approach her under false pretences-  because what else could one call it? She hadn’t known what he’d done, what he was capable of- 

But she had. Ominis frowned.

“Sebastian told me a little of what happened when you were young”

Even at that moment, it had stung. That, more than anything else, should have been his choice to tell her. And Sebastian had taken that away from him too.

When? After they’d met in the library, or before?

And how much had Sebastian downplayed and justified Ominis’ actions, if she’d still been willing to follow him into the scriptorium, despite knowing?

Well, she knew now, the full extent of it, in a way that even Sebastian or Anne couldn’t ever comprehend. Ominis groaned, pulling the sheets over his head only to throw them off again, because he had enough trouble breathing already.

Keeping track of time was difficult in the Slytherin dormitories. He only knew that another hour had passed whenever there was a change in the ambient chatter coming through from the common room, signalling the start or end of someone’s free period or the lunch break. 

Was she able to keep food down by now? 

Did she even go to classes today?

Did Sebastian talk to her after all- and would it be obvious to him that she thought Ominis was the last person who had any right to feel unwell?

The day slipped into its afternoon, and the weight he’d felt all day grew heavier. Sebastian would be back soon enough, and even if he drew the curtains, pretended to be asleep, he’d have to leave his bed for some reason eventually. 

Ominis couldn’t do it anymore, he had to go- somewhere else, anywhere else, because he didn’t think he’d survive the night if he kept laying there, trapped in his own mind and barely able to breathe. He forced himself out of bed with a groan. His limbs felt leaden and numb, and his eyes burned from crying and lack of sleep. Treacherous, useless things.

Ominis put a reasonable amount of effort into washing up and making himself look presentable. Not as much as he probably should have, considering he’d spent the last day in a grimy, almost thousand year old dungeon corridor and his sweaty bed, but enough not to gather unwanted attention from passersby.

He sluggishly made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower. Walking past chatter and laughter, groups of friends who had a free period and spent the time sharing jokes or lamenting their woes.

Someone told his friends they sent Duncan Hobhouse a howler for making a mess in their dormitory, and any other time it would have made Ominis grin like a madman. More silly little tales for his collection, to add to the ones he’d filed away in his mind, thinking perhaps he might one day share them with her.

What a pointless endeavour.

And she still had Noctua’s letters, but Ominis was no longer sure he wanted them.

He should consider himself lucky if she could ever stand to be in the same room as him again, if they could at least go back to being polite strangers. 

Why did it have to turn out so wrong? For a while, it hadn’t been so bad, it even felt like perhaps their jaunt into the scriptorium could bring them all closer together.

She didn’t even mind him being a Parselmouth.

“I wish I could speak to snakes”

“I’d like to see one someday”

Ah, right. He’d known she was curious about snakes, Ashwinders at least, she’d told him in the library. He’d completely forgotten by the time they went to the scriptorium. Why did he remember it only now, when it didn’t matter anymore?

If he’d remembered before, he could have- what, offered to accompany her on her trips around the Highlands, looking for Ashwinders with her?

Ominis ended up at his favourite spot next to the Serpentine Beast window, on the floor. The hall wasn’t as seasonally decorated as most other parts of the castle, but the faint smell of pumpkins and fallen autumn leaves came through every now and then, whenever a lone straggler would open the door leading to the Transfiguration Courtyard. 

He’d made it just in time for his favourite part of the day, when the rays of the afternoon sun came streaming through the stained glass window he’d never see, flooding the hall and gently warming his neck. It wouldn’t last, but it gave him some solace, a brief respite. For the first time in hours, though it certainly felt longer, he didn’t feel like he was suffocating. It became hard to keep his eyes open. 

He dozed off, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer.

He was woken up again- he didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes later, only that he wished he’d been granted more time, why wasn’t he ever allowed more time? And for the first few seconds after his eyes flew open, he didn’t know why he felt a crushing wave of dread, more powerful than before, until he recognized them.

Her footsteps, drawing closer towards him.

He’d expected something like this. She was entirely too kind, too considerate to ignore him and carry on as if they were strangers, of course she’d do him the courtesy of telling him in person-

That it would be for the best if there never was a second attempt at a study session in the library.

Ominis had known he’d have to face her eventually, but he’d hoped that it would be after he had time to sort out his thoughts, or at least get a few more hours of sleep.

“Hello, Ominis.” 

He choked on the trepidation in her voice. 

Of course she was nervous, she was about to tell him that she’d like him to keep his distance, that what he and Sebastian had put her through wasn’t what she’d come to Hogwarts for, that his secrets and sins weighed entirely too heavy on her conscience, that she-

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

His voice failed him, he fought the urge to get up and flee, because there was nothing she’d say which he hadn’t already heard her tell him in his mind, over and over again, all night. But he hardly had the right, so he straightened his back and moved his legs out of the way, a silent invitation.

She sat down at his right, not touching him, but closer than she should.

She smelled like Wiggenweld potion again, although Ominis was sure she couldn’t possibly have been outside in her state- she must have tried to use it to alleviate the echoes of pain from the curse, not knowing it wouldn’t help. 

“I came to apologise.”

He couldn’t have heard her right.

“I’m truly sorry, Ominis, I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you,” she said softly.

Ominis screwed up his face in disbelief. “Hurt me?”

“... in a way.”

“You were the one who- I should be the one to apologise.” His voice broke.

“What for? You didn’t know it would turn out like this.”

“Of course not, if I did, I’d never-”

“Then what are you apologising for? You were the only one of us who didn’t want to go. I’m the one who talked you into it.”

“But I let you. I should have known better. Sebastian should have known better.”

She huffed, as if she was offended. “Don’t blame Sebastian, please. I’m the one who offered to talk to you, and just between you and me, I think he was slightly offended that it worked.”

‘Now you’ll share? You wouldn’t tell me when I practically begged.’

She was right. Ominis could always tell when she was lying, but she sounded the same as she always did, as if she wasn’t- how could it be that the two of them were talking as if nothing happened?

“How…” his voice broke again. He forced himself to breathe, mustering up the courage to ask what he should have from the start. “How are you feeling?”

She tensed up. “Not well, to be honest. I suppose there’s no point in trying to hide it from you. It’s… I can still feel it. I wanted to go to the Hospital Wing last night, but I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know if the nurse could tell somehow. I didn’t want Sebastian to get into trouble.”

Ominis had the sudden urge to reach out to her, to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be all right, to tell her- “It’s not real.” He turned his head towards her, to make sure she could see that he was being sincere, in case she was looking at him. “Aunt Noctua explained it to me, she said- she said it was my mind, not understanding why it’s painful even though my body wasn’t damaged, or ill. But it’s not real.”

“Oh.” She sounded so relieved.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t be this difficult for you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s all right. As long as there’s nothing wrong. Thank you, Ominis. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out, then.”

No, she didn’t have to, he just remembered. “There is something that might help. You could ask Nurse Blainey for a Calming Draught.” 

“Do they just hand these out to students?” she asked doubtfully.

“Not usually, unless it’s time for exams. But between the dragon attack and trying to catch up with the rest of us, I doubt anyone would question it if you said you needed some.” Merlin, why didn’t he think of it sooner? He should have told her yesterday. “We could go now if you’d like, I’ll show you-”

“Perhaps later. I don’t think anyone suspected anything during classes, and I wouldn’t want to start rumours. Or cause anyone to worry.”

Anyone?

Ominis frowned. “Has Sebastian asked how you were?”

“Of course he did. I told him it was nothing to worry about.”

“Why?”

She took her time to answer. “Because I didn’t want him to regret it forever.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that. I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop apologising,” she said softly. “And please don’t blame Sebastian, I wouldn’t have left him a choice either way.”

Ominis was confused, only for a moment. Then the fog lifted and his heart broke into a million pieces, as he finally understood. “You decided it would be you. Even before you asked me, you…” He dug his fingers into his knees. “You weren’t asking me to curse Sebastian.”

“Of course,” she answered, matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing an article in the Daily Prophet over breakfast. “I’m the one who got us trapped there in the first place, it was the least I could do.” She groaned, showing the first obvious sign of discomfort since they’d started talking.

Ominis didn’t know what to say, but she seemed to know what went through his mind anyway. 

“It’s all right. I think it was for the best, the way we settled it- this way, you could stay out of it, and I think you wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hurt Sebastian, I know how much you care for each other,” she paused, before carrying on, more hesitantly than before, “I wouldn’t blame you if you won’t forgive me anyway.”

“That’s- of course I do, and you don’t need my forgiveness, the two of you didn’t have a choice.” 

“I thought one always had a choice.”

Was she grinning? Surely not- no she definitely was, he could hear her trying to stifle a chuckle, probably at his open-mouthed, dumbfounded expression. “... are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Am I?” she asked innocently.

“Could you please be serious?”

“Would that help?” It didn’t come out quite as lighthearted as she probably intended, followed by another groan.

Ominis turned towards her, frowning again. “Let’s go to the Hospital Wing. Please.”

“It’s fine- no really, it is. I can’t go now, I’ll miss flying class.”

It took him a second to register what she’d said, then he was beginning to question her sanity. “... there’s no way you’re going to flying class like this, you must be out of your mind.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s not that bad anymore. I promise.”

“That’s not- why do you even need flying classes? I know you’ve beaten Imelda in one of her trials, you can’t be that inept on a broom.”

She snorted. “Thank you, but I’m not sure that would impress Madam Kogawa. She cares about flying responsibly and safely- so I guess I’ll make her very happy today.”

That wasn’t very reassuring, and he knew she could see it on his face. “I’ll go to the nurse later, if it’s not better by then, I promise.”

“Fine.” He wasn’t entirely convinced, but he wasn’t likely to win this argument either, so he let it go. With a bit of luck, Madam Kogawa would send her to Nurse Blainey as soon as she’d notice the first signs of pain, or at least she’d be attentive enough to catch her if she fell.

A slightly awkward silence settled between them after that. 

There was one more thing weighing on his mind, and Ominis hesitated to bring it up, but he didn’t know if or when he’d have the opportunity to ask her about it again. And he wasn’t sure how much time they had left until her class was starting, probably not much if it wasn’t enough to make it to the hospital wing for a potion. “May I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Why did you want to learn the Cruciatus curse?”

“Ah, that.” She shifted, stretching her legs, knocking their knees together for a moment. “I didn’t. Not really.” 

“Then why…?” 

She sighed. “I suppose I wanted Sebastian to know that I don’t think less of him for knowing the curse, but in a way that wouldn’t make it harder for him to use it on me. I admit it wasn’t very well thought out.”

“So you won’t ever use it?”

“Of course not, I can’t imagine ever putting someone else through that, now that I know how it feels.”

Ominis knew she hadn’t said it to hurt him, but it still felt like a knife twisting in his chest. He turned away from her. No need to make her feel worse with the stricken expression he couldn’t keep off his face, and wasn’t it about time she left, if that’s how she felt?

“Ominis, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant now- in the scriptorium, I would have done anything to make it stop.”

“Not anything.”

“Yes, anything. I would have cursed you, Sebastian or anyone else, I couldn’t have gone through it again. Believe me.”

He did. And suddenly, the weight was gone, the wall was gone. He drew a shaky breath, and tears welled up in his eyes again.

“Uhm, may I ask you something as well?” she asked quietly.

Ominis cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained. “Yes, of course.”

She leaned over, pressing their knees together, making his breath hitch in his throat. 

“Would it be possible for us to still be friends?”

Merlin, he should have just said yes, but at that moment he forgot words existed. When he remembered, after what seemed like an eternity, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

“Why?” she laughed nervously. “That’s an intriguing question. Would it be enough if I said ‘because I want to’?”

“You do?”

“Of course. Ominis, I never meant to come between you and Sebastian, I’d never want to do anything to hurt your friendship, I just… I was hoping I could be a part of it.”

“Of course you can.” The words came out without him even thinking about it, as natural as breathing. “I would like that. I’m sure Sebastian would too.”

And then he felt her hand on his own, still on his knees. It was so much smaller than he’d ever expected, so warm, sending a tingling sensation through his arm that reminded him of the first time he held his wand.

“Thank you.” She used him as leverage, pressing her hand into his own as she pushed herself off the floor. And then she took it away, and he had the mad urge to reach out and hold on to her.

“Well, I better get going or Madam Kogawa is going to make me polish all the broom handles for being late. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ominis.”

“Yes,” he replied, still in a trance, “yes, you will.”

He stayed until the last rays of the afternoon sun stopped warming his back, trying to hold on to the something that she left behind, that made the air easier to breathe and his body feel wonderfully light.

Perhaps he was secretly hoping she’d come back after flying class, but even though she didn’t, he wasn’t disappointed. He’d meet her in class the next morning, and then he could ask her where she’d been, or if she was feeling better, and he wouldn’t have to dread the answer.

His feet carried him the way back to the Slytherin common room, past the Great Hall and the ruckus of several dozen Hogwarts students enjoying their dinner. That’s probably where she was. He’d find the strength to join them tomorrow morning, for now all he wanted was his comfortable bed- which he didn’t dread anymore either.

“Ominis! There you are.” Sebastian jumped to his feet as soon as Ominis opened the door, knocking over his chair and picking it up under a softly muttered string of curses.

Ominis couldn’t help but smile. “Why, did you miss me?” He tried to give the question a healthy dose of sarcasm, but the relief in Sebastian’s voice made him fail utterly.

“I was worried, you moonmind.” Sebastian huffed indignantly. “So are you feeling better now? Where were you?”

Ominis crossed the distance to his bed, using the seconds it afforded him to think of how to answer. “I went on a walk, to clear my head.”

Which wasn’t entirely untrue.

“And yes, I am feeling much better.” 

Which was entirely the truth.

He sat down on his bed- actually, he sat down on a small stuffed Kneazle, which had somehow found its way back onto his bed- and noticed the wonderful, mouthwatering smell of biscuits faintly wafting through the air. He leaned over to find them sitting in a tin on his bedside table.

They were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

“You’re getting crumbs all over your bed.” 

“I truly don’t care,” Ominis replied, with as much dignity as he could through a mouth full of biscuits. “...and thank you,” he added, once he swallowed.

“I would have brought you an apple tart, but my robes aren’t hungry today.”

Ominis snorted. “I almost forgot about that.”

“You might have, but I still have a tart shaped stain here that never quite came out.”

Ominis rather doubted that, given the efficiency and diligence of the Hogwarts house elves, but he decided not to retort by way of flinging a biscuit Sebastian’s way, tempting though it was.

“So,” Sebastian started, more subdued than before, “do you need anything else?”

“No,” Ominis replied, letting himself fall back, kicking his shoes off and barely managing to keep his eyes open. “...just want to sleep.”

“At least brush your teeth.”

Ominis had his pyjamas thrown at him, managed to put them on somehow, and dragged himself off to the bathroom.

Exhaustion took him soon after, and the nightmares came again- they would for a long while. But when he woke that night, he felt the ghost of her touch lingering on his hand, lulling him back to sleep.

a/n: This is finally the end of the pre-friendship part of this fic, next up we’ll see how the two of them navigate their first awkward days of new friendship, and if I can manage, we’ll have a nice Halloween themed chapter right before Halloween. At some point I genuinely thought I’d start this a/n with “sorry this is a short one” but it somehow ended up being over 5k words again, whoops. I hope you like the longer chapters, and maybe this makes up for the long wait. It’s been so long since this fic was anything but angsty, and I think this is the first time since chapter one that I’ve written any significant amount of dialogue for MC (that wasn’t taken straight from the game). I was almost a bit scared I’d forgotten how to write her, but starting a new playthrough and hearing all the early game dialogue again helped.  Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!