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ittybittyfanblog · 7 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory.

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes – you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages – you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window.

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut.

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down.

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers.

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes.

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with.

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are.

“Seems we’re at an impasse.”

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this precarious game of two.

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit.

You need another hit.

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus.

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?”

You pick up your phone.

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.”

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely.

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.”

There’s a shocked silence; then—

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character.

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.”

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth.

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary; which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance.

“So you could, like– hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?”

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you, half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago.

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal.

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.)

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows.

He knows the question you’re about to ask, curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?”

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.”

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else.

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?”

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.”

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!”

“Move, then. Let me handle it.”

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?”

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC.

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh?

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.”

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work.

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate.

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value?

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway.

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten?

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices.

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.)

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway.

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say.

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.”

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "...Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing.

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it – brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando – when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh?

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…”

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten.

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit– you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?”

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure.

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use.

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say.

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph?

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is.

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK.

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages.

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic.

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps.

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately.

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder.

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie.

"Um, hello–?"

Your gaze snaps back to the—very real, very present—person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops.

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.”

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice.

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK?

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply.

You: will do !:9

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl.

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?”

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing.

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue.

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger.

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.”

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies – enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real – and you’re bored to tears.

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards – no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups.

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you, not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait.

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?”

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker.

“... How are you so good at this??”

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying.

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.”

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening.

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll; if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!”

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore.

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen.

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed.

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation?

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions.

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much––

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.”

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours.

I don’t care. I don’t.

You take the first shot.

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise.

“Uhh– Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?”

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.”

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop.

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio.

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep.

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact.

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie.

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient.

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3*

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it.

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum; the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection. Something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade.

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude – one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time – comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth.

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore.

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been.

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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syluses · 15 days ago

Text

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART THREE (3) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(3) LOVE ON THE BRAIN

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: hi guys sorry for the wait :,) this one’s a lil bit of a slower chapter imo but it’s still super important to the story. the next part or two might also be a lil ‘slow’ by some definition, but it’ll build onto itself do not fear. shoutout to the anon who gave me that song rec btw bc i was listening to it throughout writing this chapter 🫰 amazing taste. anyway without further ado.…. please enjoy :,) ALSO thank u sm for the support thus far!! i’m so happy yall seem to be liking it!! 🥹 if there’s any typos no there ain’t; i might come back to edit a lil later :,) [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

He comes like a flashbang into your life.

And to preface this: you get it, alright? that your mother misses your late father, she’s not doing half as well as she used to be and she technically can be considered single, open for the dating market. This is a trying time for you both. God as your witness, you’ve been slipping down the slope while she’s been putting her nose to the grindstone; there’s no shortage of struggle for you both since your dad died- but finally, it’s settling in for her.

The loneliness.

The need for something- someone- more.

And you somewhat bitterly suppose you just don’t qualify, do you?

It was an inevitable thing.

Away from the metaphorical sand you buried your head in, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before a new man walked into her life- some actually half-decent, upstanding suitor- and flipped your world off its feet.

It wasn’t a maybe. Not a what if, either.

It was a when.

…Call it naivety on your end or just sheer stupidity, though, your sixteen-year-old brain having a lapse in judgement, but for whatever reason, you didn’t think that when would come.

You prayed against it. Childish or not, whether it can be considered a secret little attempt to sabotage your mother’s possible, budding relationships you had no proof of but suspected all the same (you recognize her perfume; not the rich cologne lingering on her blouse when she finally comes back from work)- you’d hoped she’d keep off from it, anyway.

From, you know,…

The whole ‘falling in love’ thing…

You’re not so deluded to believe it’s infidelity, her quietly seeking out another man outside of your father whole years after he’s passed (anyhow, you’re sure the legal side of it, the paperwork, doesn’t hold up the same), but that doesn’t ease the blow that is the idea of it.

Sure. He’s gone. That much is clear to you…The days pass- weeks, two years- and it’s almost like your life has reached a stopover, waiting for him to come back. I mean, sometimes, it’s almost like he was never even there.

…But at night, when darkness comes with its unbroken silence, you lie there and your heart thinks of him. Wherever you remember him, it hurts.

And yeah, maybe your mother seems growingly eager to leave your father behind… to truly make him a thing of the past even in memory- the final thing you have left of him. But you’re not so chummy with the silent suggestion of joining her there.

You don’t want that ‘when’ to come. Desperately, you don’t.

Oh, but it does.

Out of the blue like a comet from the sky, blindsiding you.

Swinging through the door, chuckling at something she’s said over her shoulder, you think, but the amusement on his face is almost too bare, too shadowed, to tell from where you sit.

You jolt in your chair.

The microwave, droning on, beeps, signaling your frozen dinner’s finally thawed out. But while it draws the attention of your drunken mother- otherwise distracted by the stranger she leads inside your little apartment- your growling stomach becomes the furthest thing from your mind in the moment.

Apparently, the stranger— tall, broad-shouldered, all suave with his sidepart and tailored leather jacket draped behind him like a cape— couldn’t care less for what’s cooking, either.

He doesn’t take his shoes off.

For that, you’re grateful, observing him with a reasonable sum of doubt as he lingers by the entry: It means he doesn’t have plans to stay long.

Which is good, because if he did, you think with a morsel of unease, your brow slowly creasing, you might’ve had to consider grabbing the broom and brushing him out.

The con is that he does wipe them off on the mat, though. Evidently, he plans to step deeper in.

His eyes, a ruby red, sharp as a hawk tracking prey, find yours from where you sit at the table, caught unawares as you scramble to hide your bare legs under your shirt, and he raises a subtle, curious brow at the observation.

“Oh,” he cocks his head, the front door- your front door- clicking behind him as he swiftly fixes his slight surprise into a cool, inscrutable mask.

“What a surprise. Your daughter, I presume?”

Distantly, in your head, a warning bell chimes.

…O-Or maybe it’s just the microwave, but—

Your mom turns it off, “Oh, honey,” in lieu of a greeting, she says, giggling as she walks over and sets her purse down on the tiny, round table you sit at.

Her work blouse is at least intact: you’ll give her that much. But her shift ended four hours ago and by the looks of it, she’s forgotten that promise to stop by the store on her way home- clearly occupied with something else- and in any case, you can’t really say the same for the stranger…

Dapper as he is— what with his perfect posture and urban get-up, the image of dashingly handsome, debonair, imposing (yet somehow just a touch weathered, too, however that may fit)- just to list a few traits off the bat— his top buttons are undone.

His hair, a natural silver all the way through, is almost imperceptibly disheveled. And maybe those things could be reasoned for or go unnoticed- to the untrained eye, they would- but you’re a little too paranoid, on alert as this asshole saunters into your house like it’s his, to miss the outlying factors.

The most damning of them all:

The wine-red smear of lipstick on his neck, only half concealed by his collar.

Your heart shudders in your chest.

And this is scary, this is nerve-wracking, yes, suddenly being force-fed the reason behind all the late nights your mother spent out, the whiffs of man on her clothes and the inexplicably giddy mood she’s been in lately- oh, it’s a million negative adjectives all packed in one- but when he strides forward, confident like you wouldn’t believe, and extends a hand for you to shake-?

You wonder if it’s fury, rising above anything else, that broils in your gut and makes accepting it an all but impossible task.

“Sylus,” he purrs as introduction.

And to be honest, that’s what this feels like in the most grandiose, pervasive of ways: the bad guy being introduced.

It’s true that you caught fragments of him: the vestigial notes of bergamot and vanilla that follow after your mother like some ghostly haunting; the odd lifts in her mood as of late; the phonecalls she gets at night that she always dismisses, but not without a thick swallow and a darting look your way before letting it ring— hell, you’ve even heard whispers within her friend circle of some dishy man dropping by her work building, nonchalant with a bouquet of flowers in tow—

Actually being face-to-face with him, literal inches apart, is freshly alarming.

Meeting him is something cinematic and new. Like a chord in the soundtrack dips; a note lowering to introduce the villain as one of the keys shake.

And perhaps comparing the scene, this man, to a movie isn’t so bad a coping mechanism, because yes, as the surround-sound kicks in and he’s all you can hear- that rich voice of velvet and bass to boot- the room going dark as you tunnel in on him before you— it feels like none of it is even real.

The kitchen blurs. The tiles on the wall smearing into one another, fuzzing together in a way that doesn’t resemble the home you know.

Bergamot, subtle but carrying a little bit of a punch, floods your system and inundates you. Vanilla lays the base for it, as sweet-smelling as nectar.

It settles in your lungs like congestion.

Truffle wrap. Marble and stone. The banister: meant to be sturdy.

It is.

He must be within the same age pool as your mom, yet when his penetrating stare briefly shifts over to her (if you didn’t know any better, amused at your reluctance to accept him)- and he grins that damned grin— he looks young again.

You’re actually almost fooled into believing he’s a gentleman.

There’s nothing… inherently wrong with him, you suppose. But none of that, him seeming apparently decent, matters- not when you’d already decided you’d stay loyal to your dad no matter what. N-Not when-

Not when something is wailing in your subconscious, parting cars in its path. Like a siren in the night shaking you awake to tell you something is terribly, terribly wrong. A wildfire. A disaster.

You quietly wonder if being in places he doesn’t belong gives him a confidence boost, or if he’s just impossibly tone deaf to the environment as it whispers in his ear, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’

All the while, something- mystical in nature, almost, like an angel or devil on your shoulder (it could be either)- is whispering to you, too.

Faintly, that voice in your head, deathly-quiet, says stop. Stop this. Nip it in the bud before it—

This is overwhelming. All of it.

You’re mortified and unsure of yourself; a mite betrayed, even, as you toss a cursory glance to your mom who watches on with a look of both expectance and worry, chewing away at her bottom lip.

It’s a little humorous, the faint concern made ten times more obvious in her half drunken state, as she puts herself on standby.

You can’t help but wonder what face you’re making now. If it’s one of shock, anger, or fear. Or an ugly amalgamation of the three— that’s possible, too.

Truthfully, you’re just as hard pressed to distinguish what you’re feeling: unsure of your next reaction. If anything, you might appreciate if she chooses to step forward and help you figure out just what the hell is happening, whether that means by extraction or a gentle hand on your shoulder to help steady you as he tells you his name.

Two minutes ago, you were waiting for your frozen dinner to thaw (really just a block of something half edible, but with the milk gone, you can’t make your routine cereal), thinking you were in the clear to lounge around with panties and a baggy shirt with your mother out God knows where. Now, you’re looking dead-on at what is perhaps your worst nightmare as the kitchen, not so comfortable anymore, fizzles to nothingness around you.

From this close, he’s… Leonine, that’s a pretty good word for him. As elegant and cocksure, relaxed, as a king of nature.

He doesn’t worry about what he will eat tomorrow: his sheer presence is dominating enough to have it served on a silver platter for him. Something about him just tells you so.

But he’s… beautiful in a way, too, you’ll concede that much (and only that much). Said with the best of intents, he reminds you of some prized thing from an antique shop, lacquered and pretty but weathered all the same.

You can’t imagine all the zeroes on his price tag, but he’s definitely an expensive thing. Part of you wonders what the hell he’s doing with your mother: you don’t come from wealth, so if he has any desire to romance her, it’s not for material gain.

…An admittedly endearing revelation. But it doesn’t quite placate you.

You can see the slight scruff of his chin, the faint wrinkles settling into his angular features. The harsh fluorescence of your kitchen isn’t the most flattering of lights, but he fairs surprisingly well under it regardless.

It’s obvious he takes good care of himself. And it’s also clear to you that he knows his worth- but considering the air of snugness around him, and your flowering dislike for him, you can’t help but wonder if he overestimates it.

The guy is a complete fucking stranger. You know him about as far as you can throw him.

A few beats of silence pass on. Each more unbearable than the last as you wordlessly drink the stranger in, his brow lifting with what you can only assume to be the stirrings of a challenge as he waits for you to take his much larger hand in yours.

Your uncertain gaze- made wide at the unwanted suddenness of it all- flits down to that hand. Despite the many jewels and glittering things that adorn his long, svelte fingers, though, there’s a lack of a wedding ring.

You allow yourself to deflate just a tiny bit at the observation.

It’s good to know he doesn’t have a wife and kids waiting at home for him, you sarcastically guess, while your mom guns for him as they sit unawares.

Still. You don’t know this man. You don’t- you don’t know what he’s doing with your mother (but don’t you?).

And he’s…

Perhaps draconian, actually, is the best descriptor.

Parting your lips in a silent breath, trying and failing to provide a simple hello to the guest or your nervous mother to the side, spectating it all, you’re at a bit of a loss for words when your subconscious realizes it’s presented with the quiet comparison of an animal or a devil for the guy— and no in between.

Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s… Important.

I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.

…Breathe, you remind yourself. Yes. Just…

Just breathe.

Yet, his cologne- that citrusy spritz he wears like a coat, a smell you’re so unexplainably sensitive to for some reason, with its treacly vanilla undertones- is all you can breathe.

“Honey,” a thin, yet encouraging voice, your mom’s, calls out, and then her hand does settle on your shoulder as she sidles up to your chair hesitantly. “Say hi to him?”

You blink, lashes fluttering.

…And his stupid hand is still there, outstretched and waiting.

✦

You’ll give him credit for this:

Sylus, at the first opportunity to ditch his bratty, seething stepdaughter after his wife- his only real obligation to her- passes— doesn’t take it.

He had every chance to kick you to the curb now that your mother’s out of the picture. And to be honest, he has every reason, every right, to give you the boot. You’ve only been a complete bitch to him for the last seven years you’ve known him. Not to the point of ball-breaking, not quite, you were only a teenager after all, but it wasn’t extremely far off from that either.

Sylus, by his own volition, stays.

Moreover, he invites you into his home. And yes, you know it’s technically yours, too, but the circumstances of your filling out the rest of your youth under his roof weren’t the prettiest, and you weren’t the most… pleasant of persons to be around. Let alone live with.

Yet every stolen, curious glance he takes of you and the gentle, half smirks in passing- brushing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing ever, like you never left- is a reminder in its own that this is your place, too. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant.

If your stepfather’s aim is to reassure you, it’s working.

Slowly but surely.

Four days into the visit, you let go of much of your resistance and let yourself simply… breathe.

The past is the past, and, capable of rational thought, you’d do well to leave it behind. Let bygones be bygones and forgive both yourself and the people around you for former hurts of former times.

It’s called maturing, you quietly decide at the door one early morning, having been all but hauled out of bed, bidding the twins adieu as they hover at the porch.

This little resolve you let bud in your heart and grow is what compels you to wrap your arms around them when they hug you, embracing them back as Kieran mopes in your ear and Luke reminds it’s only for a few days.

It’s not as much to comfort you as it is to comfort himself and his brother.

You’re well aware of this, but keep quiet on the matter; you’re too sleepy to be in the mood to tease him for it, but mentally pocket it for a later time anyway.

Occupying any sort of space with the twins guarantees that you’ll need a decent deck of comebacks on standby. You’ve been adding to yours.

This short business trip of theirs isn’t some long, drawn-out pilgrimage taken to distant lands, despite their theatrics- it’s not even obligatory- but you know very well how eager the boys are to please their father, and if working a few days at one of the subsidiary companies to better the career he gave them will make him preen, then they’ll do it. Gladly.

You wouldn’t call either of them homebodies, per se… but wherever their father is, so is their heart. It’s only natural they’d want to make him proud. You know that.

You understand why they’re going, you do…

It’s just…

Over Luke’s shoulder, your eyes meet Sylus’s only briefly, but a second is all you need to read his emotions.

Propped against the threshold with folded arms and a spark of amusement that’s only slightly obvious, he watches them sandwich you in a big hug.

If it hasn’t been made clear yet— yes, they’ll miss you.

“Oh, so dramatic,” their father comments, not with any shortage of entertainment. You think if he could, he would’ve prepared a bowl of popcorn for this- but while he’s certainly tickled by the sight, there’s something else in his stare as he divvies it between you three, gathered in a tangle of arms and suitcases, that he won’t admit aloud.

Pride, maybe…?

Satisfaction?

Or… Content. That’s the closest word.

You hope Sylus doesn’t see the slight fluster left on you by his flippant remark. Untucking your chin from one of the boys’ shoulders as you stand upright and pat their backs respectively.

“A-Alright, boys, that’s enough.”

“Say it back,” Luke chirps, “say you’ll miss us!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I just said I did-“

“But do it louder! We’ll be gone for three whole days!”

“Yeah! Don’t you love us, sis?! Will you really just stand there unaffected as we turn our backs and go?”

If unaffected means arms crossed, shivering in freezing temperatures with the faintest of frowns on your face, some inner piece of you experiencing a quiet, unanticipated ache at their departure, then yes- by all means, you’re unaffected.

You purse your lips, snipping back with only half the bite, “If you keep pushing it, I’ll email the firm specifically and tell them to keep you dummies there for longer.”

A deep, languid chuckle answers back; like a slowed song with reverb, it hits differently.

Considering your newfound efforts to squash the beef between you both- even if it was only one-sided- you don’t ignore him out of bitterness, but the slight unease is still something you can’t quite shake, so you momentarily survey the porch below (anything but him, stood somewhere behind you), and sniff.

I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little awkward, isn’t it…? You’ve spent all your adult years clinging onto the straws of a grudge your teenage self kept for him- and back then, you were only fiercer, more vocal, in your stance taken against your new stepfamily.

So yeah, while it’s safe to say the worst of that metaphorical storm has blown over, the debris is still absolutely there: the ruined bits you have to cautiously step across and just- try to overlook.

Too low for anyone to hear, you softly sigh.

Just as you determined to make peace with him, though, you tranquilly think to yourself, you’ll too learn how to navigate the aftermath of that silently-signed treaty.

Of course, that awkward feeling in the air, not powerful enough to take precedence in your mind, but niggling all the same, is only temporary.

Two weeks.

“Geez, sis,” Kieran snickers, Luke grinning ear to ear at your other side, the duo forming a flank, “someone woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?”

“You’ll be late, you two,” a lilting voice from behind chimes in, effectively putting an end to the antics.

You don’t bother looking behind, but the twins’ focus shifts over your head before they slump their backs and sigh, conceding.

Hmph. Theatrical as always.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, dad! We’re going!”

Rewrapping your robe, you offer a longanimous exhale when Kieran’s lanky arm unfurls from you, the boys finally stepping away for the car. The thin cotton does little to ward off the December cold, its roots digging bone-deep within seconds of lingering on the porch, and underneath it, your tanktop and panties offer not an iota of warmth, either- but you weren’t about to wave them goodbye half-naked, so the robe does its part to cover you.

Within a few minutes, you’ll be curled up in your bed anyway, allowed to revisit the sleep you’d been so rudely pulled from.

Piling into the car, they holler to you, and with a smile you can’t quite fight off, you shake your head at them all the while.

The engine grumbles to life. The idiots they are, they give it a few gratuitous revs (to impress you? God only knows their end goal) and then the gate is opening for them as they peel off.

Dummies.

And then it’s just you and him.

You and Sylus.

You and… your stepfather.

A hand, broad and big but warm- oh so reluctant- places itself on your shoulder, circling the blade reassuringly with its thumb. To your immense surprise, you manage to keep from flinching beneath it, but just barely.

Still. If that’s not progress, you don’t know what is.

With an only somewhat visible shiver, you turn around and face him as he shifts sideways to the door, his chin trained your way as he offers a slight, deliberate smirk. Something like encouragement is used as its subtext.

His hand leaves as quickly as it came, slipping away. Its imprint of warmth slowly fades, too.

He opens the door wide, gesturing with a nonchalant little nod, “Ready to go in?” In flannel pajamas, bare foot, he doesn’t even shiver.

Vacillating, you spare one last look behind you, out to the courtyard with its sprawling, greyed lawn and erected fences, and watch the stillness. It’s a sight worthy of your admiration.

A flurry— the first of the season— begins to fall.

You breathe out. A cloud of white whisks from your lips and blends into nothingness. It’s pretty in the way that it doesn’t last for long.

And it’s freezing but it’s… strange. How this one cold winter develops this way of thawing you out.

Returning to the man in front of you, waiting patiently, you nod, dipping your head on the way past him. Bundling yourself tighter. “Yeah.”

✦

Not long after midday, you’re a fraction through one of your new books- but you decide to put it down.

It’s for a couple different reasons. One of them being that it’s not gotten good yet- the plot moving at a snail’s speed, the protagonist not interesting enough to even remember the name of- and you figure the chapter you’re closing out on now is a good breaking point. The main one, though, is that you’re awfully bored and this house, despite holding not the best of memories, has lots to offer.

When it comes to fun— exploring its labyrinthine rooms, utilizing its many services and amenities (like a personal chef, for instance, or a home theater and gym)— there’s no shortage of things to do.

It’s just with an ounce of unease that you realize those fun opportunities, however, are only half the appeal without the twins.

Annoying, troublesome, experts at exaggeration and being thorns in your side— yes, they’re all of that and then some. But if we’re listing all their shining traits right now, then for the record, ‘fun’ must be one of them.

And yeah, okay, their absence is starting to kick in just a little bit. But it’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s it matter if they’re gone for a few days? You’ll blink and it’ll be over.

They’ll be back. You’ll greet them at the door after they veer into the driveway, waiting there just as you did when waving them goodbye, and Sylus will be chuckling behind you in that rich, unruffled way he does as they herd you inside and divulge their journey.

Heaving a sigh, you toss your book aside on the dormer window and relocate to your bed.

You belly flop on it before rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling.

For only a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself be barraged by the thoughts you’d been blocking out; the unique responsibilities and aches.

You intake an unsteady, deep breath and attempt to manage them all one at a time— but they don’t stand in single-file, eager to attack you from every angle all at once.

The dress for the funeral…

Looking through your mother’s old things…

And then everything that comes afterward of that, too. Whatever that might entail.

As ambivalent as the future may seem, an abstract thing veiled behind fog and uncertainty, you ruefully suppose not wanting it to come won’t stop it from doing just that.

And then of course, there’s the whole booking your flight thing… leaving this place for, if you’re being realistic, probably the last fucking time and then—

Have you even asked Sylus who’s giving the eulogy?

“No,” you mumble before rolling on your stomach again, legs and arms splayed on the bed like a starfish.

God help you. Half of you is expecting for the twins, just as irksome as they are entertaining, to come bursting through your door at any moment and save you from the woes of having nothing to do. To be fair, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing is better than some things- like work, namely (you don’t want to imagine the stack of papers that’s building on your desk during your leave)- but as you quietly ponder the week and a half ahead, you start to worry it’ll be uneventful from start to finish.

Well, as uneventful that a trip begotten by a funeral can be, anyway.

Maybe it’s being wishful- sickeningly optimistic in a situation with no one silver lining- but you’d like to hope you can at least squeeze out some enjoyment during your stay.

As sheepish as you are to admit it, the twins were a staple in that halfbaked idea.

But now they’re gone. For three days. And God only knows why it was so simple a decision for them to make, leaving you behind when right now, realistically speaking, your little screwed up family should be huddling together now more than ever, but—

(‘Why was it simple?’ Well, why do you think…? Because you’ve been so coldly pushing them away and they finally took the hint and-)

You get up and leave your room, traipsing down the hallway. You can’t find it in you to care, right now, about who you might bump into while the house is left to two people and a whole lot of ice.

Sylus is probably in his study, anyway. Assuming he even is in the home right now, but with the long laundry list of errands and contractual deals that require his flowery, hasty signature to be secured, you doubt he spends too much of his time here on weekdays.

As you walk through the stretching halls, you trace the walls with a finger, bored.

You’re stopped in your tracks by a picture- just one of the many lavish decorations- and tilt your head up to stare at it in its entirety.

It’s a big thing; a large, elaborate wooden frame without dust.

Five portraits stare back at you. But you- squished between the cheerful twins, stood before your mother and stepfather who join in a kiss behind your head, smiling lips smushed together as he holds back her veil- don’t don the same delighted expression.

Maybe it’s immature of you, but as the lingering, subtle whisps of something citrusy waft by, you do offer a slight huff of amusement at the image. It’s just so comically awful, nailed to the wall in a frame so stupidly opulent it’s like some boast against poor people— a should-be perfect wedding photo marred by the bitterness oozing off the stepdaughter.

Alright, to be fair, you’re not outright scowling or anything, but the smile you plaster on is so clearly fake it’s hard not to laugh at it—

“She looked like you, you know.”

You must jump five feet into the air.

He adds, raising one wryly amused brow, “Somewhat.”

Startled, you turn to find him staring not at the picture he presumably references- but you.

Your brow furrows slightly, and then he does glance over to the frame as you hover your hand over your heart, clutching your invisible pearls in a moment of deja vu.

A soft sigh. Is this how you’ll be seeing him now…? Every time you happen to bump into your stepfather- evidently not the best at evading him- does it mean you’ll be caught off guard as he stands there, unbothered, before apologizing?

Except, this time he doesn’t. He’s content pretending not to notice your shudder- your fear of him. Ruby-red hues drifting off as his jaw imperceptibly tightens.

Murmuring under his breath as he surveys the illustration almost quizzically, “But wasn’t… quite you.”

Ah, right- the wedding photo. Your mother. You resemble her— That’s what he’s getting at here.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumble back. You don’t have much to offer him, but it’s better than ignoring him: the thing you recently decided you wouldn’t be doing on this trip.

Slowly, you close your mouth. You do a quick once-over of him, and then look back towards the hanging memory.

There’s a certain silence that occurs between you both, then. Simultaneous to it- is a weight dropping in your heart, slowly descending the longer you reminisce on the familiar woman’s profile.

Not only has the stepdaughter’s scornful face been immortalized, but so has your dead mother’s.

It’s in a moment of weakness, perhaps, that you reach out to trail her jaw, pondering the past as it sweeps you up in its nostalgic current.

Your mind is less focused on acting cool and indifferent in front of your stepfather and more on the parent that has been ripped away from you- now stood before you in an intricate frame along a dark wall. So maybe later you might regret showing your belly to him, but right now, you really can’t find it in you to care.

You told yourself the past is the past.

Now, all there’s left to do is commit.

“She looked… so happy,” you’re surprised to realize the voice filling your ears is your own, gravelly from disuse, barely audible. Part of you debates feeling embarrassed, but quickly erases the idea because you don’t think your stepfather would have any real intent to ridicule you, least of all right now.

Your younger self has always been fairly good at believing everyone around you is a sworn enemy, out to get you behind your back, but your stepfather is…

Family, a little voice in the back of your head supplies. And you’re puzzled at the lack of backlash it receives this time around.

You start to wonder if he’s heard, the quiet sprawling for just a touch too long, self-consciousness a breath away as something, his attention, you think, bores into the back of your head, but then he hums and you’re at ease again.

“She was so happy,” he agrees. “We both were.”

Sylus, from the corner of his eye, watches.

Some gear turns in the very back of your skull and begs to ask the question of just what he’s doing here right now; the master bedroom- now his alone, you realize with an unbidden squeeze of your heart- is on the other wing of the house. During the daytime, he’s typically downstairs, anyway.

But you suppose that’s besides the point.

Your eyes flutter down, and then your hand follows. Ghosting along the photo in one sweeping motion before you turn just halfway to face him.

You’re making headway on squashing your beef with him, oh definitely, but there’s a sort of intimacy that comes with standing front-to-front, and right now, you think that’d be overwhelming and weird for the both of you.

He’s not… used to you being exactly nice to him, anyway, or open. Or agreeable. Or- or anything, really. For your teen years, you erected a wall in between you both and actively refused to let anyone scale it— and after you moved out, you weren’t so hellbent on keeping him away, sure, not half as immature and bratty as you had been, but the distance was absolutely still there. Just quieter.

No longer screamed, but rather implied.

For a while, you’d even wondered if he’d agreed upon it. If he threw in the metaphorical towel on building a relationship with you; defeated and exasperated. But you guess he’s a multimillionaire for a reason— it requires dogged ambition- drive- to reach those heights, after all— and you’ve sometimes wondered if meeting Sylus was like an immovable object going head to head with an unstoppable force.

For your part, you’re not so used to this, either. Kind of giving into this… paternal subtext to your nonexistent connection.

It’s odd. New, as it creeps in on you, slowly dialing up the temperature. Though the way it plants its seed is too gradual to make you want to dig it out from the dirt right away.

It’s a foreign thing, yes— when your eyes meet his, an inscrutable, glittering red, and a ribbon of warmth unfurls in your aching chest as you quietly realize he’s there for you, that in this tragedy, you’re not alone— but it’s not… bad, per se.

Not like you’d always imagined it’d be, anyway.

I mean, back then you didn’t even want to imagine it, but now—

Two weeks, your nagging subconscious reminds, and then you’ll be gone. Your… family (the pest-like, ever plotting twins; Sylus, even, the persistent but gentle stepfather you’d kept on hold indefinitely) will become just a speck in the distance as it grows behind you. And then….

And then you’ll be alone. And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

But maybe if you had just- not been so fucking stubborn and bent on making a point to your mother, if you had just visited a little more, then maybe by some stretch of inagination you could’ve done something to-

Your soul sinks in your chest. The feeling of regret, terrible and distinct, rips you a new one as you try not to wilt in the silence. But Sylus’s eyes are warm, softening into a pass of concern as he drops his folded arms.

Business-oriented, arrogant, competitive, bound and determined. You and the world have seen each of those facets of him, but the gentler side is one that the latter doesn’t own access to.

When Sylus’s fingers twitch, his arm nearly reaching out to you as he visibly vacillates, you feel a strange flash of endearment towards him.

Your mother saw this side of him all the time, you inwardly consider. Because that’s who he reserved it most for.

Sylus assigned things to one of two categories: his family, and then everything else.

And you- you infuriating, lovely little dragon of a daughter- fell to the former.

There’s all kinds of uncertainty swirling in his eyes, but he settles for a soft clear of his throat, looking you over. The gloss in your stare, the one that hangs over your lashes and refuses to fall as if permanently suspended there, makes him open his mouth, but before he can say anything, you undercut his words.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask. Not in a demanding way: you’re just eager to distract you both from your impending waterworks.

You wonder if he knows; what’s running through his head as you stand there and fidget with the hem of your shirt, rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. You don’t remember giving them permission to come, but here they are, knocking.

His brow raises by the faintest tick, and then he smiles an easy, slight smile. Dipping his hands in his pockets to rest.

“The twins forgot something on their journey, it seems. They texted me to grab it for them. So,” he says, giving a loose shrug with one shoulder, looking down the hallway past you, tone as mocking yet sincere as ever, “Here I am, letting myself be treated like some poor… errand boy.”

“Oh.”

Poor is… certainly not the word you’d select for him, but…

He finishes, eyes catching yours in a second of boldness, “I’ll mail it out to the firm. They’ll receive it no later than this evening.”

You give a small nod, looking down to his chest because it offers a convenient escape to his penetrating, sharp stare, and frankly, if you’re getting emotional at some old picture on the wall- then you need the respite.

You rub your forearm, “Well, I’ll just be going now.”

“Where to?” A tiny twitch of his lip tells you he spoke too soon. His chest swells out. Your eyes jump to his.

“If you need a car, you can use any of the ones in the garage,” he remedies. You blanche. “Just point, and I’ll give you the keys-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle suddenly, shaking your head. Sylus pauses, quirking one brow as he tilts his chin by a fraction, interest and maybe even a little bit of mirth reshaping his face at your change in demeanor.

“I didn’t mean I was going out,” you quickly add, “Realistically, I probably would’ve just went downstairs and ate something... Or brought a snack out to the sunroom.”

He frowns. “The sunroom might be a bit cold, though.”

“I know. I- I just wanna see how it looks after all this time.”

To your surprise, Sylus lets out a smooth, somewhat short chuckle. At your confusion, he elaborates, “This place is still the same, Kitten,” he chides in a harmless, rather loving tone, “All that’s different is that you’re here.”

…And that this time around, your mother isn’t.

Yet Sylus, as if clueless to the glaring elephant in the room, smirks and doesn’t mention it. And truthfully, you’re grateful for that. Just- you have your questions, those little segments of his short account over the phone that you want to pick apart and scrutinize- but all of that is for later. An indefinite later... Right now is too soon.

You’re hardly keeping your feelings in check as is: you don’t need to pile further revelations of your mother’s death onto the plate. In any case, as much as a gritty, inward part of you would like to know every scrap of information possible- at the end of the day, it’d be unnecessary.

Your mother died the way she did. And all attempts or methods of probing for more context, you fear, would only do more harm than good.

“I guess it still feels the same,” you mumble out an agreement, peering down the corridor towards the stairs, his figure standing tall and unruffled to your side. “All the decorations are the same.”

“Exactly,” he hums, “and the sunroom is no different. You wouldn’t want to… catch a cold on your vacation, would you?”

Vacation is a funny word for it, but you won’t shoot him for being optimistic. You’d honestly benefit from following his example.

You snort softly, sheepishly looking down, “I won’t catch a cold. It can’t be that bad. Besides,” you lift your chin, meeting his gaze- wholly transfixed on you, a glimmering, fascinated red- “Back at my apartment, the AC and heating is usually broken, so… I’m used to arctic temperatures.”

You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh at it. In fact, his lighthearted smirk ebbs into a thin line as he parts his mouth and furrows his brow at you. Your breath hitches slightly.

The tears that had been beading at your eyes are gone, but now a sense of uncertainty replaces them in your chest.

He unstuffs his hands from either of his pockets. “That’s nothing to brag about,” he croaks.

Your lashes flutter, ears perking under his uneven timber. You… don’t often hear that voice come from him.

He swiftly recorrects himself, saying in a lighter but just as firm tone, “You should take care of yourself. Have you… been well, by the way? How is it back at your old place?” Sylus lowly ventures, before one half of his mouth quirks up playfully.

He leans his back against the wall, localizing his attention fully to you. Not paying the smallest of glances to the large, idyllic photo you stand in front of.

“I wonder,” he starts, “What a day in the life looks like in your shoes.”

A beat of silence passes. In that time, you realize it’s not just a spoken fragment of his thoughts, but a question. You answer accordingly.

Not without a look down the hall, though, silently wishing to exit the conversation as it begins to drag on.

The sunroom, for as cold as it’s advertised, sounds better and better.

You don’t quite laugh, but by some standard it might be considered one. “Well, it’s not really anything interesting. Obviously, it’s not as glamorous as like, you guys here,” you say, “but I’m fine where I am.”

Physically, fine. Although, the level of content you hold inwardly is a bit of a different story.

You’ll keep that on its shelf. Right now, it’s better where it is: in the dark; in the quiet.

Safe with you.

Sylus simply says, “You… shouldn’t settle for less,” impossibly careful with his choice of words, albeit you don’t fully know why.

“I-I’m not,” you jump to justify. You have a growing inkling that this conversation is going nowhere, and you don’t exactly like small talk, so you aim to wrap this up.

“I work hard at my job, but-“

But what? you still don’t wanna die in a cubicle during your mundane 9-5 job? Hmph. Yeah, get in line behind literally everyone else.

Not everybody has the same luxury that Sylus does, though: he’ll die without regrets, knowing he secured riches for his next thousand generations, but you can’t really say the same. That is… assuming you branch off from the Qins and separate yourself from that golden heritage. Which-

You are. You will. These two weeks will either fly by or slug by, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be bidding the boys farewell one last time.

You’ll do the right, reasonable thing, excuse yourself from the metaphorical table that is your stepfamily (who, if you’re being honest, are probably done with you deep down but are too nice- sympathetic in this dark time- to say something), and go back home. To that shitty, cramped apartment with its broken utilities and cracks in the ceiling. To that cubicle; to all the paperwork on your desk amounting to a miniature Tower of Babel.

You’ll go back to the loneliness and uncertainty.

Yet it will just be even colder, then. Knowing that palatial house on the hills, once a backup plan of sorts- a final failsafe if your humble little life you’d been trying to make for yourself collapsed- is no longer an option.

Because the one precious thread tying you to it—

Snapped.

“I work hard at my job,” you try anew, inexplicably having trouble meeting his eyes. “I always strive for better, just- I know how to be content with what I have, you know?”

It’s not meant as a jab towards him, you swear it’s not, albeit your way of going about it could use a little bit of work. Considering you’ve been making all sorts of revolutionary improvements on this trip, though, you don’t think adjusting your tone should be too big of an issue.

At any rate- you’re not about to start this big discussion with your stepfather on career paths and how satisfied you are with yours, though, and that’s where this seems to be headed.

You gesture down the hall with a shoulder and smile if only to be polite.

“But anyway, I think I’ll-“

“You know,” Sylus starts, glancing up to you expectantly, and it’s only right then that you realize he’d been looking at the floor- or, more accurately, your legs- while mulling over something, silent. His words are measured, slow; his hues more obsidian than ruby in the dimly-lit corridor. The vibrant twinkle of scarlet is still there, but a shadow pours over his brow. His slight crow’s feet can be spotted.

He’s pushing forty one now, but it’s strange- how you look at him and don’t notice the age. He’s as virile and manly as ever. In his prime, you’d say.

Silently, you wonder in a breath if all men are like wine in the way that they age, or if your stepfather was a result of a fluke.

I mean, you’re aware that he takes good care of himself. Those boxing sessions he does on the side in the home gym certainly do their part to keep him physically afloat, and his chef only uses ingredients of the highest quality— but still…

It’s not wrong to make the comment that he’s a bit of a genetic jewel.

You remind yourself to tune back into his words, straightening your spine slightly.

Yes, you can acknowledge- in absolutely no weird way, mind you- that your stepfather is an attractive guy. There’s no science to it: he just… is. Your mother certainty knew it; all her gossiping friends, too. You’re not so taken by an old grudge to pretend Sylus’s charm isn’t universal.

“Don’t… take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to be pushy,” he drawls, the image of casual. There’s a wisp of hesitance in his eyes, though. You don’t miss it. “But if you ever want to try your hand at my company,” he leaves the suggestion open-ended, although there’s nothing you need further clarity on.

You laugh nervously, ignoring the inward part of you that perks a little at the offer.

“Ah, no, I… already have a job back at my place. And I think the commute would be a nightmare,” A commute is a bit of an understatement— if you were to hop aboard your stepfather’s panel, you’d actually have to move back out to Linkon or, perhaps more conveniently, just live out of your old bedroom already here.

But for so many reasons, working for Sylus just… isn’t a great idea.

Besides- he’s just being nice to you, anyway. The four of you are in a hard time right now.

You’ve never gotten along well with Sylus, sure, and he’s well-acquainted with your abrasive exterior, but he’s never been half as immature as your younger self in regards to sympathy, so of course he’s trying to make you feel better— you’re his veritable stepdaughter, after all. There’s not many better ways to do that than to offer you an extremely lucrative job that he knows you’ll ultimately decline— meaning he’ll take no loss.

He’s just being polite… Which makes you a smidgen more uncomfortable to acknowledge your bumpy past with him. Here he is with the twins, flying you out and making efforts to comfort you in his own roundabout way after his wife’s died- no doubt dealing with that loss as well- and you’re still trying to fully commit to ‘new beginnings’ and all.

He’s just a man at the end of the day, you realize right then, a pang of guilt fattening your heart. He fell in love with your mother; so much so that he was willing to put up with her insufferable, brat of a child for years on end.

And you were- well, for lack of a better word you were a bitch.

And yeah there’s a million justifications you can make for it, but the point of the matter right now is that you feel bad. You feel like such an intruder, a nuisance, a burden now weighing on his, Luke’s, and Kieran’s shoulders, and-

Sylus shrugs like there’s nothing on them. Glances down to rub his forefinger and thumb together. Dripping nonchalance right from the pores.

“Suit yourself.” He says smoothly, taking your rejection no different than a duck would with water off its wings. “But Sweetie,” he states, eyes clashing with yours as if to add emphasis to whatever he’ll say, “The opportunity will always be up in the air for you. Do you understand?”

Oh, the emphasis is there, alright.

You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“See you, then.”

And then he’s breezing past before you can even clumsily dismiss yourself. Tall and broad and gone.

His heady cologne remains in a subtle draft and then that, too, disappears.

R-Right, you blink, sighing out a big breath you didn’t realize you were holding all along.

The sunroom.

✦

His large hand, extended like an offering, slightly falters when he understands you don’t have a lick of desire to shake it.

Maybe you’re a bit hangry, yes, and you’ll admit that probably does no favors for your current mood as this ridiculous scene unfolds before you- but all these emotions that bud inside you now, flowering no different than weeds, entangling themselves as they expand- are very much valid and real.

You’re still positively pissed and confused and above all, hurt that she’s been going behind your back and flirting around without so much as telling you.

See, of course you had your ideas and creeping little doubts— it was hard not to what with the way her schedule was warping in front of your eyes, how she seemed just a pinch happier than usual, giddy, almost— but being faced with the truth of it all in its real, physical form is a different matter entirely.

And-

And how she could do this to you? after- after what happened with your father?

Well, you just don’t fucking know.

But she’s doing it to you right now, anxiously peering at you from your side, and she’s smiling.

A beat of silence occurs, loud and tedious.

His hand stays out, dangling like a modifier, and it’s like the sumptuous asshole knows you’ll change your mind and backtrack or something: as if that’s all he’s used to, people parting like the Red Sea and bowing for him without question.

…Audacious: you’ll admit that much. But you’ll give him no more credit than that, as kind of backhanded as it is.

Time slows. In reality, no more than two seconds must’ve passed, but as the eyes of your mother drill into your profile both in a mash of expectance and worry, and your heart lodges in your throat, it feels like you’re stuck in a time capsule.

You’ve been standing here too long. This enigmatic, admittedly dashing stranger (Sylus, your mind- seemingly having shut off in the moment to lend your senses full control- helpfully contributes) has been in your home too long and—

Mentally, you scold yourself for visibly balking. You steel yourself against him and school your expression.

This is your house.

He won’t make you feel like an outsider in it.

The silver-haired man, with the scruff on his chin and the punch of whiskey underlining his fancy-shmancy cologne, with his sharp red eyes, drops his hand back to his side and actually laughs at your blatant rejection of him.

“Very hospitable, I see. I like that,” he tosses behind his broad shoulder to your somewhat mortified mother as he, egregiously enough, goes to take his shoes off at the door, a hand in his pocket. “Your kid is as bold as you are, honey.”

Honey?

…Honey?

You grow a mite afraid in that moment, internally struggling to pinpoint just what degree of involvement this awful yet handsome guy has with your mother.

How deep into this little… fling of theirs are they, anyway?

She opens her mouth, looks at you, then closes it. Blustering out a laughing apology, she leaves your side and flutters over to him. You don’t know if you’re thankful for the reprieve, the momentary alone time to your own thoughts, or unbelievably hurt as you watch her take his jacket and hang it in the coat closet, happy to do it despite the turmoil hidden beneath all her inebriated twirling.

On the inside, your world is fracturing down the middle, drifting apart steadily like the planes of Pangaea— but this stupid awful guy just shrugs out a kink in his neck, turning back to your mother (who’s only slightly embraced on your account) to swoop down and thank her with a peck to the lips.

The rest of your weak appetite for microwaved dinner flies out the window.

And in your undies and that old beloved tee of your late father’s, you take the chance while they’re distracted to hop off the chair and fly up the steps.

For everyone’s sake, you hope the guy— Sylus, your mind so helpfully provides as you sob into your pillows— is only temporary.

♡ tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @terriblesoup @floofycookie @sdlyoongi @hikaakox @melba1982 @crimsonsylus @miuangel @ravynstreasure @corvo-core ✦ ask to be added to the taglist! just make sure you have an age in your bio (17+) ✨ hopefully i got everyone down lol :,)

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augustjoy · 6 days ago

Text

You are nothing like her.

Based on the following ask: so i was thinking maybe the reader is pregnant with hotch's baby, but she had a really mean mother, you know, one of those who are strict to say the least, maybe one day hotch comes home and finds the reader crying so much and when he approaches her worriedly she tells him that she is so afraid of being a bad mother as if it were something hereditary maybe she tells him that her loves his baby so much that she's afraid of doing it wrong🥺🥺 it's her first baby, that's why she's so scared, but then my beautiful boy jack tells her, 'u're already like a mommy for me and u're awesome,' or something like that, why Jack is always a band-aid for the soul🥹🥹🤍 and in the end it's just her being spoiled by the hotchner boys 🩵 Okay, this ask is giving me all the feels. I grew up with a mom who I know did her best, but there are many things she did that I had to unpack in therapy, I am using some of that (not directly) to help guide this fic! Enjoy!! Itallics are the readers thoughts, bold are flashbacks

Aaron Hotchner x Pregnant! Fem Reader Angst/Fluff (Happy ending) Word count: 3872

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, unspecified age gap, explicit language, canon typical violence, sweet loving Hotch, pregnant reader, mention of past verbal/emotional abuse (some detail/flashbacks), Jack being a cutie patootie, reader struggles with depression (bad perinatal depression), insecure reader, first time mom reader, internal struggles with previous trauma, mention of therapy, mention of medications, brief (non-descriptive) mention of self-harm, let me know if I missed any. You are responsible for your own media consumption - if these warnings are triggering or potentially harmful, DO NOT READ.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

A blue plus sign. Not a single horizontal line, but two lines, perfectly perpendicular to one another. The control line a deep obvious blue, and the other, faint, barely there intersecting the other.

A pit formed in your gut immediately. You’re not ready for this, you’re not cut out for it. What would Aaron think, I mean sure you guys are married, but did he want more kids? He’ll probably leave you. You can barely take care of yourself. He was older than you, he had been married, had Jack, made a life for them…you’d been able to squeeze yourself into the prefect mold of their life, the last piece of the puzzle. Had the puzzle expanded when you weren’t paying attention? Was there space for a baby?

“Why can’t you be more like your sister? She’s so driven, she knew what she wanted to do by the age of fifteen. You need to figure your life out, in a few months you’ll be off to college, and I’ve already told you that you need to do well or that’s it.”

“I know mom. I’m working on it, I’m looking into a few different programs at the school, thankfully the first year is all prerequisites so I have some time to figure it out.”

“Always so indecisive. No man is going to want a woman who lacks confidence. Someone who can’t make up her mind.” She scoffed.

“I’m doing my best. There are just so many options, but I think I’ve narrowed it down, I was thinking about a degree in psychology.”

“Your best isn’t good enough hon. And quite frankly, you’re not smart enough to get a psychology degree, you should stick to something more feminine, like teaching, I’d suggest nursing, but I don’t think you’d make it through nursing school. It’s very competitive.” The words flow out of her mouth sickly sweet, like what she’s saying isn’t slicing you open, leaving you vulnerable and bare.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll look into the teaching program.”

You’d been sick, and not from the pregnancy, but rather from the fear of breaking the news to Aaron. It would kill you if he was disappointed or upset with you. He’ll probably leave you. He’d mentioned once that he’d always wanted a big family, and there was a time where you’d mentioned children, he seemed okay with it then…but what if his mind had changed.

“Y/n can we have lunch?” Jack’s little voice carried through your room and into the en-suite.

“Yeah, sweet boy. Give me just a moment okay?” You tried to steady your voice.

You washed your hands, tucked the pregnancy text back into its wrapper and stuffed it in the back of your vanity drawer. You’d show it to Aaron when he got home from the case his team was currently working. Look at you, shaking, pathetic. Why couldn’t you be more like your sister. Graceful, poised…instead you look ridiculous, out of your fucking depth. You took a deep breath to steady yourself, splashed some cold water on your face and shook your head.

“Alright cutie pie! What would you like for lunch?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Jack cheered.

“I think I can make that happen! Do you want tater tots or French fries with your nuggets?” You asked.

“French fries please!” Jack confirmed, heading into the living room to continue his movie.

You pulled out the nuggets and fries from the freezer along with a cookie sheet from the cabinet, spreading the food out while the oven preheats. Your hands were covered in crumbs from the chicken, the feeling making your skin crawl, the smell of the frozen chicken wafting through the kitchen. Your stomach lurched, bile rising quickly, your feet moving faster, getting you to the guest bathroom just in time. You emptied your stomach contents, the tears rushing to your eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jack’s little voice came from behind you.

“Yeah bub, I’m okay. Just a tummy ache.” You reassured him. “Go finish your movie okay? I’m gonna get your lunch going.”

You rinsed your mouth out with some mouthwash and went back to the kitchen, doing your best to hold your breath as you slid the cookie sheet into the oven and set the timer.

Jack was sitting at the table eating his lunch, while you sat next to him, grading the tests your class took this past week. Jack was going on about his friend from school and how excited he was because they were both going to be on the same soccer team this year.

Your attention had been bouncing back and forth between the tests and your stepson, until the door unlocking called it away. Aaron stepped in, a smile immediately taking over his face as he saw the two of you sitting at the table.

“Am I just in time for lunch?” He asked.

You smiled back at him, “if you were in the mood for chicken nuggets and French fries, then yes my love, you are just in time.” A giggle escaped you.

“It’s like you read my mind.” Aaron joked, pressing a kiss to your temple and hugging you from behind. “Hey buddy, I missed you.”

“Hi dad! I was just saying that Emmett is going to be on my soccer team this year! Isn’t that cool?” Jack asked.

“That’s so cool bud.” Aaron offered. “I missed you sweetheart, how was this week?”

Aaron wandered into the kitchen, plucking a fry from the tray and eating it, turning to face you expectantly.

“I missed you too. It was good, I gave the kids their test on the parts of the brain, that one I was telling you about –”

“Oh! Where they have to label the parts and write out what each one does?” He questioned.

“Exactly, so far, their scores are pretty good, I’m impressed.” You smiled lightly.

“Sweetheart their scores are reflective of what an incredible teacher you are. They are so lucky to have you.”

“Thanks baby.” You blushed.

He’s lying. When you tell him about the baby, he’ll show his true colors and he will leave, just like everyone else.

“How was the case?” You asked.

“It was a rough one.” Aaron didn’t really love talking about his work, he would tell you he didn’t want to drag you and Jack into that darkness. “Too much loss, but ultimately we got the guy.”

“You are an incredible man Aaron. The work you and your team do, I know it doesn’t always feel like enough, but you are making the world a safer place.” You reached for his hand.

He gave yours a gentle squeeze. His gaze meeting your own, and you saw the shift, it was barely there, but you noticed the flicker of concern. He’d seen how the shine of your eyes had dulled, how your skin had grown slightly hollow. You got this way sometimes, you had been really good at verbalizing when you’d get low, you’d gone to therapy regularly, in fact, you’d been going less often now because you had made so much progress. Aaron was worried, that much you knew for sure.

“Hey Jack, is your homework done?” Aaron asked.

“Uhh, yes…” Jack trailed off in that silly way that told you he was lying.

“Jack, why don’t you put your plate in the sink, and then go do your homework.” Aaron instructed. “When you’re done, we can go look at some new cleats and shin guards.”

“Okay!” Jack smiled wide.

Aaron led you to your shared room, gently guiding you to sit at the end of the bed. He slowly squatted down in front of you, so you were eye level. His hand reached out slowly, lifting your chin so you would face him.

“Sweetheart, are you doing okay? You just – you seem…”

“I’m pregnant.” You cut him off.

“You, you’re…sweetheart…”

Here it is. He’s going to leave you. He hates you. You’ve never been enough.

“Aaron, I know we haven’t really talked about it, and I know it’s not the best timing, but I just I thought…I’m sorry.” You rambled.

“Honey, why are you apologizing, this is great news! We’re having a baby.”

“You-you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Aaron looked into your eyes then, noticing the storm clouds rolling in. “Honey, I am so excited to be a dad again, and even more so to do this with you. I have to say, I am worried about you, maybe we should schedule you an appointment with Laura.”

Laura was your therapist; she had been for the last three years. It was thanks to her that you’d been able to work through as much of your trauma as you had…but maybe Aaron was right, maybe it would be good to see her more frequently, with all the new things going on.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. I need to schedule a few appointments actually, therapy, the OB/GYN and my psychiatrist.”

Aaron’s hands grasped your own, subsequently stopping you from picking all the skin on the sides of your nailbeds.

“Why don’t we get those scheduled and I’ll take those days off, that way I can be there with you.”

You’re weak. He sees it now. You’re pathetic.

“Aaron, it’s okay, I can handle it.”

“I know you can baby, but I want to be there with you.”

“Jesus Y/n what are you doing with your life? Huh? Your sister, she’s married, has a career, and is pregnant with her second child. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Mom, I’m only twenty-four, there’s time. I double majored, I got a degree in teaching and one in psychology! I got a job! And I-I met someone.” You justified.

“You met someone?” Her face painted with surprise.

“Yeah, I met someone. He’s good mom. It’s still early, but he’s a great guy and he cares about me.”

“You still have time to mess it up though.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner, come on back.”

Aaron held your hand as you made your way back to the exam room. You had been instructed to sit up on the examination table and they offered a chair in the corner of the room to Aaron. He’d pulled the chair closer to you before sitting.

“Okay, we are going to have you fill out these forms and then we are going to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.”

You completed the forms one by one, growing fatigued at the repetitiveness of them all. Asking about your sexual history, menstrual cycle, whether or not you smoked or drank, your family history in the case that you carried a predisposition to some genetic disorder that could be passed along to the fetus.

“Alright, these questions may seem redundant, but when did your last period begin?”

“Oh um, I think it was in June.” You nervously rubbed your arm.

“Okay! Well then we will go ahead and start with an abdominal ultrasound, if you did conceive in June, you’d be far enough along that we should be able to see the baby this way.”

She assisted you in laying back, you’d pulled the hem of your top up and pushed the waistband of your jeans down. The technician tucked a towel into the waistband of your shorts to avoid getting any gel on them.

“Alright, the gel will be warm.”

She sprayed the gel on the lowest part of your belly, just above your pelvis. She then pressed the wand into the area, spreading the gel around, the picture on the screen coming to life.

The wand shifted two or three times before she paused. She clicked a few things on the screen before addressing you both.

“Okay, that right there, is your baby!” She gestured to the screen.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. You’d expected to see just a little blip on the screen, barely registering as life, but instead, frozen on the screen was the image of what looked like an actual baby.

“Okay, and this right here, that is your baby’s heartbeat.”

A quick thumping noise filled the room. The heartrate seemingly matching your own, it seemed too fast, but the technician assured you it was normal.

“Okay, I am going to go grab the doctor, she will be able to give you a pretty good estimate as to how far along you are based on measurements and she may call for some bloodwork to check your HCG levels.”

The two of you sat in wait. Aaron was over the moon, tears in his eyes as he gripped your hand, bringing it to his lips to press kisses over your knuckles. You, however, your mind was reeling. You couldn’t do this; you had no idea how to be a mother. You could tell Aaron could sense your unease, but he didn’t get the chance to speak on it as the doctor entered the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hotchner, congratulations! Let’s take a look at your baby, okay?”

Aaron nodded, confirming for the both of you. The doctor followed the same path as the technician that performed the ultrasound a moment ago. She showed you your baby once again, confirming the measurements, and then played the heartbeat, noting how strong it sounded.

“Alrighty then. I’d say based off measurements alone, you are just about out of the first trimester. I do want to order some blood tests just to confirm your HCG, as well as some other standard testing okay?”

“Okay, that sounds good.” Aaron answered and you simply nodded in agreement.

You sat and waited a bit, the nurse came in and drew your blood and then led you both out to the lobby. They were quick to schedule your next appointment, which providing your bloodwork came back clean, you be back in a few short weeks to find out the sex of your baby.

You were feeling numb and unsure. Aaron kept a reassuring hand on you the whole time, only letting go when you had to go in for your next appointment…the one with your psychiatrist.

“Okay Mrs. Hotchner, what brings you in today?”

“I uh, I’m pregnant, and I guess I just need to see if it is safe for me to take my antidepressants.” You explained.

“Okay, well let’s go over a few things, you are still going to therapy right?”

“I am.”

“Okay, and how have you been feeling, a lot of women who struggle with anxiety and depression will often experience perinatal depression and are typically at a higher risk for it.” Your psychiatrist explained.

“Perinatal depression?”

“It is sort of an umbrella term for prenatal and postpartum depression. Essentially your usual anxiety and depression may be heightened, especially with all the additional hormones coursing through your body.” She explained. “Do you feel like that is something you may be experiencing.”

“I uh, I have been feeling especially low lately. Hopeless, like nothing I do is good enough.”

“Y/n have you been having any urges or thoughts of harming yourself?”

“No, nothing like that. I just, I feel like I’m going to fuck this up. Like no matter how hard I try, there’s no chance I can succeed.”

“Okay, I think it is best that we get you on a medication that is safe for you and the baby, one that will help okay?” She began. “We are going to start you on a lower dose, but if the feelings of hopelessness persist, please come back in and we will adjust the meds, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“She’s always getting into trouble. I don’t know what to do with her. The school called again, they said she’s unfocused and she’s struggling in all subjects.” Your mom huffed.

“Do you think maybe we should take her in to see a doctor? John’s son just go diagnosed with uh...with ADHD or some shit – the kid can’t sit still to save his life.” Your dad offered.

“I’m not paying a bunch of money, just to have some doctor say that our daughter is hyper. What she needs is discipline.” Your mom rebutted.

“I don’t think a belt is going to make her better at math.” Your dad argued.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt.”

The next two months were incredibly difficult. You’d been back to your psychiatrist twice to get your meds adjusted. You’d been back to weekly therapy sessions, but nothing was helping. Aaron had been staying back for more and more cases, doing what he could to be there for you.

Aaron had tried to get you to talk to him, he just wanted to be there, to help. He knew that you were likely anxious as this was your first baby and a lot of worries were sure to surface. He was growing increasingly concerned.

What was getting to him more than anything was Jack. Jack had been so sad for you. Aaron had explained to him that he was going to have a little sister, and that while she was growing inside you, that made you tired and sometimes it made you sad, he told Jack that you had to give the baby all your energy and happiness to help her grow…it was the only way he thought Jack would be able to understand it at his age.

“Is momma gonna get better?” Jack asked quietly.

Aaron was surprised at Jack’s use of the name. Jack had asked him a long time ago if he could call you mom and Aaron and you both told him that he could whenever he was ready. I guess that time is now.

“Yeah bud, momma is going to get better. She just needs extra rest for your sister.”

“Do you think we could help momma give happiness to the baby? That way she doesn’t have to give all of hers away?”

Aaron smiled. “I think that is a great idea bud.”

Jack came up with a list of things to do for you to help you. He wanted to draw you pictures, bring you breakfast in bed, bring you flowers, watch your favorite (Disney/Pixar) movies with you, read stories with you, sing songs with you and cuddle with you.

The two of them came up with a plan and a schedule of when they were going to do each of these things with you. Aaron was going to make sure you were taken care of. He knew he needed to put you first and be there for you during this time.

After this realization, Aaron had gone to Dave, explaining the situation to him, telling him that he’d need to take a step back. Dave immediately told Aaron to prioritize his family and that the team would be ready for him, whenever he could return. Director Cruiz had been equally receptive. Informing Aaron that he’d had a rather large bank of PTO waiting to be used and once the baby was born he could switch over to paternity leave.

He’d been thinking about it a lot…and he thought back to when Haley got pregnant with Jack. The fear that filled him, of being like his own father. Swearing to himself and to her that he would never be like him. It had him thinking about your relationship with your mom…and maybe just maybe, you were experiencing a similar fear to what he’d felt.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you don’t want to invite them to the wedding?” Aaron asked.

“I’m sure. My sister and her family are coming, my aunt and uncle are coming with some of my cousins, and my friends are coming and that’s all that matters.”

“I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“Would you invite your dad?” Low blow…speak to him like that and he will leave you.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Aaron confirmed. “I didn’t realize it was like that honey, I’m sorry.”

He held you close, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, whispering sweet nothings into the air surrounding you.

“All that matters is that we are surrounded by our loved ones.” Aaron confirmed.

“I was thinking of asking my uncle to walk me down the aisle.” You suggested.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Aaron and Jack’s plan had been going for two weeks now and thankfully, winter break had just started for both you and Jack. Nearly three weeks off for the holiday, and extra time for them to do everything they can to help you through this.

This particular morning, Jack had told Aaron he wanted to make chocolate chip pancakes with strawberries and bacon on the side, your favorites. Aaron had agreed and woke up early, carefully slipping out of bed and going to wake Jack.

The two of them cooked breakfast side by side, jack was giggling at Aaron as he burned the first batch of pancakes, and jack suggested making the next ones heart shaped.

“To show momma how much we love her.”

As soon as everything was done, they plated it up and placed it on a tray to bring to you. Aaron carried it the majority of the way, before passing it over to Jack, allowing him to take it the last few steps to you.

“Momma, wake up it’s time for breakfast!” Jack called

Aaron placed his hand gently on your shoulder, trying carefully to rouse you. You were quick to stir, you’d been quite restless and were officially in the third trimester, which had brought you an added discomfort.

“What’s this?” You asked

“We made you breakfast, so that way you don’t have to give all your happiness to the baby. Momma, we can give her some of our happiness too. So, you don’t have to be sad.” Jack explained like it was the simplest thing.

Your gaze shot up to Aaron, shock written all over it, at Jack calling you momma, at his offer of sharing his happiness with the baby, and also at his concern of your wellbeing. Tears sprung to your eyes as Aaron simply nodded and hoisted Jack up onto the bed next to you.

“Sweetheart, you are amazing. I know what you’re thinking, and you have nothing to worry about. You are going to be the best mom to this baby.”

“Aaron, I don’t want to be like her. I am so scared that I am going to mess this up…I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I’m a horrible mom?” You cry.

“Momma don’t cry! You’re not horrible, you’re the best mom!” Jack attempted to soothe you, wrapping his little arms around your neck and holding you tight. “I love you momma.”

“I love you too, my sweet boy.” You hugged him to you.

“I know it is scary sweetheart, but this,” Aaron gestures between you and Jack, “you have this part down. The early stuff, we will get through together.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I love you so much honey.”

“I love you too.”

Aaron pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Love you momma!” Jack kissed your cheek, causing you all to laugh.

“I love you too bub!” You squished his cheek with an exaggerated kiss.

Maybe I can do this…maybe it’ll be okay.

Hotch Taglist: @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust @khxna @crimesthatnooneaskedfor @juninnyxriddle

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lemotmo · 4 months ago

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All the reasons why I’m pretty sure this isn’t really Bobby’s funeral:

ONE: Tim and the show would never allow anything that big to leak.

From a TV show perspective it doesn't make a lick of sense. It does make sense however if you use this as ‘free promo’. They already used this tactic once before with the 'leaked' Buddie hug scene.

Think about it. We are always complaining that 911 doesn’t promote their show enough. But week after week we get bts shot by ordinary people like you and I. Those pics and videos are then spread all over social media to hype up the masses. It’s the best promo and it’s FREE. 🤷‍♀️

TWO: The Gerrard factor.

We have seen bts of Gerrard being the new 118 Captain. I do not believe for a single minute that Gerrard would want to come back to the 118, because he has got a great job on the Hot Shots set. Next to that, he was almost fully redeemed 🙄 when he helped Hen and Karen get Mara back. And if he would come back? He would never go back to his old ways of being an asshole. If there is anything he learned from Bobby? It is how to be a better Captain.

THREE: Not enough tears.

Why was no one crying at that funeral? Where were the tissues and the red-rimmed eyes? Chim’s face looked teary, but the others? You would at least expect May, Harry and Athena to be hit hard with this. But there was nothing. It was almost emotionless. That is not how you say goodbye to a great character as Bobby Nash. You would show the audience that his family and friends are going ‘through’ it by having them cry and show emotions. 😭

FOUR: The laughing and joking in between takes.

If Bobby was really dead? The actors would want to stay ‘in the moment’ of one of their own dying. Next to that, they would be sad about Peter leaving. They wouldn’t be joking around like this. They even took a picture in front of the casket, making funny faces. 😬

FIVE: Why was Tommy there?

The man isn’t part of the 118 and he has broken up with Buck. In fact, him and Buck parted on bad terms in 8x11, so what is he doing there? And walking in front as well? It doesn’t make any sense for him to be there up front.

Now I could understand that Tommy wanted to pay his respects to Bobby, but he would never be in that front position. It isn't his place.

I can definitely understand Gerrard being there, because he did take a liking to Bobby in the end. The man helped him get his new job.

SIX: Where were Bobby’s mom and brother?

These characters were just introduced and reunited. No way that they wouldn’t be there for that funeral. Especially Charlie, because he seemed like a really nice guy who genuinely loved his brother.

SEVEN: The switching name on the turnout jacket.

In the first bts we clearly see ‘Nash’ on the jacket, but then it randomly changes to ‘Carusso’? That is odd. There was no reason to hide the Nash jacket anymore, because it was literally one of the first things that leaked, after the funeral parade.

Also... who is Carusso? Have we ever seen a character or an extra with that name?

EIGHT: Hot Shots actor in a scene?

Now I’m not entirely sure about this one, because it might just be a coincidence. But in the bts from the scene where Chimney is yelling at Gerrard that he was only half a Bobby? One of the firefighters is called ‘Sanchez’ and he has a moustache. He was supposed to be the Eddie counterpart on Hot Shots. Why was he there?

NINE: The El Paso fire engine.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that this might just have been because they needed more fire engines and they reused the ones they already had. They can always digitally edit out the El Paso on the side. However, it was right there ‘front and center’ carrying the big American flag. Why would they use that car specifically to be so out in the open? They could have used one of the other real LAFD engines. Instead they used the El Paso one. So they can have more work editing everything out? It doesn’t make sense. 🤷‍♀️

TEN: Ryan/Eddie walks a bit in front of the others.

Now this one is far-fetched and possibly delusional. I agree. But remember I slept about an hour and a half last night after I was up all night going mentally insane over the funeral bts. 🥱

But when you look at the bts footage Eddie stands out in his suit, walking a tiny bit in front of the others, as if he needed to stay in front of them, so they could get a good shot of him. I’m actively wondering if all of this might actually be connected to him somehow.

Like, what if something happens to Eddie and he dreams up this ‘what if’ scenario where he no longer has a place on the 118, because Bobby died. He goes back to LA for the funeral and decides to stay and claim his spot on the team again. But then Gerrard takes over for some reason and denies him the job. He instead gives it to Tommy, who is now also back together with Buck and maybe living with him in Eddie’s old house. So Eddie won’t be able to live there anymore.

He will then basically see that everything he has ever loved and wanted (his job, his 118 family, his house and Buck) is no longer in his grasp and he will hate all of it.

Now remember… this is all highly speculative. We don’t know enough about the rest of the season to actually call this one ‘plausible’. But I feel like this might be something that 911 would be capable of doing. It is such a big trope when it comes to slow burn romances. I cannot help but think that they’ll want to touch upon as many romantic tropes as they can with Buddie, before they actually put them together.

ELEVEN: The Brad stories made by Oliver.

Oliver is a menace and I love him so.😋 He posted those two Brad pics (one where he is hugging Bobby and another one of just Brad) and then removed them after a few seconds. He knew exactly there would be people out there to take screenshots. What was the reason though? It has to be connected to that funeral we saw.

How? I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see about that when we get more information about episode 16 and beyond.

TWELVE: The Peter Krause and Angela Bassett factor.

I don’t think that Peter is ready to leave 911 yet. He loves being on that show and he himself said in an interview in 2024 that he isn’t thinking of stopping just yet.

In another interview Angela stated that there couldn’t be an Athena without Bobby or something in that vein. Bathena is such a core couple on 911. Athena has already lost two loves: Emmett and Michael. One of them got killed. I don’t think they’ll do that to Athena for a third time. 911 simply is NOT that kind of show.

THIRTEEN: The Tim Minear factor.

Tim doesn’t kill off his main characters. He has no problems killing off guest characters, but when it comes to the mains? Nah. He knows exactly how popular Bobby and Athena are. They bring in a lot of viewers. I’m absolutely certain that there are people out there who would stop watching the show if one of these two characters died.

Tim did say that something would happen that would affect all the characters. I’m sure they are now trying to make us think that this is the event: Bobby dying.

But I’m thinking it might not all be what we think it is. Something else might happen that will change lives. Again, we can’t know that without enough information about the rest of the season. So we’ll have to wait and see.

But for now though… I’m thinking about 8x13 ‘Invisible’. I’m sat for Hen saving the day and for Eddie finally calling out his controlling mother. And maybe some Buddie hints in between all of that. 🙂‍↕️

#911 spoilers #911 abc #911 8b speculation #911 8x16 speculation #eddie diaz #evan buckley #bobby nash #vincent gerrard #peter krause #angela bassett #tim minear #buddie #oliver stark #ryan guzman #T mention

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hellfire--cult · 2 months ago

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Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️18+: tooth rotting fluff, anxiety, panic attacks, eddie is sick, angst, nervousness, talk about illnesses, a new character comes in

wc: 10.7k

A/N: OH MY, ITS FINALLY HERE, THE ONE SCENE THAT STARTED THIS MADNESS IN MY HEAD. after almost 2 years, finally, here is... baring teeth. Thank you @andvys for proofreading and telling me things did make sense.

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

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CHAPTER 26

“So, how is everything there, honey?”

Your mother's voice was comforting, to say the least, and all you wanted was to hug her. You felt the tears slowly coming back to you as your chest started heaving a bit at the memory of what happened the night before.

“I– I told the worst guy ever what happened.” You could see your mother's side on the other side of your screen. Your walls were broken, your privacy shattered, a story you never wanted out, at least not yet.

“Was it that… long-haired guy?”

“Yes– Yes, and it was so… It was so liberating, but why him?” Your voice cracked as you remembered everything you said inside that elevator, but your sobs started going down when you remembered how he let you hit him. How he let you strike him as many times as you wanted, and you stopped at two. Your mom waited patiently, seeing you calm down slowly.

“Did he push you? Force you to talk?” You blinked a few times, wiping your tears away, shaking your head at her.

“No… But I just got so tired…”

“You exploded… You should have told your friend.” You rolled your eyes at your mom, but she was right. You should have told Robin about your past a long time ago, but now Eddie Munson knows it first. The guy you absolutely despise knows your life story now.

“I hate him… But he is not a bad guy.” You confessed, and your mother nodded in understanding, a small smile on her face.

“Maybe your relationship changes from now on, and maybe he isn’t that much of an asshole as you say he is.” She giggled, and you huffed, shaking your head.

“I doubt it.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the grogginess of sleep invading you as you woke up. You felt warm, as if you had a personal furnace sitting right next to you. Or behind you. The warmth was on your back and wrapped around your middle.

You looked down to see tattooed arms around you, holding you close against a chest. Strong breaths were being puffed against the back of your neck, making the hairs of your arms stand up when a child ran down your spine. You could smell him as he softly snored behind you, and you felt safe. You felt warm. Protected.

And the giddiness suddenly got to you. You’re with Eddie. You’re officially with Eddie. You were no longer just friends with benefits; you two were together, together. You two were dating. He was yours, you were his. No longer just exclusive for sex, but because there was a serious relationship now. A serious relationship with a man that you knew wanted the same things you did in the future.

You needed to tell Robin. Fuck you couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait to get out of this bed and tell your best friend, and then everyone else, and you couldn’t wait for their reactions. What were they going to say? Were they going to be angry for hiding it, or were they going to congratulate the two of you and be happy? You were no longer the only single people in the group, and the funny part was that you got together with each other.

Would Robin jump and down like you wanted to do so badly now? You had to tell your mom, but your mom didn’t know you were actually seeing Eddie; she just knew you were seeing some dude, so what would she think of this? What would she think of him?

“Stop wiggling your ass like a happy puppy, or you’re going to be in trouble.” His voice knocked you out of your little dreamland, and you hadn’t noticed that out of your happiness and excitement, you had been wiggling unconsciously. His voice was raspy, laced with sleepiness that he was starting to shake off second by second.

You bit your bottom lip, turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes meeting with his closed eyelids.

“Morning.” You whispered softly, feeling your heart about to burst at its seams, and you felt your throat closing up on you. For some reason, it still felt unreal. You weren’t sure why, but you were now dating Eddie, when a year back, you couldn’t stand to see his face. Now you were sure you cannot live without seeing those eyes at least once a day.

Said eyes slowly started making an appearance. A thin line first before he yawned and blinked slowly, trying to wake himself up a little more. His grip tightened around your body, and it looked as if he were trying to focus and center on your face. He groaned and whined playfully as he cuddled even more against you, his nose into your neck.

“I don’t wanna get up…” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips, feeling your entire body enter a state of bliss. You wanted to see him. You wanted to properly greet him this morning. You wiggled in his arms, turning around as best as you could, making him groan in warning this time because you brushed your ass against his bare front.

“It’s a Sunday…” You whispered, and he hummed in delight. His hands were now all over your back, pulling you into him, and you felt entirely safe in these arms. You sighed in contentment, closing your eyes as you snuggled up into him. You took a deep breath of his scent in and you heard him huff.

“You creep, stop smelling me.”

“Can’t stop, won’t stop.” You made an obnoxious inhaling sound, very exaggerated, with your nose against his Adam’s apple. He laughed, and he moved his face away from yours, making you pout. “I wasn’t done smelling…”

His eyes were tender, sleepy, but you could still see the happiness shining in them. You expected yours to look just the same. He suddenly rolled over you, making you gasp, and he started sniffing you all over like a dog. He was huffing, letting out sharp breaths, and even panting like one. You were giggling and squealing each time his scruff tickled you, or his breath, even more when they passed all over your neck.

“You smell–” Sniff. Sniff. “Like something delicious. Something precious.” He mimicked Smeagol from Lord of the Rings, which fully woke you up, making you laugh in disgust. “Me likey.”

“Of course you do. You are the creep, not me!” He pulled away from you, pouting. He was adorable. How could a man like this be adorable?

“I am not a creep. I just like your smell, is that so bad? Didn’t you like my smell too?”

“But I ain’t acting like a dog!” You exclaimed, and he squinted at you for a few seconds before letting out a playful bark. You laughed, and he smiled down at you, making this morning perfect in every shape and way possible.

He waited for your laugh to slow down before moving down and capturing your lips in a soft kiss. Your breathing hitched, stopped for a second, and then your right hand moved to the back of his head to hold on to him, kissing him back. Overly domestic, overly cheesy, but you loved it.

When he pulled away, his left hand came to brush against your cheek, which only made your head feel dizzy. What had Eddie Munson done to you? What kind of drug did he inject you with to be this obsessed with him?

“Morning, Peach.” You pouted a bit, and he tilted his head with a smile. “What?”

“You called me something else last night…” He hummed at your response, and you could see how he was trying not to smile widely, his dimples clenching on him from the force.

“Oh? What was that? Mmm… Honey?” You shook your head, still with the pout on your lips. “Not Honey? Darling? I always say that one…”

“You called me that before, and now I can admit I’ve always liked it.” You said softly, and he stuck his tongue out to the corner of his mouth, and squinted his eyes, as if deep in thought.

“Mmm… What’s the first letter?”

“Now you’re being mean…”

“I’m not being mean, baby.” He smirked as he saw your eyes lock with his at the pet name. The pet name that would definitely state what you were to him in front of everyone. “Oh, was it ‘baby’?”

You whined at the teasing, but you loved it. You pouted your bottom lip at him, and he chuckled, leaning down to kiss it away before dipping his head towards your pulse point, kissing it softly. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes at the sensation.

“Eds…”

“Cute.” He pulled away, and his eyes found yours before talking again. “So, when’s our anniversary?”

Your heart jumped out of your chest at the question. It was unbelievable. Maybe you should pinch yourself somehow because it was almost like a dream. Eddie, though, looked quite serious with the question, and you remembered that this was a man who had never had a formal relationship before. It was your turn to tease now.

“Our anniversary? Of what?” You innocently asked, and his eyebrows raised up in surprise.

“Uh… us?”

“Us? Like our… first fuck? Or what do you mean?” He was perplexed, looking down at you as if you had gone crazy. You wanted to laugh because he was clearly not getting the joke at all.

“I– Was what happened yesterday night a dream? Am I going crazy?”

“What happened?” You were playing innocent, your voice high-pitched on purpose, and his eyes started to squint your way, as if knowing you were up to something.

“What we talked about…? Making it official?” Your gut turned in giddiness, and you frowned as if confused.

“We made it official?”

He tilted his head to the side, and it took him a few seconds before he huffed and sat back on the bed, crossing his legs and arms, glaring at you. You giggled, sitting up too, the same way, so he knew you weren’t backing out of your joke.

“Are you seriously going to make me ask? What are we, fifteen?”

“Ask what, Munson?” You shrugged as if you had no clue what he meant. His mouth fell in disbelief, and you wanted to cackle at it. He looked so comical right now. You two were completely naked, looking at each other, limbs crossed and hairs a mess, would be hard not to laugh at it. He squinted a bit before a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Well… then, you ask me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. We were never a conventional pair; let’s keep it that way. You ask me to be your boyfriend.” Your mouth fell open, and you couldn’t believe how he turned this against you. His eyes were shimmering with amusement at your reaction, and you turned your head away from him.

“Then, no anniversary.” Suddenly, you were tackled into the bed again, your face being peppered in kisses that made you giggle, feeling the warmth of his body all over you. His hair was all over your face, making you do spitting noises each time you felt a bit of hair get into your mouth. “Stop!”

He stopped and looked down at you, playful, yet serious, and filled with an emotion that just made your limbs turn into Jell-O. The room just felt like a cocoon of comfort, of life, and you didn’t want to get out of it anytime soon.

“Well, if it wasn’t obvious, Peach, you became my girlfriend. So yes, anniversary, and I declare it was yesterday. Happy?” You couldn’t help the smile that broke on your lips, same as his did. You nodded at him and pecked his lips softly, only to then smirk.

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to say it out loud, admit you’re crazy for me and all that.” You mocked him with his exact words from yesterday, making his jaw fall in surprise. You copied his surprised face, once again making fun of him, and then you were tickled on the side, making you choke on a giggle.

If this was what life was going to be with Eddie, fuck, you regretted hating him for an entire year. You couldn’t believe this man, who was a menace to you before, now acted this way. You couldn’t believe YOU acted this way. This domestic. This clingy. This possessive.

“Now, who is the mean one?” He squinted a bit, and you shrugged, playing coy. He chuckled, and then his eyes seemed to look to the side, as if in thought. Your smile fell a little at the seriousness that took over his features.

“What is it?”

“I…” He choked up a bit on his words, surprising you. You felt something twisting in your stomach, like something was wrong. “Now that we’re together… I– I think that you need to know about something, Peach.”

Your breathing stopped. This was probably about his condition, whatever that could be. You were curious, but he seemed disturbed by it. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He seemed… scared. There was definitely fear in those eyes, and in the shakiness of the tip of his fingers.

“Okay, I am listening, Eddie…” You reassured him, and he sighed, shaking his head as his voice started becoming slightly choked up.

“I– It just… It’s something…”

You noticed he couldn’t find the words. You were nervous now, wondering what it could be for him to be this affected by it. Was he judged for having an illness before? You wouldn’t be surprised, the world you all lived in today was fucked in many ways. But physically, Eddie didn’t seem to have any illness at all, so it couldn’t be that he was bullied or made fun of or judged because of physical features.

But he was scared shitless, which made you feel the exact same level of fear. Whatever the condition was, he didn’t talk about it often, you now realized. Should you tell him to not tell you anything? Should you stop him, and let him know he could tell you when he truly felt ready? No, you really do want to know because you worry for his health. You worry it’s something he might need help with. Something you need to know in case there’s an emergency.

“Baby, you can tell me…” You softly brushed a hair of his behind his ear, and his eyes finally found yours. He was starting to breathe heavily, his nostrils flaring as he looked into your pupils. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with nerves, and your worry only increased.

“I… I–”

Your phone started ringing out of nowhere. You frowned and looked to the side at the same time Eddie did. You shook your head and looked back at him, deciding to let it ring. You couldn’t be interrupted, not now.

“Eds, let it ring–”

“It’s your boss.” You frowned again, this time confused. Liana never called you during weekends. He immediately rolled over and laid on his back as you reached for the phone, seeing Liana’s name on the screen. You sat up as you answered.

“Liana?”

“Hey! I am so sorry for calling you, but– I know you have been absent because of a family loss, and I know it’s a Sunday, but I need you.”

Worry settled in your gut when you heard the heaviness of her voice. She was clearly rushing somewhere, and with that belly of hers, it was probably no easy task. That’s why she probably needed your help, the question was why.

“What do you need help with? Did something happen?” Meanwhile, Eddie was using his elbow for support as he rested his head on his palm, his left hand running over your thigh.

“Jean Paul Gaultier’s VP is literally in town for just this weekend. He called me just an hour before, embarrassed for doing so, but he wanted to meet up with me to discuss a campaign. This is important because we rarely have vice presidents coming in for these deals!”

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, and your excitement grew as you heard the insane opportunity at hand. You grabbed Eddie’s hand with happiness, and he was stunned at the action, but he held it and let you shake him back and forth in your giddiness.

“That’s fucking amazing, Liana! What do you need me for, though?”

“It’s a great opportunity for you to know how to interact with important clients. It’s also good, because you will manage this campaign when I’m gone, so they will know who to contact if something urgent were to happen. But the meeting is today, in an hour.” Your eyes widened, heart plummeting to the floor as you turned to look at Eddie.

“Today? Can’t he… stay one more day, and we can do the meeting tomorrow?” Liana sighed, calling your name almost in a reprimand.

“This position of mine is amazing and great, pays beautifully, but it also means you won’t have as much peace as you had before.” You sighed, gulping as you looked at Eddie with a sad frown on your eyebrows. He immediately sat up, noticing the distress, and he shook his head, mouthing ‘Don’t worry’.

“Okay… Okay… I will be there… You think the meeting will be long?”

“Well, we’ll first get to know each other, establish a nice relationship, before jumping into a deal. So, we might take some hours.” You bit your bottom lip, and you cursed at everything and everyone in life. You were regretting saying yes to this position, but you also didn’t. You were going to meet with Jean Paul Gaultier for fucks sake, but Eddie–

“Alright. Send me the details in a message, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Thank you! I can barely breathe and talk because of the heats, so you would help me a lot if you could do most of the talking, darling.” You couldn’t say you understood, but you knew about the heats she was talking about. You had some maternity classes when doing your fertility treatments, after all.

“Sure, I’ll see you in an hour, Li.” She said goodbye, and you hung up the phone, looking at Eddie, who chuckled, frowning a bit as he thought.

“I heard, Jean Paul Gaultier? Isn’t that the brand that makes those body-shaped perfumes?” Your eyes widened in surprise because you didn’t think Eddie would know about that.

“Um, yeah. How–”

“Steve. He loves collecting perfumes. Imagine my surprise when he gifted me one, and it was the body of a man, bulge and all.” You giggled at that, shaking your head at his childishness. You then frowned again, grabbing his hand.

“I’m sorry… You were going to tell me something important…” He shrugged and leaned forward to press a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Don’t worry… It can wait. Really.” His voice was soft and reassuring, letting you know there really was no problem with you going out for a few hours.

“We could continue tonight? I really want to know what you have to tell me…” You saw him gulp at your words, noticing the nerves etched on his face. He nodded once.

“Yeah… We got time for that.” You sighed in defeat and nodded, looking down at your phone, and your eyes widened, jumping off the bed.

“Shit! One hour! One hour to make myself presentable and hide all the fucking hickies you left!” You heard your boyfriend plopping on the bed, turning to see him with his hands behind his head, looking at you.

“Don’t you dare cover those up.” You rolled your eyes, not noticing how serious he was about that statement, but you preoccupied yourself with looking for your clothes. You grabbed the bag you brought to Eddie’s, selecting the most formal outfit you could. He watched your every move, a smile on his face, which you were not aware of.

“God, what am I even going to say! I– Fuck, I need to think of what we’ll talk about, and the project, and, fuck, fuck, fuck–” You were hit with sudden nerves as you thought about the possibilities this meeting would bring to you professionally. This was not just the secretary of the secretary, of the administration of the management of Jean Paul Gaultier. This was the vice president.

“Hey, hey, hey.” You heard Eddie call you, and you turned around to see him putting on his boxers and walking your way. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, and he mimicked a deep breath in, so you copied him, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “You’ll do great. That’s why Liana trusts you so much.”

“Yeah, but what if I don’t do great?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes your way.

“Yeah, you messing up all the time is what got you a CEO training and future position.” His encouraging words, even if sarcastic, managed to calm your erratic heart, and he pressed a soft kiss at the top of your head. “Tell you what. You’ll nail that interview, and I will be here waiting for you with Mexican food.”

You gasped in delight at the thought, wrapping your arms around his shoulders with a smile. You peppered his face in kisses, finally getting to do it without worrying if he would think it was too much. By his laughter, you guessed he enjoyed the attention, as well as his hands gripping your hips in a tight hold.

“Okay, I will get that deal. Just for the tacos.” He smiled and gave your lips a soft kiss before pulling away to let you keep getting dressed. You didn’t notice where he was going, too busy trying to fix yourself in his mirror. You also had to brush your teeth and do some of your makeup, and cover the cannibalism Eddie had done to your neck.

“Peach.” You were brought out of your thoughts as you turned around, brush in hand. Your eyes fell on the glistening key that was in his hand. You felt the butterflies in your belly resurface, flying all about in a crazed state, realizing what he was giving you. “Here.”

“Eddie…” You whispered as you got hold of the copy of his front door. Your eyes found his, and you noticed the blush spreading on his cheeks as he tried to cover it by pulling his hair in front of his face.

“Had it for a while… I just… I don’t know how this goes, is it too much? Too early? You’re just– just here all the time, so–” You interrupted his nervous rambling by getting on your tippy toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. You couldn’t feel any happier even if you could. There was no way. This day exceeded all the thoughts and dreams you had. You weren’t expecting the key to his house at all, and this just meant how deep you two were in.

“Thank you for trusting me…” You whispered into his lips, and he sighed, pecking you once again as his arms wrapped around you. “I will do a copy of mine for you too…”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to…” He smiled softly, holding your gaze for a little longer as his hands pressed against your back. Such a big step. Two dynamics have changed so badly in less than 24 hours.

You really could not wait to tell Robin.

Three hours. A three-hour meeting.

It was nerve-wracking. You were nervous most of the time because that man was rich, a millionaire, having a croissant with you and your boss, who barely had money to start saving up for a house.

It was an hour of making small talk, getting to know one another, and then it was business time. They want their new designs for the winter collection to have four to seven full pages in your magazine. At this point, it was a catalogue for events and famous people. They would use your magazine to browse their favorite designs, and then contact the designers to get them for important galas or events.

You managed to strike a very good deal, and you were going to be the head of the project. You would have to look for models, artists and photographers, and get the campaign going, but you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. You made good friends with the man too, so you were headed in the right direction.

Now, alone with Liana in the limousine she rented for this meeting, you could finally sigh out of relief and lie back on the seat. Your boss smiled as she rubbed her belly, patting it gently.

“Well, that was a success!”

“Yeah, it surprisingly was.” You chuckled, and Liana shook her head, scooting closer to you.

“No, I was right when I chose you as my replacement. There was no such surprise. No one could have pulled a good deal like you just did. You got us earnings if someone wants a design from the posts in our magazine! No designer ever agrees to that.” You smiled at the praise, knowing you did, in fact, do a good job. It was alright to feel proud of yourself, so you nodded.

“Yeah, I am that bitch.” Liana laughed at your joke and then she also lay back on the seat. She took a deep breath in before turning her head to look at you.

“You alright? After this week?” You didn’t want to lie to her. She had been the closest you had to a second mom in this city, ever since you moved. You felt attached to her, so the least you could do was be honest.

“It wasn’t… from my side. My boyfriend… He lost his uncle, who was basically his father figure, and he– He needed me, Li.” Your boss’s eyes widened as she straightened up with a grunt because of her belly, facing you entirely.

“Boyfriend!? Since when did you get a boyfriend!?” You couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips as you looked at her. You could feel your body flushing all over with heat as you felt happiness invade your brain once again.

“I– Since yesterday… actually…” She tilted her head with confusion, trying to, what it looked like, do calculations in her head.

“But– You asked for the week off, and you–” She gasped, pointing a finger at you, then covering her mouth with a shocked gasp. “Oh my god, I– I called you on your first morning as an official couple!?”

“It’s okay, really… We had been… seeing each other for months now, and– We finally talked yesterday after an entire week of living together and… well…” You smiled widely at her, not even trying to hide your giddiness. She sighed happily as she smiled your way, giving you a small nod.

“I’m happy for you… Um… he is not like… You know…” She winced a bit, and you shook your head, sitting up straight. You knew she was asking if he had the same thoughts and ideals as Billy did.

“No, no… He has been in my friend group since I moved here. We clashed for an entire year until we finally opened up to one another, and well… one thing led to the other.” Liana awed at your explanation, and you shook your head, snorting at her.

“Well, I hope he treats you right.” You nodded, your grin still plastered on your face.

“I don’t doubt he will.” Liana patted you on the shoulder with encouragement, and then she fanned herself a little bit as the heat got to her once more.

“I really do need my bed… Do you want me to drop you off at your house?” You immediately shook your head, your nerves and your excitement to see your boyfriend winning over as you gave her his address.

In the ride, you told her in short detail about your relationship. She listened and was shocked to learn you were dating someone you almost beat the shit out of. You talked highly of Eddie, of how protective he is, how caring, how sensitive when he lets himself be, how hard headed he could be.

Liana was also shocked when she saw you stop at a mechanic’s shop, and you explained that his house was on the second and third floors. She hummed with approval and let you go with a kiss on the cheek. Your eyes drifted to the moving belly as she complained one more time, and you didn’t feel hopeless for the first time in a while.

You felt anxious, yes, but filled with excitement about what Eddie could bring into your life. You knew that he wanted a family; he even promised to give you a baby when the two of you were just friends with benefits, and now, as a couple… Maybe that baby could come sooner than waiting for you two to be thirty.

You shook your head from the running thoughts and the images that started conjuring up in your mind. The small domestic scenes that were suddenly displayed were a bit frightening when you two had just become official less than 24 hours ago. You walked up the stairs behind the building, going up to his front door, and you looked excitedly into your purse, finding the key.

You bit your bottom lip and slowly opened the door. The blinds were still down in the living room, so that meant that Eddie did not come downstairs. You frowned as you closed the door behind you, looking upstairs.

“Eds? I’m back!” You waited for a response, only to receive nothing in return. You walked more into the living room, and you saw the small bathroom’s light turned on in the small hallway next to the kitchen. You walked towards it to see that the cabinet was open and things were thrown on the sink.

Your heart started dropping, and suddenly your gut was telling you that something was wrong. Something was not right. Maybe Eddie went out? Maybe he was looking for some painkillers and didn’t find any, so maybe he was not home? You grabbed your phone from your back pocket, walking back into the living room and kitchen area, and messaged him

‘Where are you?’

You heard vibrations coming from the coffee table, and you frowned, walking towards it. Eddie’s phone rested there, lighting up with your message. The hairs on your arms stood in alarm as your head snapped towards the stairs.

“Eddie?” You called again, and this time you heard a thump. You dropped your purse as you felt adrenaline rushing through you, running up the stairs as quickly as you could, feeling your heart about to burst in your chest. The first thing you saw was the bathroom door open, and things were dropped onto the floor, and then into the hallway.

You walked towards it to see the cabinet also open, and that empty flask on the sink was shattered into pieces, no liquid in sight. You turned around and rushed to the door of his room, but you were frozen in place at the doorway when you saw the scene before you.

The drawers were pulled open, clothes a mess as if he were looking for something desperately. The drawers of the night tables, the desk, all of it was open. Papers were scattered around, as well as his bags, but the worst sight was him.

He was breathing heavily, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, his back against the frame. He was sweating, still in his boxers, and he looked like he couldn’t breathe. He was choking on his breaths, gulping, and your mouth finally opened to whisper his name.

“Eds…?”

His head snapped at your voice and– His eyes were black. His pupils were so dilated you couldn’t see the color of his irises. His breathing became even more erratic when he looked at you, and your feet finally moved, taking a step towards him, but a loud voice, one you had never heard from him, stopped you.

“Don’t get any closer, Peach. Fuck– Don’t…” You saw him wince, and you were frowning, your hands up towards his way as if you were trying to tame a beast because you didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run to him, to hold him, ask him what’s wrong, but the glare in his eyes kept you put.

“W–What’s wrong–”

“Listen to me… Do what I tell you to, and don’t ask.” His voice was heavy, rough, almost as if he were holding back a sound you could not quite pinpoint. Your worry heightened, your feet moving against your will, taking another step forward. “Peach!”

“I’m– I’m sorry– I’m worried–” He sighed as he suddenly winced, his hand gripping the floor underneath him while the other covered his belly. He shook his head, taking sharp breaths in.

“I’m sorry– But, you’re in danger of me hurting you right now. I thought you would take longer…” He took a deep breath in and he closed his eyes, and you were just shocked in your place.

“What? What do you mean hurt me–”

“I don’t know if I can control myself with you here, Peach. You– Grab the cuffs from the drawer, the top one, and throw them my way.” You blinked a few times at the weird request, at how alarmed he sounded. All you cared about, though, was that the man you had fallen completely for was suffering on the floor of his room. Suddenly, there was a rumble heard in the room, and you felt– Threatened. “Peach.”

You rushed to the top drawer and looked to the very back of it, feeling the cold metal brush your fingers. You grabbed onto the cuffs, which had the keys in them, and you looked at Eddie. He was panting, and you saw how his eyes were moving all over your body in a way that made you feel… that made you feel small. They made you feel like he was ready to take you, in whichever way he wanted.

“Eddie–”

“Throw them.” You gulped and threw the handcuffs close to him. He groaned as he moved, cuffing his left wrist to the foot of the bed. He took the keys out and threw them your way. He gave a small sigh of relief, but that same relief was not at all etched on his features.

“What is going on? Do I call the ambulance?”

“No– Listen to me. I couldn’t get my phone before my legs gave in. Go downstairs and call a contact that says ‘Murray’. Tell him I fucked up. He’ll understand.” His voice was strained now. The more he talked, the more he shook as if he were having aftershocks. You hesitated, looking down at your boyfriend. His neck was red, and you saw big spots of a more purple color on the crook of it and his left shoulder.

You noticed now, after the shock, how heavy the room felt. It felt tense and filled with a strong scent that matched Eddie’s cologne, but not quite. You felt your chest being pressed on, as if an elephant’s foot stepped on it. The AC was on, yet it felt as if it were outside. You noticed the purple bruises, but a little more on the red side, on his wrists and ankles as well. Was this his condition?

Was Eddie… Was Eddie having an episode of whatever he was suffering from?

You hadn’t noticed the involuntary little step you did his way, and you gasped when you saw him yank himself your way, fighting against the cuff. He choked on his spit, his eyes clenching tightly as sweat dripped from his forehead and chest. He growled your name, and you felt your body wash over in a cold sweat at the tone, at the aggressiveness of it.

“I’M FINE! CALL MURRAY BEFORE–” Your feet moved, running outside the room at full speed, almost tripping on the stairs as you rushed to the living room. You grabbed Eddie’s phone and typed in his pin number that he shared with you long ago. You were breathing heavily thanks to your nerves, feeling helpless as you heard another thump upstairs.

You looked into the contacts and finally found the number Eddie mentioned. You pressed the call button on it and put the phone to your ear. You could feel the tears slipping from your eyes as you waited, bouncing on your feet as you looked at the stairs.

“Munson.”

“Hello– This– This is not Eddie, I’m– I’m his girlfriend–”

“Girlfriend?” You could hardly speak, and this was an emergency. This man was probably the one who knew what was wrong with your boyfriend, and all he cared about was the surprise that Eddie had a girlfriend.

“Yes! Yes! He– He is in his room, I came home and found him like this! He is sweating and–”

“Did he fuck up?”

“What?” Your mind was clouded, and then you remembered Eddie’s words.

‘Tell him I fucked up.’

“Did he fuck up?” And you gulped, nodding even though this man could not see you.

“Yes, yes. He said he did– Sir, who are you?– What is going on–?” The man went silent, and you were growing desperate. The confusion and worry were mixing together, and they were not being a good combo for your brain nor your body.

“I’ll be there in minutes. Is he secured?” Your breathing stopped for a second. This man really did know about Eddie’s condition.

“He… He is cuffed to the bed.” The man chuckled a bit on the other side, and then you heard him start to complain.

“I understand the situation he was in for the past weeks, but forgetting his fucking– And with you there!!! He is probably not having a great time.” You were pacing around the living room, not understanding a single word out of this strange man’s mouth.

“Sir– I don’t know what is going on, is he–”

“He is going to be fucking fine. Stay away from him for now, that’s all I ask for until we get there.” And the line went dead. You looked down at Eddie’s phone, your hand shaking aggressively as you stared at the fading screen. This man just wanted you to sit and wait? But Eddie also did not want you in the room. Whatever that was happening to him, he either didn’t want you to see, or he didn’t want you to try to even touch him.

Your heart was murdering you, and it was making you almost gag from feeling the heartbeat in your throat. It was going really fast, stupidly fast. You were sweating and you wanted to cry, but why would you? It would be stupid to cry. Eddie needed you, and you felt so useless, but you couldn’t just wallow in your self-pity of being kept in the dark. Not right now.

So you waited. You debated calling the phone number again, asking if they were going to take long to come over, whoever these people were. Were they medics? Was it some kind of special facility for whatever condition he had? You didn’t know, and you shouldn’t have left. Fuck.

You felt the tears just coming down once more. You hadn’t left him all week, and the one day you walk out of this house, he gets this crisis. You couldn’t believe your luck. You could have been here when it hit, because he probably had been like this for hours, unable to stand to get to his phone. You should have been here. You should have stayed.

You heard the stairs from outside the front door, and you perked up, rushing over to the door, only for it to click open. Your eyes widened in surprise and shock, now knowing this man also had a spare key to Eddie’s house. He was bald at the top, with hair all over his sides. Glasses over his eyes, a strong, dark beard on his jaw, and he was wearing casual clothes, unlike the men following behind, who were in scrubs.

“I assume you’re the girlfriend?” He asked, and you were stunned, slowly nodding as you gave him your name. He hummed and held his medical bag up, walking towards the stairs.

“Excuse me! What– What is–”

“I am also assuming he did not tell you about his… state, so I won’t be the one to bear the news to you.” You frowned a bit as you followed him to the stairs, only for him to stop you with a hand up to your face. “He’ll be alright, you just wait here and look pretty, and try to wipe those tears away before he sees you and we have a whole other problem.”

You blinked a few times at the orders, taking a step back as the man called Murray walked upstairs, followed by the two men behind him. You choked on a breath before you wiped your tears away, not knowing why that instruction was given to you at all, but it didn’t sound like a joke.

Should you call Steve? Someone? But who? Who knew about this and who didn’t? Wayne obviously knew, but Wayne was no longer here to help his nephew, and you didn’t know how to help, because you didn’t know what the fuck was happening at all.

You heard some thumps upstairs, and you immediately moved to the bottom of the stairs in worry, wanting to see if Eddie was okay. You bit your bottom lip as you felt your eyes burning with incoming tears of frustration this time. Why did you have to leave? Why today?

And you waited. You paced around the living room, you cleaned the small bathroom in the hallway to keep yourself occupied. You cleaned the kitchen counters, and you just kept yourself busy. You heard some mumbling and talking upstairs, but nothing you could pinpoint directly. You were sitting on the stool of the kitchen’s island counter, your face in your hands, and you were really debating sending this Murray guy to go eat ass, and for you to see Eddie.

But the sound of the metallic stairs brought you out of your nerves, and you immediately stood up, turning to see Murray walking down, followed by the two guys who were helping Eddie by his shoulders. You felt your heart coming out of your throat as you saw his state. He was wearing pants now, and he looked like he had the worst fever of his life. His head was hanging down as the guys moved him slowly.

You weren’t noticing the eyes of the man you just met. He was studying your face, your movements, your features. You couldn’t care less about anything else but Eddie right now. Nothing else mattered. They finally reached the bottom step, and Eddie’s head looked up after you heard him take a deep breath in.

His eyes locked with yours. You needed to rush to him, but the man’s hand stopped you, pressing his palm against your chest, and then you saw Eddie’s face. He was hissing, baring his teeth at the man, and your eyes widened. He looked like an animal. His teeth seemed… weird. Or maybe it was the adrenaline of your worry, your imagination playing tricks on you.

“Murray.” His voice was strained, but the bald man sighed, shaking his head.

“I know for a fact that if I hadn’t sedated you just now, my throat would be gushing out blood, wouldn’t it?” His hand went down from in front of you, and you were confused, worried, and maybe slightly afraid. This situation was not normal. Not at all. You cannot think of a single condition or illness that could provoke this much commotion.

The men started walking Eddie to the front door, and you saw how Eddie kept trying to turn to look at you, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you from moving. You hadn’t noticed you were blindly following them. Your eyes found Murray’s, and you glared at him.

“Whatever is happening, you are taking me with you.”

He scoffed, a mocking smile spreading on those stupid lips of his.

“And I suppose a little girl like you will make me?”

You got out of the passenger’s seat of Murray’s car, slamming the door behind you.

You stood in front of what looked like a scientific research place, a big building with tanks on the sides, vents, pipes that went from place to place and you felt a shiver running down your spine. What exactly was this place?

Murray got out of his car, grumbling under his breath as he made his way to you. His ear was reddened from the pull you gave it, and his chin hurt from how hard you had pulled on his beard.

“This is a disguise.”

“What?” You turned to face him only for him to roll his eyes. He made you follow him to a side door of the building, not the door Eddie had gone in. The men got him inside a small van, and Murray and you followed right behind. This place was almost on the outskirts of the city, hidden completely.

He entered the door using the electrical pad on the side, punching in the code and then a scan of his finger. Whatever this was, it was heavy shit. He walked inside first, and you cautiously followed. The place turned from gray to clearer colors, much like a hospital. He stopped you at a disinfecting section with a sink, a shoe rack with disposable slippers, and bottles of sanitizer.

“Take off your shoes, wash your hands, drown yourself in alcohol, and go wait in that room over there.” He pointed at a room that looked like it was meant to be a waiting room. “I have to go treat your boyfriend before he goes feral.”

You didn’t miss the mocking tone in the word ‘boyfriend’, making you frown. He took off his shoes, and your eyes followed him as he walked away. You saw nurses rushing to him, and you could only guess he was giving instructions to them.

“Feral?” The word tumbled out of your mouth in question as you took off your shoes, trying to calm your heart and your nerves. Eddie was safe now, wasn’t he? Was he an experiment? Was that man a good man? Should you trust that man? Eddie was the one who told you to call him, but–

Fuck– Fuck. You didn’t know what was going on, and this seemed now like a private hospital. Like a clinic for particular illnesses and conditions. Maybe that’s what it was. You washed your hands in the sink, and then you rubbed alcohol all over them. You left your shoes in the rack next to it, and you put on the visitor slippers that were covered in sterilized bags.

Was Eddie… terminally ill?

You felt like throwing up at the thought. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your life would be without him now. Your brain was being mean to you, that’s all it was. He wasn’t terminally ill. He would have told you this before, wouldn’t he? He–

Your breathing started to quicken as you felt panic setting in. You felt nauseous, and you rushed into the room that Murray told you to wait in. There was a couch, a coffee machine, and a table with snacks, but you didn’t care. You had to walk. You had to breathe. You had to try to fucking breathe.

But every time Eddie’s pained face came back, you couldn’t help but feel your tears gathering up in your eyes. Your heart ached for him in ways it hadn’t ached in so long. You wanted him to be alright, please. Someone had to listen. Someone had to save Eddie.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You didn’t even want to look at your phone. You were sitting down on the couch, your head in your hands as you rested your elbows on your knees. The sound of the door opening made you look up, ready to ask for Eddie’s health to Murray, only for you to sit back in shock, because it wasn’t the bald man walking through the door.

“Steve?”

His eyes were wide as he looked down at you, as well as pity was etched in them. You frowned at seeing him here with you, but then, it only meant–

“You know…” You whispered, and he closed his mouth, gulping.

“Do you?” He asked, and all you could do was move your head from side to side slowly, denying it. Your stomach was turned, completely flipped upside down. His face was also a worried one as he looked down at you, frowning.

“Will you please tell me what’s wrong with him?” You asked, and he winced, shaking his head a bit. You wanted to scream. Why was no one telling you anything? Why were you being kept in the dark like this?

“Ah, Steve.” Your head snapped towards the bald man walking in, making you stand up from the couch. You looked at them, back and forth. They clearly knew each other which only made you even more confused and panicked.

“Is he alright?” Steve asked, and you were still in shock, your voice not really coming out of your lips. Murray’s eyes found yours, and he sighed.

“Steve is Eddie’s second emergency contact.” Steve’s eyes found yours, and you were staring at him in complete silence. You weren’t surprised at that fact, but it was still quite the surprise to see him walking into this room. “He told me you are all from the same friend group?”

You finally reacted, giving him a quick nod. Steve took a deep breath in, turning to the bald man again, a little more stern.

“Is he alright?”

“He is fine. He is now stable after I gave him his medicine.”

You finally let the breath you were holding out of your lungs. You plopped down on the couch, feeling just a tad of relief wash over you as you finally knew that Eddie was alright. That he was fine. That he was probably no longer in that pain he seemed to be in. Steve’s eyes were looking your way, gulping as he looked back at Murray.

“Is he awake?”

“He is… and he is actually asking for his Peach.” Your eyes widened, and you looked up at the man who you now noticed was wearing a white robe. You stood up immediately, feeling yourself moving automatically towards Murray.

“He is asking for me?”

“Oh yes. I believe… You two have a lot to talk about.” He said, his eyes looking at your friend for a moment, and you felt the nerves starting to eat away at your stomach again. Your eyes found Steve’s, and he gave you a small, encouraging smile, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. His eyes, though, were filled with something that looked like worry.

You gulped and nodded, letting the man guide you out of the room while Steve stayed behind. You felt nervous, the anticipation eating away at your stomach. You weren’t sure what to expect, and you weren’t even sure how you would encounter Eddie in that room.

“If you don’t mind me asking, for how long have you two been dating?” Murray asked out of nowhere, and you stuttered a bit as you tried to get out of your thoughts. Maybe he was trying to make your nerves go away by doing small talk?

“We… We became official yesterday.” He hummed as he kept walking. You watched through a window into a room where there was a research team inside, running tests with small machines and test tubes filled with liquids. You frowned in question and turned to look at him, ready to ask, only for him to interrupt again.

“And for how long have you two been fucking?”

“Excuse me?” You were taken aback by the nerve of this strange man. Because, who the fuck asks that out of nowhere?

“I asked for how long you two have been engaging in physical intimacy. I thought I was clear enough.” He acted as if his question was something people asked in day-to-day life when getting to know someone else.

“It’s– That’s none of your business.” You replied, and he stopped walking completely, turning to face you.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. It totally is, and you’ll soon find out why. So, tell me, since when have you two been engaging in a physical relationship?” His eyes were filled with ego yet truth. You blinked a few times as you gathered your thoughts, recounting the months.

“Five months.” He squinted a little bit, giving a small nod. He straightened up and continued walking, which made you follow, looking at the back of his head with a frown.

“Exclusive?” He asked, and you gulped a bit, looking down at the floor.

“Two months out of those five.” He hummed, and you wondered what was going on inside his head. Why was this information important to him?

“And if you don’t mind me asking, and again, I have to know. You didn’t have any troubles in… taking someone like him?” You gasped, stopping in your tracks as you stared at the shininess of the back of his head.

“Now, that you don’t need to know–!”

“Ah, so you can. Gotcha.” He kept walking as if you had never stopped, and you scoffed under your breath, following him once again. He finally stopped in front of a door, and you saw Eddie’s name on the side, making your heart jump out of your chest. Your hand immediately went to the knob of the door, but the man stopped you, glaring at you. “First things first.”

“What–”

“This is a secret establishment. Whatever you see here, you don’t go talking about it outside. Once you know the truth of what we truly are, you will play stupid, and you will keep calling us scientific researchers, alright?”

You were stunned as you looked at him, the fear creeping up over your spine as you stared at this man. He was not joking. He was not playing around despite how stupid he looked. He was serious, and whatever this establishment was, it was either illegal or too important for normal people to know it existed.

And Eddie was part of it.

And you would dive into the unknown for him. Fight it if you must.

So you nodded in agreement, and his hand left your wrist. You took a deep breath in and opened the door slowly, already hearing beeping machines, and Eddie’s scent was already lingering inside. You walked inside, and Murray gave a small nod, closing the door behind you.

Every step you managed to take, the more your stomach flipped, but the moment you saw him sitting up on the bed with a patient’s robe on and the IVs clinging to his arms, you couldn’t help the tears that filled your eyes. It was relief, happiness, worry, anguish, anxiety, all of it mixed together. He had his well-known bun on his head as he played with the pick necklace around his neck.

His head snapped upwards the moment you walked in, his eyes clashing with yours. His arms instantly opened up, and you rushed towards him, almost knocking him over when you got on the side of the bed and hugged him, fresh tears coming out of your eyes from how overwhelmed you felt. How fucking crazy the past hours have been. How crazy your day had already started the moment you opened your eyes.

His arms engulfed you tightly, pulling you into him in a protective embrace. His face came to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder, and you could feel his hot breath against your skin. You could feel his heat all over you, and you were just relieved to see him alright. You were relieved to not see him wince or heave with his breathing like you had.

“I was so worried…” You mumbled into his shoulder, and he nodded quickly, giving a soft kiss to your neck.

“I know… I know Peach…” He gulped, and you could hear it. You slowly pulled away, but his hands were not going to let you go away. He reached to grab your hands in a tight grip, as if making sure you wouldn’t go farther away from him, even if you were already too close.

“What happened? Why–” You didn’t even know where to begin. What was the right question? His eyes were locked with yours as silence engulfed the both of you. He took a deep breath in before talking again.

“My… I missed my medication.” You assumed he did, Murray said something along the lines of those words. You nodded a bit, still frowning.

“I… was it that… vial I saw in your cabinet?” His eyes widened, and he straightened up on the bed as his grip tightened around your hands.

“You saw that? And you never… asked?” You slowly shook your head at him and then gave him a shrug.

“I… I assumed you would tell me at your own time…” Your hands were suddenly moved, and lips covered the top of them. A fond kiss from his part, a sign of gratitude. You felt your belly flip over as you moved a bit on the bed, fixing your seating. “Eddie… what was that?”

Silence surrounded the two of you, and you could hear your heartbeat racing as fast as Eddie’s machine was beeping. At least you weren’t alone in the nerves. He put your hands down, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“I… I missed the medication because of… Because of Wayne. I forgot to inject myself and– And I also got a little distracted with our relationship that I… forgot to get more.” You blinked a few times, feeling the guilt wash over you, but before you could talk, Eddie was already looking at you. “Don’t feel guilty.”

You frowned in question because– How did he know? There wasn’t a hint of smugness there now, nor cheekiness, nor a joke like he always did when he knew exactly what you were feeling. Maybe he just… knew you too well.

“And now, they gave you that medication?” He slowly nodded as his thumbs rubbed over your hands, and you could see him gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“There’s a reason… of why I can sense what you’re feeling. What people feel.” You sat there, feeling the anxiety washing over you little by little.

“You said it’s because you learnt to read people like the back of your hand…” He scoffed at your words, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no, that’s… not it…” He waited for a few seconds before his eyes found yours. They were intense, knocking your breath away completely. “Sweetheart, you’ve never wondered about my size?”

You flushed at his question, but it felt as if you were caught red-handed. You have. Eddie was big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen. You weren’t sure how you could take him the way you did, but you dismissed it as a coincidence, and maybe there were many like Eddie out there. You shrugged but still nodded at him once.

“Yes, but… I never really gave it much thought after…” You admitted, and he nodded, his jaw clenching.

“Have you ever wondered why I am so protective?” You frowned at that, not really understanding what he was saying or why he was asking such things.

“Because you care for your friends–”

“Remember how I treated you.” And you did. Your heart ached as the memories started coming back. His cold shoulder. His remarks. His insults. All because you weren’t telling the truth to–

“Robin.” He nodded, gulping once again. You sat there in silence as everything started sinking in, staring at him as the memories kept coming rushing back, puzzle pieces you didn’t know were there. “You… knew I was lying… not because you had a hunch.”

“No. I knew you were hiding stuff. I knew that was hurting Robin. I could feel it. I could… smell it.”

Now that threw you off guard. You were not expecting something like that to come out of his mouth. You tilted your head, the frown never leaving your features, because you couldn’t be any more confused right now. You weren’t sure what he was saying or what he was talking about at this point.

“What do you mean, smell it?” He straightened up at your question, taking a deep breath in as if bracing himself.

“Peach, have you ever seen a bottle of cologne in my room?” You scoffed at that and shrugged.

“I don’t know? You clearly use some, so I’m guessing it’s in a drawer or something–”

“I don’t use cologne.” You sat there, giving a humorless scoff as you shook your head.

“Are you joking right now?”

“Tell me, can you smell me each time I walk into a room?” You blinked a few times and slowly nodded, giving him a small shrug.

“Yeah, I mean, I assume you reapply your cologne–”

“Why would I bring cologne to a clinic?” His eyes were serious as they stared into yours, and– You could smell him when you walked in. “Why would I put on cologne for work? You should only smell sweat, yet you always tell me I smell good.”

You were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. You were not sure you were following the conversation at this point. You were not completely sure if you were in a reality any longer.

“So… you have a strong scent on your body, so what?” He took a deep breath in and sighed, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath in, then out.

“You’re confused, worried. You are also uncomfortable, probably because of something Murray said. That man has less human tact than a fucking alien. Am I wrong?” You were wide-eyed, staring at him. How did he know? How–? “Smell. I can smell your emotions on you. Just how I could smell you were hiding something when you met us. How I could smell your distress when you saw Henry after so long. How I could smell your worry when you were dating Mr. Model.”

His words were snarky, sharp, yet you were frozen in place as you listened. Your mind was no longer functioning because– You weren’t completely sure you were hearing him right? You weren’t sure of anything he was saying. You wondered if he was high, or if this was some joke, or if this was the beginning of him going crazy.

“I’m… I’m sorry Eddie, I’m not following, and honestly this sounds… this sounds fucking insane–”

“I know. I know it does but– Fuck, Peach, I– I don’t want you to think… less of me, or– or think I’m a freak.” His bottom lip wobbled, and you saw the real fear and how scared he was behind those eyes. Your hands let go of his, and you cradled his face, making him look at you. You saw tears in those eyes. Tears of fear, of anxiety, of nervousness, but also of desperation.

“I would never. Ever. Even if everything you’re saying sounds crazy– I’m sure you have an explanation for it.” You stated, and he gulped, nodding slowly. His hands came to rest on top of yours, and your stomach twisted as he stared at you, as he measured his next words. He licked his lips, his grip tightening on your hands as if making sure he kept you there.

“Peach…”

And your breathing stopped as he said the next words. Words you never in your life thought you would hear. Words so ancient that you wondered if you dreamed them.

Words that in this modern life, in these modern days, should not even be said, because they didn’t exist.

Words that would change your relationship completely.

Words that would completely change you.

Words that made the world around you freeze.

“I’m an Alpha.”

end of chapter 26

a/n: FINALLY THIS BITCH IS OFF MY CHEST. the omegaverse starts NOW.

<- Prev. chapter- Next chapter ->

I will start deleting people that do not interact with my posts.

Taglist: @katethetankk @seatnights @notwantingtoadult

@babez-a-licious @mrsjellymunson @xxladymjxx

@sarcastically-defensive17 @ghost-proofbaby @lesservillain

@take-everything-you-can @nope-thanks @eddiesxangel @andvys

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oracleofevil · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 || 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍.

author's note: you can find the men's version right over here.

warnings: slight angst, major fluff, slight toxic behaviour.

characters included: 𝗔𝗱𝗮, 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗲, 𝗷𝗶𝗹𝗹, 𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗰𝗮.

,'✿— 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 —⁠✿,'

𝐀𝐃𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐆

she memorises your habits but doesn't let you learn hers, she knows everything about your schedule from your doctor's appointments to the way you behave when you're nervous. you don't know anything about her.

she doesn't verbally says 'i love you' but buys you things that you didn't ask for, your missing jacket? replaced with a brand new expensive one. favorite chocolates from another country? a whole bag is kept on the countertop. you really wanted that special edition merch hoodie? you now have two.

has a habit of staring at your lips when you talk.

she disappears for weeks on end, but when she comes back all bruised and bloody, you kiss her like none of it ever bothered you.

Doesn't let you go on her phone. Ever.

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

has a habit of mothering you, it's her way of showing you love. extra blankets whenever you feel cold, your favourite home cooked meal whenever you feel like it. packed lunches. It's an old habit.

she gives you her jacket when she's the one who's freezing. has a habit of overcommitting and doesn't know when to draw a line.

leaves emergency med kits all over the house as if it's a battle zone.

accidentally over-parents you. it's out of fear of the fact she wasn't able to protect her brother's peace or sherry's childhood. maybe she can protect you.

cuddles like a koala.

𝐉𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄

she doesn't hold your hand when she's nervous, she holds your wrist. she needs to feel your pulse to know that you're actually here.

she NEVER lets you see her breakdown, but more often than not you find her sitting on the shower floor, with the water running ice cold.

she smells like antiseptic all the time, even at home, even in bed. she has a habit of scrubbing herself raw in the shower.

she organises your drawers and shelves because it's oddly peaceful for her.

says "text me when you get there" even if it's the grocery store.

𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐌

reads in bed and always falls asleep on your chest.

she decorates the place with little trinkets, silly cat mugs, colourful dreamcatchers and those goofy ahh rugs.

you guys need to have everything matching together, toothbrushes, t-shirts, mugs, even handguns. she throws a fit if you deny.

has a habit of over-apologizing.

buys you veryyy expensive things and is very nonchalant about it, you once mentioned your dream of having your own private jet. guess what happened the next morning.

𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒

has a habit of keeping a mental record of your bruises or scrapes, makes sure every little scratch has been properly treated.

diagnoses your moods as symptoms. "you're acting irritable, did you just have coffee for breakfast again?".

has built you a medicine cabinet enough to treat an army.

sleeps with her phone on full volume with the loudest ringtone known to man.

has a toxic habit of using her kindness as a leverage against you. "after all that I've done for you?".

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆~!

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feeder86 · 1 year ago

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Feeder 86: The Top Ten

Can you believe that the Feeder86 ‘Orginal Gainer Stories’ blog will soon be posting the two hundredth story? I thought of many ways to celebrate. But then I stopped and realised that I would probably be best using the time to address one of the questions I get asked about most frequently. Which of the stories do I personally like the most?

This was not an easy list to make as I very rarely go back to re-read my own work after I have finished editing and posting them. This is not because I do not like them, but because I always see bits that I want to change. Nevertheless, this project was the perfect opportunity to revisit a few oldies that I remember being very proud of at the time.

Hopefully you will see this list for what it is: a glimpse into how I write, my motivations and drive; rather than just a self indulgent pat on the back for myself. Yuck!

So, with that being said, let us begin...

#10 The Feeders’ Formula: This tale certainly had to be placed into the list. After all, it is the one that kicked off ‘Original Gainer Stories’ all those years ago. There are many amazing examples of instant body weight transformation stories out there. I felt that I needed to write this one as my contribution to the genre. It went down well at the time. I swiftly wrote a Part Two, then followed it up with others (The Feeders’ Formation, The Feeders’ Formalities, The Feeders’ Foreclosure, The Feeders’ Forecast, The Feeders’ Former Years), becoming something of an ongoing saga in recent years; focusing on the different Feeders from that very first meeting. As a writer who sometimes struggles to find the ending, these are wonderful to write as they all have the same inevitable conclusion. There is also so much freedom to be had when you’re working with characters who are pretty much pure evil. I know so much more about the Feeders than I’ve ever written down, so it is great to tease out those little details with each new installment. The newest of these tales (The Feeders’ Foreplay) was the darkest yet, but seems to have provoked a very favourable reaction from many. Who knows what the Feeders may get up to next? I do! And you can find out too, once we start a whole new sweeps season of stories this April! Come with me into The Feeders' Fortress!

#9 Only One: Where do I start? Only One has my absolute favourite type of feeder. Ben is big, sexy and very in control. He’s one of those rare types of guys who always stays on top and is a step ahead of absoultely everyone he meets. Who wouldn’t fall for him? I certainly did! In fact, I loved him so much that I wrote an entire prequel for him (and none of you even noticed!) Check out Rewire if you want to see how Ben became the man we know and love.

#8 The Wright Boys: The idea of a weight gain that cannot be stopped or controlled is a tempting one for many. How much easier would it be if you didn’t have to second guess your choices or face the pressure to lose weight? This was the first tale of what I see as ‘The Curses’ saga that eventually bled into many other stories (including another one on this list!) and culminated in Wright vs Beckett. However, this story remains my personal favourite of these. If you’re a fan of looking for crossovers between my stories, these are some of the most explicitly linked. I followed it up with a spin-off tale (The Wright Boys: DNA), but continue to have ideas about how I could go back to these boys in the future. Watch this space.

#7 Making Monsters: The title of this story really does give away how I felt about it at the time. This is quite the saga, spread over into not just two, but three parts! It began as a story that was very similar to Blackmailed; a tale that I had written previously about a guy voyeristically enjoying seeing his friend fatten up her boyfriend. However, this story evolved even further for me, with Tommy’s love of eating and gaining weight being both his greatest love, and his biggest shame. His denial only heightened the tension for me, and, when he does eventually give in, the gains feel all the more satisfying as a result.

#6 The Pig Feed: It’s not easy to write a gainer story where there isn’t another character spurring the events along and encouraging things. In this tale however, that role is given to a very tasty and surprisingly addictive pig feed mixture that Steve gets himself hooked on. It’s a story that I really enjoyed writing and still feel very happy with. I have considered writing more stories around this interesting feed. However, I am yet to do so; deciding (for now at least) that things are perhaps best left as they are. But, feel free to let me know your thoughts on this.

#5 Farm Boy: Whether you grew up in a big city, or a small rural community, like Hayden in this story, we can all relate to having desires and attractions that those around us don’t understand. And, thanks to how well connected we are these days, we now know what it’s like to realise that you’re not actually alone, and the whirlwind of excited emotions that follow. I enjoyed writing this story because I, quite simply, fell completely in love with Hayden. As kinky as he was, he still retained that fresh faced innocence throughout. If any of my characters were destined to be together forever, I imagine that these two would be my top choice.

#4 Keeping a Crush: This is one of those stories that I wrote in a matter of hours, and I was so pleased with it when I was done. Getting the train to go to work is not necessarily something that many Americans have to do, and so the location had to be switched to the UK (quite refreshing, I thought!). For me, it’s one of those really rare instances where placing very solid restrictions on the structure of a story (In this case, having it all take place during the commute to and from work) and finding that it actually elevates the sexual tension and mood. All scenes take place in public settings. All conversations could, in theory, be overheard. These days, so many people meet online and flirt for weeks by messaging back and forth, before they even see each other for the first time. Nowadays, for better or for worse, the actual, real fantasy is finding a connection with someone you just see in the real world; perhaps with a person you literally just met on the way to work...

If you’ve not read this one, I really would highly recommend it.

#3 To the Max: Stories with a magical element to them are either loved or hated. However, I find that this tale walks that line very successfully. Ned gets his hands on a love potion and makes straight guy, Max, fall for him. I’m sure we’ve all been there with that fantasy! However, it is in the consequences of inviting someone into your life, someone that you actually know very little about, that the entire eroticism of this story is based. I won’t spoil it for those who have not read it, but believe me when I say that things soon start getting very interesting indeed…

#2 Tommy’s Two Hundred. Don’t recognise this one? Well, that's because none of you have read it yet.

Now, I’m not just saying this because I want you all to come back for the two hundreth story, but this is genuinely one of my absolute favourites. For my big milestone stories in the past, I have written something specifically for that event (Wright vs Beckett, The Seven Feeders of Finn). However, this is just a tale that I adored writing and decided to hold back for you all, especially for this occasion. It’s a story of domination and submission within a fairly open, but very kinky, relationship. Strapping Hunter plays the part of a very controlling feeder, making me break many of my own rules and stretching my boundaries to the absolute limits. You’ll either love him, or you’ll hate him. That’s all I’m going to say…

Also, this story is going to be the first Feeder86 story that will be fully illustrated. It’s all thanks to the amazing talents of Spellwell9 who was given an advanced copy and asked to imagine the characters in four different scenes. I cannot wait for you to see this!

Put it in your diary. All will be revealed from Friday 5th April…

#1 F80 Control: This is perhaps a controvercial choice (especially as my #1). I have previously admitted that this story strays a little from its purpose of being a gainer story. In other words, I get very caught up in the background story that is being told. However, I feel that the science fiction genre is surprisingly underused in tales of weight gain. Yet, the combination of Aritificial Intelligence and submission seemed, to me, to be the perfect blend. It really is a beast of a story if you can follow it all the way through to its conclusion.

With the advent of improved artificial intelligence software in recent years, I felt the time was right to develop the world further, with the addition of F80 Ctrl Alt Del; a spin-off tale set slightly before the main story. Then, unable to help myself, I followed this up again with another companion story, F80: Kidnap and Control.

The reason I chose this universe as my favourite is because this is where I am happiest writing. With AI, I don’t need to consider the morality or motivations - I know exactly what their aims are and I can see multiple ways in which it will cause conflict with humanity (and their waistlines!) I would also love to write more for this world one day, and I even left a little unused subplot in the last story that I think would provide the perfect starting-off point for another chapter. Will I ever write it? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

So, there you have it! The the complete list!

This was a much harder exercise than I expected when I first embarked upon it. Stories like: Jiggle the Jock, Meticulous, Rule Number One, Freaks, Leftovers I and II, Ethan: The Secret Feeder and, not fogetting The Consequences I, II and III all crept in and out of the list, unfortunatley missing out on the final cut. There are many, many others, of course. But this list cannot go on forever...

So, why not tell me which ones were your favourites? Feel free to write in the comments and post a link to any other stories that you have enjoyed from myself, or from other authors. Hopefully, if we all work together, this could become a great resource for people in the future, filled with signposts and reccommendations.

Also, don’t forget the Feeder86 Contents page where you can find links and descriptions of all the 200 stories posted so far (as well as plot outlines for upcoming tales as well). Please continue to enjoy the vast catalogue of stories, and even have a go yourself! I love supporting the many new gainer fiction writers who contact me. So please do get in touch if you need advice, or to talk through your ideas. Let’s all encourage a whole new generation of people to get typing away! I’m sure you will cheer them on just as much as I will.

Thank you to everyone who supports the stories blog here on Tumblr. Keep checking in every Friday througout April for a whole new sweeps season to celebrate this milestone. Stories will include: Tommy's Two Hundred, Train for a Gain, The Feeders' Fortress and The 1% (a companion story to The 5%). For now, I thank you all for taking time out to sit and read the very bizarre tales that sprout from my mind. You are all wonderful.

Happy 200 stories!

Feeder86

#gainer fiction #gainer stories #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gainerfic #gainer story #gayfeedee #gay feedee #gainerstories

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vaadazen-codes · 1 year ago

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How To Get Started Making Visual Novels

Wanna make a visual novel? Or maybe you've seen games like Our Life, Blooming Panic, Doki Doki Literature Club, etc. and wanna make something like that? Good news, here's a very basic beginners guide on how to get started in renpy and what you need to know going in! Before you start, I highly recommend looking at my last post about writing a script for renpy just to make it easier on you!

LONG POST AHEAD

Obviously, our first step is downloading it from their website

thankfully, its right on the home page of their site. Follow basica program installation steps and run the program. I highly recommend pinning it to your task bar to make it easier to access.

From there, you're met with the renpy app, it's a little daunting at first but let's talk about what all these buttons are for.

Projects

This part is simple, it just lists the current projects in the chosen directory. You probably won't have any in there of your own. You should still see Tutorial and The Question!

Both of those default projects are super helpful in their own ways, i highly recommend testing out the tutorial and playing around with it just to get comfortable with some of the basics.

Create New Project

The first step to actually making your game into a game!

You'll be met with a prompt letting you know that the project is being made in English and that you can change it. You can click Continue.

From here, you'll be asked to input a project name! Put in your games title, or even a placeholder title since this Information can be changed later! (this is also the title the folder will be in your file browser, be sure to name it something you won't overlook)

Now we get to choose our resolution!

If you have no idea what to choose, go for 1920x1080! This is the standard size for most computer monitors and laptops, but it will still display with moderately decent quality on 4k monitors too!

You can choose 3840x2160 as well. This is 2x the measurements of the default, with the same ration. These dimensions are considered 4k. Keep in mind, your image files will be bigger and can cause the game to have a larger size to download.

Now we get to choose our color scheme!

Renpy has some simple default options with the 'light mode' colors being the bottom two rows, and the 'dark mode' colors being the toop two rows.

You can pick anything here, but I like to choose something that matches my projects vibes/colors better. Mostly because depending on how in depth you go with the ui, it minimizes the amount of changes I need to make later.

Click continue and give it a minute. Note: If it says "not responding" wait a moment without clicking anything. It can sometimes freeze briefly during the process.

Now we should be back at our home screen, with our new project showing. Let's talk about allll that stuff on the right now.

Open Directory

This just opens that particular folder in your local file explorer!

game - is all the game files, so your folders for images, audio, saves, and your game files like your script, screens, and more.

base - this is the folder that the game folder is inside of. You can also find the errors and log txt files in here.

images - takes you to your main images folder. This is where you wanna put all of your NON gui images, like your sprites, backgrounds, and CGs. You can create folders inside of this and still call them in the script later. EX: a folder for backgrounds , a folder for sprites for character a, a seperate folder for spirtes for character b, etc.

audio - Takes you to the default audio folder. This is empty, but you can put all your music and sound effects here!

gui - brings up the folder containing all of the default renpy gui. It's a good place to start/ reference for sizes if you want to hand draw your UI pieces like your text box!

Edit File

Simple enough, this is just where you can open your code files in whatever text/code editor you have installed.

Script.rpy - where all of your story and characters live. This is the file you'll spend most of your time in at first

Options.rpy - Contains mostly simple information, like project name and version. There aren't a ton of things in here you need to look at. There is also some lines of code that help 'archive' certain files by file type so that they can't be seen by players digging in code however. Fun if you want to hide some images in there for later or if you just dont want someone seeing how messy your files are. We've all been there

Gui.rpy - where all of the easy customization happens. Here you can change font colors, hover colors, fonts, font sizes, and then the alignment and placement of all of your text! Like your dialogue and names, the height of text buttons, etc. It more or less sets the defaults for a lot of these unless you choose to change them later.

Screens.rpy - undeniably my favorite, this is where all of the UI is laid out for the different screens in your game, like the main menu, game menu, quick menu, choice menu, etc. You can add custom screens too if you want, but I always make my own seperate file for these.

Open Project - this just opens all of those files at once in the code editor. Super handy if you make extra files like I do for certain things.

Actions

last but not least, our actions.

Navigate Script - This feature is underrated in my honest opinion, it's super handy for help debugging! In renpy you can comment with # before a line. However, if you do #TODO and type something after it, it saves it as a note! You can view these TODO's here as well as easily navigate to when certain screens are called, where different labels are (super great if your game is long, and more. It saves some scrolling.

Check Script (Lint) - also super duper handy for debugging some basic things. It also tells you your word count! But its handy for letting you know about some errors that might throw up. I like using it to look for sprites I may or may not have mispelled, because they show up in there too.

Change/Update GUI - Nifty, though once you start customizing GUI on your own, it isn't as useful. You can reset the project at any point and regenerate the image files here. This updates all those defaults we talked about earlier.

Delete Persistent - this just helps you delete any persistent data between play throughs on your end. I like to use it when making a lot of changes while testing the game, so that I can reboot the game fresh.

Force Recompile - Full disclosure, as many games as I've made and as long as I've been using Renpy, i have never used this feature. I searched to see what it does and this is the general consesus: Normally renpy tries to be smart about compiling code (creating .rpyc files) and only compiles .rpy files with changes. This is to speed up the process since compiling takes time. Sometimes you can make changes that renpy don't pick up on and therefore won't recompile. In these cases you can run force recompile to force it. Another solution (if you know what file is affected) is to delete that specific. rpyc file.

The rest of your options on this right hand side are how you make executable builds for your game that people can download to extract and play later!

Sorry gang! that was a whole lot of text obviously the last button "Launch Project" launches an uncompiled version of the project for you to play and test as you go! Hang in tight because my next post is about how to utilize github for renpy, so you can collaborate easier!

#renpy #renpy game #renpy visual novel #vndev #visual novel dev #otome dev #vn dev

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show-us-kaidenshenandoah · 7 months ago

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Wicked Gelphie fans, i need you guys so badly to know how well Elphaba/Glinda are "good timeline"d "history doesnt repeat, it rhymes"-ified by Dorothy/Princess Ozma in Baum's original Oz book series. like. Dorothy/Ozma get everything; theyre the sweet, intimate friends-to-"??? are they a couple?"-ified political power-sapphic-duo that Gelphie would have wanted to be. like??

if you merge canons, fam... Wicked-Glinda must be struggling, seeing Dorothy/Ozma be everything she and Elphaba could have been.... omfg... the angst potential, the envy of watching a couple of sapphic childhood sweethearts get everything they were denied, fulfill Glinda and Elphie's dreams, and seemingly so easily too...

(also!! they even CAN look like a kid-Glinda and kid-Elphaba! there's canon to justify that kind of appearance paralleling!!)

faq below if you want more context

edit, psa: i did read these books from like.. the ages of 10 to like 14 or so, maybe as young as 8? idk, i dont remember. anyway. its been a decade since i picked them back up. and i didnt think this would gain as much traction as it has been after 100+ notes in less than 24 hours. uh. so. take my chronic memory loss-addled summarization with a grain of salt?? like? i just wrote this post so i didnt have to re-vent (agAIN) to my friends about how much i fucking love Dorothy/Ozma, period, much less in parallel to Gelphie. so. enjoy, carry on, and whatnot lmao

1️⃣: there's Oz books? plural???

yes, Baum wrote 14 books about Oz, actually. also, he wrote them under the appointment of "the royal historian of Oz" instead of "author", so there's other "official" Oz books by other "royal historians of Oz"

Baum wrote so much bc (he needed money, yes, but also:) kids would send him questions in fan-mail, and he would proceed to answer them via new novels. so he never planned to make more Oz books, he just (wasnt good with money and also) was routinely inspired by the kids who wrote to him and would write the stuff they wanted to learn about Oz and whatnot

2️⃣: does Dorothy go back to Oz? wasn't it all a dream for her??

yeah, Dorothy returns to Oz a lot in the books, she eventually even moves to live there permanently. bc, in the book series, it's a real place

only in the 1939 film was Oz ever a dream

3️⃣: how does Dorothy look like Glinda OR Elphaba?? what are you talking about?

okay so, "The Wizard of Oz" has an illustrator, W. W. Denslow. in the book, Dorothy is confirmed to be wearing a blue-white gingham dress (she changes outfits tho, she doesnt always wear the same dress all 14 books like she's some cartoon character); but im pretty sure her hair was all Denslow(? i could be remembering wrong. p sure im not tho??). this is what the 1939 movie based her appearance off of. so i can see why youd go "she doesnt look like Glinda or Elphaba"

BUT Denslow and Baum started feuding. so for the rest of the Oz books that Baum wrote, he had a different illustrator by the name of John R. Neil

and Neil decided to give Dorothy for every one of the books he illustrated (so, 13 of Baum's books to Denslow's 1 book of Baum's) a cute lil blonde bob, making her look like what i assume blonde-Glinda looked like as a child. i think she'd approve lol

so!! Dorothy very much looks like a trendy little Glinda, with her cute blonde bob, her fashionable drop-waist dress, and bows for most of the Baum series, actually!

(also, Neil had a preference for dressing Dorothy in this red and polka-dot number, but, again, she does wear other outfits)

(lmao also look at Tin-Man and Scarecrow with blonde-Dorothy, they look like her two gay dads encouraging her to just go be herself at school?? i love them)

(also, if you see "Eloise At The Plaza"-energy in this Dorothy design, im right there with you lol)

4️⃣: who is Ozma??

she's the Princess of Oz. she eventually appears in the second book of the series. she rules Oz after the Wizard

she's actually a really interesting transwoman allegory too. (spoilers for a book from the early 1900s?) she was born a little girl named Ozma, but has a spell put on her as a baby to be genderbent and was socially raised as a little boy under a different name, and she later realizes who she truly is: a girl. she finds the transformation scary, as she returns to her girl-form she always truly was, but she feels better and more herself now that she is Ozma again. i dont think L. Frank Baum intentionally wrote her to be a trans allegory, but you can very obviously see why our trans elders fucking LOVED Ozma back in the early 1900s

also, she has a similar "sir, you fucked up" relationship with the Wizard as Elphaba*. and, also like Elphaba, Ozma politically tries to make things in Oz better (just.. unlike Elphaba, Ozma has the power and support to do just that p much asap)

* (edit for contextual clarification on how the Wizard fucked up: the Wizard fucked up with Ozma because he is ultimately and p directly the reason why she was genderbent/hidden. he deposed of her family and sent her away. Baum decided later on to backtrack a little bit on this(?) because he wanted to bring back the Wizard and, in order for Baum to do that, has to try to not make him SO terribly horrible??? so like. Ozma does end up forgiving him and tolerates him amd he's nicer, later on, within the books. but i doubt any modern adaptation of the books would follow that, personally. even as a kid, i went "bullshit" and headcanoned that Ozma fucking hated the guy and, at best, MAYBE tolerated him for Dorothy, but overall did not like him for justifiable reasons! i think the direction society seems to have taken the Wizard is interesting, and i wouldnt be surprised if there was at least one future adaptation that made him The Bad Guy in a very Rumplestiltskin in the Once Upon A Time TV show kind of way. but like. in the books, they do END UP getting along. i just forever disagree with Baum on that lol i think the Wizard fucked up, and in book 2 of the series (the one where Ozma is, y'know, introduced), it is obvious the Wizard FUCKED UP. but yeah. also, Ozma does get her dad back. her mom was kind of never in the picture to begin with, specifically in a Ponyo's Mom kind of way, like, she made Oz and then left it for her husband and kid to rule, so. yeah. im getting off track. my point is the Wizard did a full-on coup on her family and then banished her and genderbent her so no one would recognize that she had claim to the throne he was sitting on!! he fucked up! so, like, i personally hc that Elphaba founded the "i hate the Wizard" club to which everyone slowly joined, like Fieyro and etc, and Ozma is their youngest member. the Wizard did both Elphie and Ozma so dirty, omfg)

it also should be mentioned, Ozma in NBC's "Emerald City" was casted as Black (her actress being Jordan Loughran). so, though Ozma does not have green skin (but also? neither did the Wicked Witch of the West in the books, she wasn't green there. that was a 1939 film decision to make her green. so! Ozma could be green!! why not!), but she does have Black features to theoretically remind Glinda of Cynthia Eviro's Elphaba when you consider that casting. or, if you prefer a Jewish!Elphaba casting, a'la Idina Menzel's Elphaba, i think Ozma's book design works well to interpretively parallel those features too. or both, if you like the sound of a Black-Jewish Elphaba and Ozma paralleling lol

(edit, because i thought i mentioned this but? no?? i didnt?? i must have misclicked or something to have deleted the paragraph. im so sorry, here you go:) also, when Ozma was a boy, she was basically enslaved to her jailor of a caretaker. which one could interpret as "oh, a Cinderella story!", sure. but, with a Black Ozma, it does read as an intergenerational grief-formed power-fantasy that is both empowering and poignant for Ozma to have ran away from her enslavement and gone on to become a princess afterwards. to any Black folks who may be going "is this going to trigger me?" about Ozma having been a child-slave, i remind you that Baum wrote this intentionally for children, so, no, the books do not sit in the trauma and horror of enslavement, but whether or not it would trigger you yourself is up to your discretion. i will say, Baum did NOT write the American Girls' Addy of his time (context: a children's book about a child-slave that does go into the horrors, some, though in a kid-friendly way) or Louis Sachar's Holes (i asssume i dont have explain Holes since its movie was such a hit), i remember it as even more kid-friendly than either of those also-children's books, so i would assume most people would be fine? but you are responsible for your own mental well-being, i urge you to confirm if it is fine for yourself however you need to do that. but, yes, you can use this backstory as further evidence for your Ozma being Black, of course! you can have Ozma be Black regardless, but if you want this as further evidence, go ahead! and also, it does parallel Ozma to Elphaba in the sense that Elphaba's family mistreats Elphaba! (i will, regardless of if you prefer a Jewish and/or Black Elphaba, add that doing so is also a nice "fuck you" to Baum in how, being a white man of the late 1800s and early 1900s, did end up throwing in racist and/or antisemitic caricatures here and there within his 14 books, unfortunately. i, an Indigenous American, remember as a child still immensely enjoying Oz despite Baum being racist towards Native Americans. if youre curious on the egregious level of it all and if the story could still be enjoyable, id say it's in the realm of Peter Pan, Willy Wonka, and Matilda of "wow. that is shitty. im going to pretend this thing i love is good instead via cognitive dissonance")

regardless, in John R Neil's illustrations, Ozma does have black hair, so that too coincides with modern understandings of Elphaba

(there is also her appearance in Disney's "Return to Oz", performed by Emma Ridley, where she is blonde. but, though i love that spooky movie, that's neither here nor there. as far as im aware, only in that movie has Ozma not had black hair)

anyway, she rules Oz; and by book 3, becomes really close friends with Dorothy. they're not a canon couple, not anymore than Gelphie is, but they are such close and affectionate friends that they are so easy to ship as childhood sweethearts (so, no, there is no moment of 🎶loathing🎶, but i find that sweetness makes them an angstier parallel for Glinda to watch over, personally lol)

like here's some illustrations from the books of them just being two "gal pals". no wonder our queer elders shipped them lmao and this isn't even all of their illustrations together, this is just the first spurts that google shot out at me lmao

also??? this is them with book-Glinda. not only do they look absolutely darling, also, yes, Dorothy becomes a princess, because Ozma said so. they co-rule Oz together. they are just too sweet, fam, i love these two little childhood sweethearts, i choose to see Dorothy's princess-ship as the same as two kids promising to marry one another when they grow up. this is so cute

and can you imagine Wicked-Glinda? looking down at these two, seeing what could have between herself and Elphaba had things turned out different??? im making myself sad

(also "Book of Glinda" is so wild. both in terms of "...Baum, how do you not see this as queer?" like with one example being like "Baum, you put that Glinda has 100s of single women at her beck and call in her palace, this is so easy to see as sapphic, sir"... and then, over here, we have John R Neil repeatedly reading "gave a platonic, innocent kiss" and going "okay, so, uh, making out? i dont do platonic kissing" lmao anYWAAAAYYYY, THAT'S NOT RELEVANT HERE)

🌟5️⃣ bonus:

so, you might have a few follow-up questions. like, what is "Elphaba" like in the books? what does she look like?

well, she's really only in the first book. she's one-note, evil, dies. she's not green-skinned, and she isn't given any sort of name. she is only called "the Wicked Witch of the West", that's it, she is not Elphaba

however, i will mention the Wicked Witch of the West, in the books, is a fashion disaster and i want to see her look used as evidence that "yes, goth-Elphaba and dark-academia-Elphaba are 10/10, but also?? kitschy grandma-core knitwear-Elphaba × her fashionably Barbie pink girlfriend". i'd love to see art of that. i'm just saying

also?? this isn't related to her at all but guess what

Scarecrow/Tin-Man was like THE ship for our queer elders. they are so emotionally intimate, they live together, it's great, look at these pictures of them being absolute bros (can you see why they were shipped so hard)

i bring this up, bc you could argue Fieyro/Boq if you merge canons to make your own narrative and whatnot. guess Fieryo and Boq kinda had their own mirrored 🎶loathing🎶 period under that framing lmao

or, if you hate Boq, youll probably love the Tin-Man's angsty "ship of Theseus"-like backstory as the once-Nick Chopper(: his human name, pre-tin-ification) that is in the books

so! enjoy that knowledge!! theyre super cute in the books, i love them. again, not a canon ship, but still beloved by our elder queers, just like Ozma and Dorothy

i hope it makes even more sense now why our queer elders used the phrase "Are you a friend of Dorothy?" as code to see if someone else was queer, not even taking into account the 1939 movie or Judy Garland's relationship with the queer community

anyway, albeit this is all the basics generalized, that should be everything

but yeah!! Ozma and Dorothy reminding Glinda of what could have been, of what she lost, being the sweeter "next generation" version of Gelphie?? tugs so hard at my heartstrings

but yeah, do whatever you want with Gelphie, Fieryo, and Part 2. im just saying. the angst potential of being envious and living vicariously through someone and seeing other people get the happy ending you were denied?? is right there lol

(edit: this awesome video by Kaz Rowe JUST came out if you want to hear more about the Oz book series, its queerness, its author, its GLARING PROBLEMS including but not limited to instances of racism, and so on and so forth. Kaz Rowe is a fantastic video-essayist, so i hope you watch the video and enjoy their hard-polished craftsmanship)

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the-real-couchrat · 9 months ago

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Post ending / rescue AU / recovering Curly is everything to me, so I’m making a list of other people’s posts that feature him. (The links will connect to a reblog of them in case anything ever happens to the original post)

If anyone ever see’s posts like these ones, PLEASE tag me in a reblog!! All posts are welcome, not just art!

Please note that I don’t decide what to add to this list based on shipping, opinions on the metaphors in the game, the accuracy of burn scars, the morality of Curly, or anything else that causes discourse in the fandom. I just add any posts that I come across that include Curly recovering from his injuries in any way. Prosthetics, wheelchair, wig, crutches, It just needs to have him in better shape than when he first got injured.

No NSFW

(Also this post is edited to add new ones when I find them)

Rehabilitated Curly

Party with no Jimmy

Stand around in medbay party (Idk if this counts, but he has prosthetics so I'm saying it does)

Happy abortion!

Post-ending speculation (text)

20 years later (I AM NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THIS WITH MY MERE MORTAL EYES)

ANYA’S GRADUATION DAY

Post ending

Rescue/Recovery AU

My own post! (text)

Aftermath Curly

Good ending

Best way to approach captain’s disability?

A little sketch

They care

“I wouldn’t want to frighten her”

Anya doesn’t quite overdose

They’re safe

Guys rate my fanart

WWI face prosthetics

Less fucked up Curly AU

Fix-it type AU

Silly recovering time

Curly got some gifts for his b-day

Imagine Curly survived (twitter)

Curly with a service dog

I’m not a dog and you’re not a mare

Drawing the dentalcare crew (does this count?)

The quality will not be questioned

Fix-it AU

Want to make Curly some cool new mechanical hands so he can strangle Jimmy

One can dream

He’s got a wig now

Happy ending where they all survive (devianart)

It hurt my heart (twitter)

God forbid I get sick (translated?)

This might be controversial but… (text)

Let’s get you out of the house!

Cyberpunk AU

Cartoons with breakfast

Old-school surgeries (text)

Post-ending fic prompt (text)

Post-rescue AU curlyana

Post-rescue curlyana part two

Why is this goddamn white boy so hard to draw?

Captain stop infodumping the baby

Maybe never forgive

Draw Captain Curly having a prosthetic limb

Curly from Mouthwashing (good ending)

This is how I imagine Curly post OP

whats the worse fate, whatd be better for the tulpar crew

Wip

🐈

Mouthwashing AU (Reddit)

Curly if he survives (Reddit)

My own art

I’ll give him smoochies, prosthetics, and skin grafts

Art dump time✨

Hoppin on da trendin train

The crew built curly a mechanical hand

How to give Captain Curly a voice (idk if this technically counts, but it’s a disability aid so I will)

Doodle of the Tulpar crew post-rescue!

New hyperfixation just dropped

Hi Tumblr. Funny seeing you here

Another rehabilitated Curly

Who up washing they mouth rn

Don’t use the dog buttons (text)

Haunted part one and two

Prosthetics

AU were someone saves them

Mouthwashing doodles

A New Ladder-Reader x Curly (I’ll add the original art videos when I can) (also I didnt read it. if someone did read it, please let me know if it’s SFW)

I know he always have his headphones on

More rehabilitated Curly✨

You guys like this right

Anya, what’s it like working as a medic on a spaceship?

This is how we can still get the good ending

“I’m sorry Anya”

More cringe mouthwashing art be upon thee

Curly’s happy (and recovering) ending

Writing an AU of mouthwashing where the crew survives

Most people seem to be giving him prosthetics…

Doing a bit of study

Ladonb Kokosa (TikTok account, LOTS of great videos )

Giving the mouthwashing characters what they deserve (TikTok)

Zest for life

How I think the Tulpar crew would make YT videos

Some recovered Curly art

Edit: I am no longer seeking out these posts, and new ones will only be added if I’m tagged or such

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing AU #Captain Curly #recovered Curly #healing curly #healing curly mouthwashing #mouthwashing curly #curly mouthwashing #recovering curly #recovering curly mouthwashing

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mrs-delaney · 27 days ago

Text

Exploration

🏈 Joe Burrow x Y/N | 14k-ish words

request: Hi, whenever you have time, and if you want, could you write a Joe story?(He single and enjoying his single life with girls and meets the main character (because she moved to Cincinnati or something), who's bisexual, has a girlfriend, but they're in an open relationship (and things start to happen with Joe. She knows she's bisexual but she's never tried it with a guy because she's never been attracted to anyone enough.

P.S.: Personally, I'm also part of the community, but the first male crush that makes me feel something is Joe, and I'd like to see a story like that. 😊

Author’s Note: I was so excited to write this one. As someone who identifies as pan, it meant a lot to explore a story that reflects the fluidity of attraction and the possibility of something unexpected feeling totally right. I also really loved writing a dynamic where an open relationship isn’t about drama or conflict, but trust and support—and that it still ends happily, with everyone respected and cared for. That kind of softness and emotional honesty feels rare sometimes, and I wanted to write something that holds space for it.

This has barely been edited, so please forgive the mess. I was just too excited to get it out. Thank you for reading. Thank you for requesting this.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: read my other stories :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: join my taglist :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

💭 talk to me sweet

Y/N Y/L/N adjusted her polo shirt one more time as she walked through the parking lot of Camargo Club, grateful she'd chosen comfortable golf shoes over anything with heels. Three weeks into her new role as Community Impact Director at the Tri-State Food Bank, and she was still getting used to representing the organization at events like this. Back in Portland, she'd known every donor, every partner, every face in the room. Here in Cincinnati, everything felt fresh and slightly overwhelming.

The Joe Burrow Foundation's annual golf tournament and luncheon was her first major networking event, and she was determined to make a good impression. The foundation had been one of the food bank's most consistent supporters, and Y/N had spent her first few weeks getting up to speed on their partnership through grant applications and impact reports, but she'd never met Joe himself.

She pulled her phone from her purse as she approached the clubhouse, checking for any last-minute messages from Alex.

Alex: How's the schmoozing going? Remember, you're amazing at this even when you feel like you're not.

Y/N: Haven't even started yet. Wish me luck.

Alex: You don't need luck. You need to remember that you're passionate about what you do and that's infectious. Also, if anyone's rude to you, I'll fly there and fight them.

Y/N smiled at her phone. Even from two time zones away while Alex finished wrapping up her own work in Portland, her girlfriend had an uncanny ability to calm her nerves. They'd been together for three years, and Alex had been nothing but supportive when this opportunity came up—even encouraging Y/N to take the leap despite the temporary long-distance situation it would create.

The clubhouse was busy with activity as Y/N checked in, receiving a name tag and information packet. The morning golf portion was already underway, but the networking lunch was where she needed to focus. She'd prepared talking points about the food bank's current initiatives and had memorized statistics about food insecurity in the tri-state area, but mostly she hoped to make genuine connections with people who cared about the same issues she did.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" A woman in her fifties approached with a warm smile. "I'm Robin Burrow. We've been emailing back and forth about today's event."

"Robin! It's nice to finally meet you in person." Y/N shook her hand, immediately feeling more at ease. Robin had been nothing but welcoming in their email exchanges, and there was something naturally maternal and approachable about her in person.

"How are you settling in? Big change from Portland, I imagine."

"It is, but good so far. Everyone's been really welcoming, and I'm excited to dig into the work here. The need is significant, but so is the community support."

"That's exactly what we like to hear. Come on, let me introduce you to some folks. The golfers will be coming in soon for lunch, and then we'll have the presentation portion."

Robin led her around the room, introducing her to local business leaders, other nonprofit directors, and foundation staff. Y/N found herself relaxing into the conversations, her passion for the work overriding her nervousness about being the new person in the room.

"The food bank's mobile pantry program has been incredible," she found herself explaining to a group of potential donors. "We're able to reach communities that might not otherwise have access to our main distribution center. Last month alone, we served over fifteen hundred families through the mobile units."

"That's incredible," said one of the men, a local restaurant owner. "What's the biggest challenge?"

"Honestly? Awareness. People think of food insecurity and picture homelessness, but the reality is that one in eight people in our region faces food insecurity. That includes working families, seniors on fixed incomes, college students. It doesn't always look like what people expect."

The conversation continued, and Y/N felt that familiar energy that came from talking about work she truly believed in. This was why she'd moved across the country—not just for the career opportunity, but for the chance to make a real impact in a new community.

"Looks like the golfers are starting to come in," Robin said, approaching the group. "Y/N, I'd love for you to meet Joe when he gets a chance. He's been really invested in understanding the impact of our donations, and I think you two would have a great conversation."

Y/N nodded, trying to ignore the small flutter of nerves. She'd googled Joe Burrow when she'd first learned about the foundation partnership, of course. Hard not to notice that he was attractive, but she'd been more focused on understanding the foundation's giving patterns and focus areas. From what she could tell, they seemed to prioritize genuine community impact over flashy PR opportunities.

She was refilling her water glass when she noticed a small group entering from the golf course. Even if she hadn't known who Joe Burrow was, she would have noticed him—something about the way he carried himself, relaxed but confident. He was listening intently to something one of his golf partners was saying, a slight smile on his face.

He looked different than in the professional photos she'd seen. His hair was slightly messy from the golf course, and there was something approachable about him that the carefully posed media shots couldn't capture.

"Joe!" Robin called out, and he looked up, scanning the room until his eyes found hers. "Come meet Y/N from the food bank when you get a chance."

He nodded, finishing his conversation before making his way over. Y/N found herself straightening her blazer again, but not from nerves this time—from something else entirely that she couldn't quite name.

"Hey," he said, extending his hand. His handshake was firm, warm. "Joe. Thanks for being here today."

"Thanks for having me. And seriously, thank you for what the foundation does for us. It makes a huge difference."

"I'd love to hear more about that, actually. My mom mentioned you just moved here from Portland?"

"Three weeks ago. Still getting my bearings, but the work is incredible here. Your foundation's support has allowed us to expand our programming in ways that are really making a difference."

Joe's attention was completely focused on her as she spoke, a kind of intentional listening that was surprisingly intense. "What kind of expansion?"

"Well, the mobile pantry program I was just telling someone about—that's partially funded by foundation grants. But we've also been able to hire two new community liaisons to help connect people with other resources. Food insecurity is often connected to other challenges—housing instability, healthcare access, employment issues. Having people who can help navigate those systems makes a huge difference."

"That makes a lot of sense. I hadn't thought about the wraparound aspect as much."

"Most people don't, which is totally understandable. When you think 'food bank,' you think food. But often the families we serve need support in multiple areas."

Joe nodded thoughtfully. "How do you measure impact on something like that? The community liaison work?"

Y/N felt herself light up. This was exactly the kind of question that showed he was thinking seriously about the work, not just writing checks. "It's definitely more complex than counting meals distributed. We track things like how many families we're able to connect with healthcare enrollment, or job placement services, or housing assistance. But we also do follow-up surveys to understand whether people feel more stable six months later, whether kids are performing better in school when their families have more food security."

"Damn, that's a lot more involved than I realized."

"It really is. Food insecurity isn't just about hunger—it's about stability, dignity, opportunity. A kid who's worried about whether there's going to be dinner at home can't focus on homework. A parent who's choosing between groceries and prescription medication is dealing with stress that affects every part of their life."

Joe was quiet for a moment, processing what she'd said. "I grew up in a small town in Ohio. Different situation, but... I saw kids at school whose families were struggling, you know? It stays with you."

There was something in his voice—not quite vulnerability, but a recognition that felt personal. Y/N found herself studying his face, seeing something beyond the confident athlete she'd expected.

"So that's why this stuff matters to you."

"Yeah, it does. I've been fortunate, obviously. But I remember what it felt like to see friends whose families were struggling, and feeling like there wasn't much I could do about it. Now there is."

There was something genuine in his voice that caught her off guard. Y/N had worked with plenty of donors over the years—some genuinely committed, others more interested in the tax benefits or social cachet. Joe fell clearly into the first category.

"Well, you're definitely doing something about it. The foundation's support has allowed us to serve an additional four hundred families this quarter compared to the same period last year."

"Four hundred families," Joe repeated, as if calculating what that meant in practical terms.

"Which translates to roughly twelve hundred people, including about four hundred and fifty children."

Joe's eyebrows raised slightly. "That's amazing."

"It really is. And that's just our organization. I know the foundation supports other food-related initiatives too."

"We do, but I'd love to understand more about your work specifically. Would you be willing to give me a tour of your facility sometime? I like to see the programs in action when possible."

Y/N felt a flutter of something—professional excitement, she told herself. "Absolutely. I love showing people our operation. I'm still getting my bearings since I'm so new, but most people are surprised by the scale and the logistics involved."

"I'd imagine. What day works best for you?"

They were interrupted by Robin tapping a microphone at the front of the room. "If we could have everyone take their seats, we'd love to get started with the program portion of our event."

"We should probably grab seats," Joe said, but he didn't immediately move toward the tables.

"Definitely. I'll send you my contact information through Robin."

"Looking forward to it."

As they made their way to their respective tables, Y/N found herself glancing back at Joe once. He was being stopped by other attendees, but when their eyes met across the room, he gave her a small smile that made her stomach do something unexpected.

She settled into her assigned seat, only half-listening as Robin welcomed everyone and began introducing the various speakers. Her mind kept returning to their conversation—not just the content, but the way Joe had listened, the thoughtful questions he'd asked, the moment when his professional composure had slipped just slightly when he'd mentioned his childhood.

When it was her turn to speak about the food bank's impact, Y/N found herself scanning the room until she located Joe's table. He was watching attentively, and something about his focus made her feel more confident as she talked about the families they served and the difference the foundation's support was making.

"The foundation's contribution this year will allow us to provide the equivalent of one hundred and twenty thousand meals to families in our region," she concluded. "But more than that, it's helping us build a stronger, more resilient community where everyone has access to basic nutrition."

The applause was warm, and Y/N felt a flush of satisfaction as she returned to her seat. This was why she loved her work—being able to connect the numbers to real human impact, to help people understand that their support was changing lives.

As the event wound down, Y/N found herself exchanging business cards and making plans for follow-up meetings with several potential new partners. The afternoon had been more successful than she'd hoped, but she kept finding herself looking around the room for Joe.

She was packing up her materials when he appeared beside her table.

"That was really good," he said. "One hundred and twenty thousand meals - that's crazy."

"Thank you. I'm excited about the partnership and what we'll be able to accomplish this year."

"About that tour—I'm serious about wanting to see the operation. When would work for you?"

Y/N pulled out her phone to check her calendar. "I'm pretty flexible this week, if you want to come by before things get too crazy. We're always busiest at the end of the month."

"How about Thursday afternoon? Would two o'clock work?"

"Perfect. I'll send you some background information so you know what to expect."

"Sounds good." Joe paused, then added, "I'm really glad my mom introduced us. It's obvious you care about this work."

"I do. It's easy to care about something that makes such a direct difference in people's lives."

"I get that. Looking forward to Thursday."

They stood there for a moment, the conversation seeming to naturally wind down, but neither immediately moving away. Finally, Joe glanced toward where some other attendees were trying to get his attention.

"I should probably..." he gestured toward the group.

"Of course. Thanks again for today."

As Joe headed back toward the other guests, Y/N made her way to the parking lot, pulling out her phone to text Alex.

Y/N: Event went really well. Made some great connections.

Alex: Told you! Details when you get home. Proud of you.

Driving back toward downtown Cincinnati, Y/N found herself thinking about the conversation with Joe, the way he'd asked questions that showed he was thinking about the work, not just going through the motions of donor engagement. It would be good to have someone so committed to understanding their impact.

She was almost back to her apartment when she caught herself wondering what Joe would think of the mobile pantry operation. And whether he'd want to grab coffee after the tour again.

The thought made her smile.

Still, as she pulled into her parking spot, Y/N found herself already thinking about what she'd show Joe on Thursday. The warehouse operations, maybe the mobile pantry prep area. She wanted him to see how much his foundation's support actually meant in practical terms.

It wasn't until she was unlocking her apartment door that she realized she'd been smiling the entire drive home.

* * *

Y/N checked her phone for the third time in ten minutes. 1:58 PM. Joe would be here any minute for the food bank tour, and she was probably more nervous than she should be for what was essentially a professional meeting. She'd spent the morning reviewing statistics and operation details, wanting to make sure she could answer any questions he might have—though she was still learning some of the systems herself.

"You've got this," she muttered under her breath, straightening the visitor badges on her desk. Through her office window, she could see the main warehouse floor where volunteers were sorting through the morning's grocery store donations. The activity helped calm her nerves.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Alex: How's the VIP tour prep going?

Trying not to overthink it, Y/N replied. It's just a tour.

Mhmm. The fact that you texted me about what to wear for "just a tour" says otherwise. You've got this, babe. Show him why you're amazing at what you do.

Y/N smiled at her phone. Alex had been nothing but supportive about this meeting, even teasing her gently about her obvious nerves. She loved that she was with someone who encouraged her to appreciate attractive, interesting people rather than feeling threatened by it.

A knock on her office door interrupted her thoughts. "Y/N? There's someone here to see you," called Marcus, one of the volunteer coordinators.

"That'll be Joe Burrow," she said, grabbing her visitor badges and heading toward the front entrance. "I'll be right there."

Joe was standing near the reception desk, reading one of the posters about food insecurity. He was in jeans and a gray hoodie, and when he saw her coming, he smiled.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, perfect timing," Y/N said, trying to ignore the little flutter in her stomach. "Ready to see what your foundation's support actually looks like in action?"

"Absolutely."

She handed him a visitor badge and clipped her own ID badge to her cardigan. "Fair warning—I'm still pretty new here myself, so if I don't know the answer to something, I'll find someone who does."

"That's honest. I appreciate that."

Y/N led him through the first set of doors into the main warehouse space. The scale of the operation was impressive—rows of industrial shelving stretching up to the ceiling, forklifts moving pallets of canned goods, volunteers in bright yellow t-shirts sorting donations at long tables.

"Wow," Joe said, stopping to take it all in. "This is way bigger than I expected."

"Right? When I was interviewing for the job, they told me we distribute about two million pounds of food annually, but seeing it is completely different." Y/N gestured toward the organized chaos around them. "This is our main sorting and distribution area. Most of the food comes from grocery store donations, food drives, and federal programs."

They walked deeper into the warehouse, Y/N pointing out different sections and explaining the flow of operations. Joe asked thoughtful questions—not just about the numbers, but about the logistics, the challenges, the people they served.

"So how do you decide who gets what?" he asked as they paused near a section where volunteers were packing family-sized boxes.

"Great question, and honestly, it's something I'm still learning the nuances of," Y/N admitted. "We have a client choice model here, which means families can actually shop for what they need rather than just getting a pre-packed box. It preserves dignity and ensures people get food they'll actually use."

"That makes sense. Nobody wants to feel like they're just getting whatever someone else decided they should have."

"Exactly. But it also means we need a lot more variety in our inventory, and the logistics are more complex." She paused near a volunteer who was restocking the choice pantry shelves. "Mind if we watch for a minute? I'm still figuring out how they manage the flow during busy periods."

Joe nodded, and they stood off to the side observing the organized system of clients moving through with volunteers to help when needed. Y/N found herself genuinely curious about the process, asking the volunteer coordinator questions about peak times and inventory management.

"You really are new at this," Joe said quietly, but not in a critical way. "I like that you're not pretending to know everything."

"Would that be more impressive?"

"No. This is better. Shows you actually care about getting it right."

They continued the tour, visiting the mobile pantry prep area where volunteers were loading trucks for community distribution sites. Y/N explained what she knew about the program and asked the staff member to fill in details about the routes and scheduling.

"We serve about fifteen different locations throughout the week," the staff member, Janet, explained. "Senior centers, community centers, schools. Basically anywhere we can reach people who might not be able to get to our main location."

"How do you decide where to go?" Joe asked.

"Community need assessments, requests from local organizations, that kind of thing. Y/N's actually been working on expanding our reach into some underserved areas."

Y/N felt a flush of pride. "It's preliminary research right now, but there are definitely gaps in our coverage, especially in some of the rural areas outside the city."

"What's the biggest challenge with expansion?" Joe asked as they walked back toward the main warehouse.

"Funding, mostly. Each new route means more trucks, more gas, more staff time. And then you need relationships in those communities—people who can help spread the word and coordinate." Y/N paused, realizing she was getting into details that might not interest him. "Sorry, I'm probably giving you way more information than you wanted."

"Are you kidding? This is exactly what I wanted to know. When I write a check, I want to understand what it actually does."

They'd reached the volunteer area where people were sorting through donated items, and Y/N noticed they were short-handed at one of the stations.

"Would you mind if we jumped in for a few minutes?" she asked. "I try to help out when I can, and it looks like they could use extra hands."

"Sure."

Y/N led him to a table where volunteers were sorting canned goods, checking expiration dates and organizing by type. She grabbed two chairs and explained the process—a simple but important quality control step to make sure expired items didn't make it to families.

Working side by side, their conversation became more natural and personal. Joe told her about growing up in Athens, about watching his parents work multiple jobs, about feeling lucky but never forgetting where he came from. Y/N shared stories about her previous job in Portland, about the career move to Cincinnati, about Alex and their decision to try long-distance while Y/N got established.

"That's got to be hard," Joe said, checking the date on a can of green beans. "Long distance."

"It is, but Alex has been amazing about it. She's the one who pushed me to take this job, actually. Said I'd be crazy to pass it up."

"Sounds like a good partner."

"She really is. She's actually excited about me exploring a new city, meeting new people, trying new things." Y/N glanced at Joe as she said this, wondering if he caught the subtle implication.

Joe's hands paused for just a moment in his sorting before he continued. "That's rare. A lot of people would be more possessive about that kind of change."

"Alex isn't most people. She trusts me, and she knows that me being happy and fulfilled makes our relationship stronger, not weaker."

They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the rhythm of sorting creating an easy intimacy. Y/N found herself hyperaware of Joe's presence beside her—the way he moved, the occasional brush of their hands when they reached for the same box, the subtle scent of his cologne.

"Y/N?" Janet appeared at their table. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a reporter here for that feature story about the mobile pantry program. Do you have a few minutes?"

Y/N glanced at her watch, surprised to see they'd been at the sorting table for almost thirty minutes. "Of course. Joe, I should probably—"

"Go ahead," he said. "I can finish up here."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Take your time."

Y/N felt that flutter again, this time at his easy willingness to stay and help rather than just observe. "I'll be right back."

The interview with the reporter took longer than expected—nearly forty-five minutes of questions about the mobile pantry program, statistics about food insecurity, and photos of the loading area. When Y/N finally made it back to the volunteer area, Joe was still there, now helping move sorted items to the appropriate storage areas.

"You didn't have to stay," she said, approaching him.

"I told you I wanted to see how this place actually works. Best way to do that is to work." He gestured to the organized stacks of canned goods. "Plus, it's kind of satisfying."

"Meditative, right? I've only been here a few weeks, but I can already see how the repetitive work would help clear your head."

They walked back toward the front of the building, the official tour portion complete. Y/N felt oddly reluctant for the visit to end, which was probably not entirely professional of her.

"So what do you think?" she asked as they reached the lobby area.

"I think I understand now why my foundation money makes such a difference. And I think you're really good at this job, even if you are still learning."

"Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from someone who's clearly passionate about this work too."

Joe was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider something. "Can I ask you something that might be overstepping?"

"Shoot."

"Are you free for coffee? There's a place down the street, and I'd love to continue talking about some of this stuff. Maybe brainstorm about those expansion ideas you mentioned."

Y/N felt her pulse quicken. It was a perfectly reasonable request—foundation donor wanting to understand programs better. But the way Joe was looking at her suggested it wasn't entirely about the food bank.

"I'd love that," she said. "Let me just grab my jacket."

Twenty minutes later, they were settled in a corner booth at a local coffee shop, the conversation flowing easily between work topics and more personal territory. Joe was surprisingly easy to talk to—asking genuine questions, sharing his own experiences, making her laugh with dry observations about the differences between small-town Ohio and Cincinnati.

"So how long have you and Alex been together?" he asked during a lull in conversation.

"Three years. We met through work in Portland—she's a graphic designer, was doing some projects for nonprofits I was connected with."

"And she's really okay with you being here while she's still there?"

"More than okay. She's actually the one who convinced me to take the job."

"That's cool of her. A lot of people would be more worried about that kind of separation. Even if its just temporary."

"Alex isn't most people. She's very secure in our relationship." Y/N paused, then added, "We're pretty open about a lot of things."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Open how?"

"We have an open relationship," Y/N said simply. "We trust each other completely, and we both believe that connection with other people can enhance rather than threaten what we have together."

Joe set down his coffee cup carefully. "That's... refreshingly honest."

"Is that weird to say?"

"No. I appreciate honesty. Saves everyone time and confusion."

They looked at each other across the table, and Y/N felt something shift in the air between them. Joe's eyes were steady on hers, and she found herself wondering what he was thinking.

"So you're both free to... explore?" he asked.

"We are. Though honestly, I haven't really taken advantage of that much."

"Why not?"

Y/N hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. "I guess I haven't really felt drawn to it before."

"But you're open to it?"

"I am." She met his gaze directly. "Theoretically."

Joe's smile was slow and warm. "Theoretically."

"Well," Y/N said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, "maybe not just theoretically."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both processing the conversation. Y/N felt nervous but not regretful about her honesty.

"This is all pretty new territory for me," Y/N admitted.

"I figured," Joe said. "For what it's worth, I'm interested in getting to know you better."

Y/N felt her heart skip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But no pressure. We can take things slow, see what feels right."

"I'd like that."

Joe's smile was warm and reassuring. "Good."

They finished their coffee talking about lighter topics, but the undercurrent of attraction remained, humming beneath every exchanged glance and casual touch. When Joe walked her back to her car, Y/N felt like she was standing at the edge of something entirely new.

"Thank you for today," she said as they reached her car. "The tour, the coffee, the sorting help. All of it."

"Thank you for showing me around. And for being honest about... everything."

They stood close together in the parking lot, the late afternoon sun casting shadows between them. Y/N could feel the pull to step closer, to see what would happen if she did.

Instead, Joe took a small step back, giving her space but keeping his eyes on hers.

"I'd like to see you again," he said. "Outside of work stuff."

"I'd like that too."

"How about dinner? Somewhere we can actually talk without interruption."

"When?"

"Saturday? If that works with your schedule."

"Saturday works."

Joe pulled out his phone. "What's your number?"

As they exchanged contact information, Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nervousness that reminded her of being a teenager with her first crush. Except this wasn't teenage infatuation—this was adult attraction with all its complexities and possibilities.

"I'll text you about dinner plans," Joe said.

"Looking forward to it."

Joe got into his car, but before pulling away, he rolled down his window.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Alex is lucky to have someone who's brave enough to be honest about what they want."

As he drove away, Y/N stood in the parking lot for a long moment, processing what had just happened. She'd acknowledged her attraction to a man for the first time in her life. She'd been honest about her open relationship. She'd made plans for what was definitely going to be a date.

And instead of feeling conflicted or guilty, she felt excited.

She pulled out her phone to text Alex.

The tour went really well. Joe's amazing - so genuine about the work. We ended up getting coffee after and talked for hours.

That's awesome! I told you he'd be impressed by your passion. How was it getting to know him better?

Really good. Alex... he asked about our relationship.

And?

I told him we're open. He seemed interested in exploring that.

How do you feel about that?

Nervous but excited. That's normal, right?

Totally normal. Good for you. Talk tonight?

Definitely. Love you.

Love you too. Proud of you for being open to new experiences.

Y/N smiled at her phone, feeling grateful once again for Alex's support and encouragement. Whatever was developing with Joe, she knew she had Alex's blessing to explore it.

* * *

Y/N stood in front of her closet Saturday evening, holding up two different dresses and feeling ridiculous about how much thought she was putting into this. It was just dinner. With someone she'd already spent several hours with this week. Someone who'd seen her in work clothes sorting canned goods.

But it was also her first real date with a man, and she had no idea what that was supposed to feel like.

Her phone buzzed on the dresser—a FaceTime call from Alex. Y/N answered, propping the phone against her mirror.

"Okay, show me the options," Alex said without preamble, already settled in what looked like her favorite coffee shop in Portland.

"You don't even know what I'm deciding between."

"Babe, you've been texting me outfit updates for the past hour. I know exactly what this is about. Now show me."

Y/N held up the two dresses. "The black one is probably safer, but the blue one is more—"

"The blue one."

"You didn't even let me finish."

"The blue one makes your eyes look incredible, and more importantly, it's the one you actually want to wear. I can tell by how you're holding it."

Y/N looked down at the blue dress in her right hand. Alex was right—she'd been gravitating toward it all afternoon.

"What if I'm overdressed? We're just going to some Italian place downtown."

"Y/N." Alex's voice was gentle but firm. "You're spiraling. Take a breath."

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand. "I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's not like I've never been on a date before."

"But you've never been on a date with a man before. That's different, and it's okay to be nervous about different."

"What if I don't know how to act? What if it's weird?"

"Then it'll be weird, and you'll figure it out. But Y/N, from everything you've told me about Joe, he seems like someone who'd make you feel comfortable being yourself."

"He does. That's what's confusing me. I keep expecting it to feel strange or forced, but it doesn't."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, processing. "I keep thinking about Thursday. The way he looked at me when we were talking. I've never had a guy look at me like that before."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Like... like I wanted him to keep looking at me like that." Y/N felt heat rise in her cheeks.

Alex's smile was warm and knowing. "That's good, babe."

"Okay. Blue dress it is."

"Blue dress. And Y/N? Have fun tonight. Don't spend the whole time analyzing everything. Just see what happens."

After they hung up, Y/N felt better. She put on the blue dress, touched up her makeup, and was ready with five minutes to spare when Joe texted that he was outside.

She grabbed her purse and jacket, took one last look in the mirror, and headed downstairs.

Joe was leaning against a dark sedan, scrolling through his phone, when she emerged from her apartment building. When he looked up and saw her, his expression shifted into something warmer.

"Hey," he said, straightening up. "You look really nice."

"Thanks. So do you."

He was wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up—casual but put-together. It was the kind of effortless style that probably took no thought for him but looked intentionally perfect.

Joe moved to open the passenger door for her, his hand briefly touching her lower back as she got into the car. It was a small gesture, polite and natural, but Y/N felt hyperaware of the contact.

"So where are we going?" she asked as he got into the driver's seat.

"This place called Boca. It's in OTR—Over-the-Rhine. Have you explored that area yet?"

"Not really. I've been meaning to, but I keep getting caught up in work stuff."

"You'll like it. Good food, not too loud. We can actually have a conversation."

The drive to the restaurant was comfortable, filled with easy conversation about Cincinnati neighborhoods and Y/N's impressions of the city so far. Joe had obviously put thought into choosing somewhere she might enjoy, which felt considerate in a way that made her chest warm.

Boca was intimate without being stuffy—exposed brick walls, warm lighting, and tables spaced far enough apart for privacy. Joe had made a reservation, and they were seated at a quiet corner table away from the main dining room.

"This is really nice," Y/N said, settling into her seat.

"I was hoping you'd like it. I figured somewhere low-key would be better for a first..." He paused, seeming to consider his words.

"First date?" Y/N supplied, amused by his hesitation.

"I wasn't sure if that's what you'd call it."

"What would you call it?"

Joe's smile was slightly crooked. "I'd call it a date. If that's okay with you."

"It's okay with me."

They ordered wine and settled into the kind of conversation that had come naturally to them from the beginning. Joe asked about her transition to Cincinnati, her impressions of the food bank's operations, her plans for the mobile pantry expansion. Y/N found herself asking about his off-season routine, his foundation work, what he did when he wasn't being Joe Burrow the quarterback.

"That's an interesting question," Joe said, twirling pasta around his fork. "Sometimes I'm not sure there's much separation between the two."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It can be. But it's also just... who I am now. Hard to turn it off."

"Do you want to turn it off?"

Joe considered this. "Sometimes. It would be nice to go to a restaurant without wondering if someone's going to ask for a photo. Or to have a conversation without thinking about whether what I'm saying might end up on social media."

"Is that what you're thinking about now?"

"No." His answer was immediate and certain. "This feels different."

"Different how?"

"Normal. Like I can just be myself without thinking about it."

Y/N felt something flutter in her chest at the sincerity in his voice. "I'm glad."

Their conversation drifted to more personal territory—family, college experiences, travel. Y/N found herself sharing stories she didn't usually tell on first dates, feeling unusually comfortable with Joe's quiet attention.

"What about you?" Joe asked during dessert. "What do you do when you're not being Y/N the community impact director?"

"Honestly? I'm still figuring that out here. In Portland I had routines, favorite places, a whole life outside work. Here I'm still exploring."

"What did you like to do there?"

"Hiking, mostly. Alex and I would drive out to the Gorge or up to Mount Hood on weekends. I miss that."

"There's good hiking here too. Different, but good. Red River Gorge in Kentucky is about two hours away."

"You hike?"

"When I can. It's one of the few things that actually clears my head completely."

"I've been trying to figure out where the good spots are around here."

"I could show you some places. If you want."

The offer hung between them, loaded with implication. It was an invitation to spend more time together, to share something he enjoyed, to continue whatever this was they were building.

"I'd like that," Y/N said.

After dinner, Joe suggested they walk around the neighborhood instead of heading straight back to the car. The evening was warm for October, and Y/N found herself agreeing easily.

They strolled down the tree-lined streets, past converted townhouses and small galleries, their conversation becoming more relaxed and wandering. Joe pointed out places he liked—a coffee shop, a bookstore, a small park tucked between buildings.

"You seem to know this area pretty well," Y/N observed.

"I bought a place near here when I first got to Cincinnati. Sold it last year, but I still like the neighborhood."

"Why did you sell?"

"Wanted something with more space. The place I have now has an actual yard, which is nice when I need to decompress."

They'd stopped walking and were standing near a small fountain in the tucked-away park Joe had mentioned. The space was quiet, lit by vintage streetlamps that cast warm pools of light on the walkways.

"This is really pretty," Y/N said, looking around.

"Yeah, it is." Joe glanced around the small park. "I used to come here sometimes when I lived in the neighborhood."

"Y/N," he said, his voice quieter than before.

"Yeah?"

Instead of answering, Joe stepped closer. His hand came up to touch her arm, just above her elbow, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of her dress.

"Is this okay?" he asked.

Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice. The simple contact was sending heat up her arm and making her hyperaware of how close they were standing.

Joe's other hand came up to touch her face, his fingertips tracing along her jawline. Y/N felt her eyes flutter closed at the gentle contact, her breath coming shorter.

When Y/N opened her eyes, Joe was very close, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough to feel his breath warm against her face.

Joe leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. But Y/N found herself leaning into the kiss instead, her hands coming up to rest against his chest.

Joe's lips were warm and gentle, moving against hers with a patience that made her melt. This was nothing like kissing Alex—different texture, different taste, different rhythm. Where Alex was soft and familiar, Joe was firm and new and thrilling.

When they broke apart, Y/N realized she was breathing hard.

"Wow," she said, then immediately felt foolish for such an inelegant response.

Joe's smile was warm. "Good?"

"Very good."

They stood close together for another moment, Y/N processing the newness of everything she'd just felt. Joe's hands were still on her face and arm, anchoring her while she adjusted to the rush of sensations.

"That was..." she started, then trailed off.

"Your first time kissing a guy," Joe finished gently.

"Yeah. Was it obvious?"

"Not obvious. Just... different."

Y/N felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Different how?"

"Like you were really present for it. Like you were paying attention to everything."

"I was. It was... a lot to take in."

Joe's thumb brushed against her cheek. "What did you think?"

Y/N considered the question seriously. What had she thought? The physical sensation had been different than she'd expected—Joe's facial hair creating a texture she wasn't used to, his mouth firmer than Alex's, his hands larger and rougher. But more than that, it had awakened something in her she hadn't known was there.

"I liked it," she said simply. "You're a really good kisser."

"Yeah?"

"I thought it might feel strange or wrong somehow. But it didn't. It felt..." She searched for the right word. "Natural."Joe's smile was soft and genuine. "I'm glad."

He leaned down to kiss her again, and this time Y/N was ready for it. She kissed him back with more confidence, letting herself explore the newness of his mouth, the way he tasted, the way his hands felt tangled in her hair.

When they separated this time, Y/N felt more confident but also more aware of the attraction between them.

"We should probably head back," Joe said, though he didn't sound particularly eager to move.

"Probably."

They walked back to the car hand in hand, a comfortable silence settling between them. Y/N found herself stealing glances at Joe, trying to process the shift in how she saw him. An hour ago he'd been attractive in an abstract way. Now she was hyperaware of his physical presence—the way he moved, the size of his hand holding hers, the memory of how he'd felt pressed against her.

When they reached her apartment building, Joe walked her to the entrance.

"I had a really good time tonight," he said.

"So did I."

"I'd like to see you again. Soon."

"I'd like that too."

Joe leaned down to kiss her goodnight, and Y/N found herself rising up on her toes to meet him halfway. This kiss was brief but warm, full of promise.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" Joe asked.

"I'll answer."

Y/N watched from her window as Joe drove away, then sank onto her couch to process the evening. She felt energized and confused and excited all at once.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Alex: How did it go?

Y/N stared at the question for a long moment, trying to figure out how to encapsulate everything that had happened.

He kissed me, she finally typed.

And???

I really, really liked it.

I'm so happy for you! Call me tomorrow with details?

Definitely. Love you.

Y/N set her phone aside and touched her lips, still able to feel the ghost of Joe's mouth against hers.

Tomorrow she'd call Alex and try to put words to everything she was feeling. Tonight, she just wanted to sit with the newness of it all—the discovery that attraction could surprise you, that desire could be broader than you'd imagined, that sometimes the most unexpected connections were the ones that felt most right.

* * *

Y/N had been thinking about Joe's mouth for three days.

It was becoming a problem. She'd catch herself zoning out during meetings, her mind drifting back to Saturday night in that little park, to the way he'd kissed her with such careful attention. She'd touched her lips more times than she cared to admit, still able to feel the ghost of his mouth against hers.

Joe had texted Sunday morning, then called Monday evening. Their conversations were easy and warm, but underneath was a current of something that made Y/N's stomach flutter every time her phone buzzed with his name.

Which was why, when he asked if she wanted to come over Wednesday night to cook dinner together, she'd said yes before really thinking about what that meant.

Now, standing outside his house in the suburbs with a bottle of wine and her heart beating faster than usual, she was very aware of what it might mean.

Joe's house was bigger than she'd expected—modern but not flashy, clean lines and lots of windows. He answered the door in sweats and a t-shirt, socks on his feet, looking more relaxed than she'd seen him before.

"Hey," he said, smiling as he took the wine from her. "You found it okay?"

"GPS is a wonderful thing."

"Come on in. I'm making salmon, nothing too crazy."

The house was warm and inviting, decorated in neutral tones with touches that felt personal rather than professionally styled. Y/N could smell garlic and herbs from the kitchen, and there was music playing softly in the background.

"This is really nice," she said, following him toward the kitchen.

"Thanks. It's probably too big for one person, but I like having space."

The kitchen was sleek and clearly designed for someone who actually cooked. Joe had ingredients laid out on the counter—salmon fillets, vegetables, what looked like seasonings and a marinade.

"Can I help with anything?" Y/N asked.

"You can keep me company. And maybe open that wine."

Y/N found a corkscrew and opened the bottle while Joe moved around the kitchen with easy efficiency. There was something attractive about watching him cook—the confidence in his movements, the way he tasted the sauce and adjusted seasoning without measuring.

"You know what you're doing," she observed.

"My mom made sure I could take care of myself. Said she wasn't raising a man who'd live on takeout."

"Smart woman."

"She really is. You'd like her."

The comment made her stomach flutter a little.

They talked while Joe cooked, the conversation flowing as easily as it had at dinner Saturday. But there was an undercurrent of awareness now, a charge in the air that hadn't been there before they'd kissed. Y/N found herself watching Joe's hands as he chopped vegetables, remembering how they'd felt on her face.

"You're staring," Joe said, not looking up from the cutting board.

"Sorry." Y/N felt heat rise in her cheeks.

"I didn't say I minded."

When Joe glanced up at her, his expression was warm and knowing. Y/N felt that flutter again, stronger this time.

They ate at his kitchen island, the conversation turning more personal as the wine relaxed them both. Joe asked about her family, her childhood, what had drawn her to nonprofit work. Y/N found herself sharing stories she didn't usually tell, feeling safe in the cocoon of his attention.

"What about you?" she asked as they finished eating. "What did you want to be when you grew up? Before football took over."

Joe considered this. "I was actually better at basketball growing up. Thought that might be my path for a while."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but football won out eventually. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd stuck with basketball."

"Any regrets?"

"Nah. This worked out pretty well."

Y/N smiled. "Just a little."

The easy conversation made her feel relaxed, but she was also aware of the way Joe was looking at her as he stood to clear their plates.

"I can help with those," she said.

"Leave them for now," Joe said, setting the plates back down. "They're not going anywhere."

Y/N slid off her barstool, suddenly needing to be closer to him. "Good point."

Joe's eyes darkened slightly as she approached. "What are you thinking?"

They stood looking at each other across the kitchen island, the air between them charged with possibility. Finally, Joe moved around the counter to where she was standing.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he asked softly.

It was the same question he'd asked in different ways before—always checking, always making sure she was comfortable. But this time, Y/N felt more certain of her answer.

"I want to kiss you again," she said. "And I want to see what happens after that."

Joe's smile was slow and warm. "I can work with that."

He leaned down to kiss her, and this time Y/N was ready for it. She kissed him back with more confidence than she'd had Saturday night, letting herself explore the taste of him, the way his mouth moved against hers.

Joe's hands settled on her waist, pulling her closer, and Y/N felt heat spread through her chest at the contact. When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she opened for him, a soft sound escaping her throat at the new sensation.

"Okay?" Joe murmured against her mouth.

"Absolutely."

They kissed until Y/N felt breathless, her hands fisted in Joe's t-shirt, her body pressed against his. When they finally broke apart, Joe rested his forehead against hers.

"Come sit with me?" he said.

He led her to the living room, settling onto the couch and pulling her down beside him. The room was dimly lit, warm and intimate, and Y/N felt hyperaware of every point of contact between them.

"I keep thinking about Saturday night," Y/N said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"About how it felt. How natural it was." She paused. "I keep thinking about your hands."

"My hands?"

"The way they felt on my face. On my waist just now." She gathered courage. "I keep wondering what they'd feel like other places."

Joe's breath caught slightly. "Y/N..."

"Is that too much?"

"No. God, no. I just want to make sure you're sure."

"I'm sure. I'm nervous, but I'm sure."

Joe shifted to face her more fully, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "We can go slow. Stop anytime."

"I know. I trust you."

When Joe kissed her this time, it was deeper, more intent. His hands moved from her face to her neck, her shoulders, skimming along her arms in a way that made her shiver. Y/N found herself leaning into his touch, craving more contact.

"Can I touch you?" Joe asked, his voice rougher than before."Can I touch you?" Joe asked, his voice rougher than before.

"Please."

Joe's hands moved to her waist, then slowly up her sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath her ribs. Even through her sweater, the contact sent heat shooting through Y/N's body.

"How does that feel?" he asked.

"Good. Really good."

Joe's hands continued their exploration, mapping the shape of her through her clothes with a patience that was both torturous and perfect. When his thumb brushed against the side of her breast, Y/N gasped.

"Still good?"

"Still good."

Y/N's own hands had found their way to Joe's chest, marveling at the solid muscle beneath his t-shirt. Everything about touching him was different than touching Alex—broader, harder, unfamiliar in a way that made her want to explore more.

"Can I..." she started, then tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Joe pulled the shirt over his head without hesitation, and Y/N felt her mouth go dry. She'd seen him shirtless in magazines and on TV, but seeing him here, in person, touchable, was entirely different.

"Jesus," she breathed.

Joe's laugh was low and pleased. "Good?"

"Shut up, you know it's good," Y/N said, putting her hands on his chest, exploring the planes of muscle, the texture of his skin. Joe's breath hitched when her fingers traced along his collarbone, and the sound sent a thrill through her.

"Your turn," Joe said, his hands finding the hem of her sweater.

Y/N felt a moment of nervousness—this was further than she'd ever gone with a man—but she nodded. Joe pulled her sweater off slowly, giving her time to change her mind. But Y/N didn't want to change her mind. She wanted to see what it felt like to be touched by him, to discover this new territory of her own desire.

"You're beautiful," Joe said, his voice soft with appreciation.

Y/N felt exposed but not uncomfortable. The way Joe was looking at her—with genuine admiration and barely restrained want—made her feel powerful in a way she hadn't expected.

"Touch me," she said.

Joe's hands were warm against her skin, tracing patterns along her ribs, her shoulders, the line of her collarbone. When his mouth followed the path of his hands, pressing soft kisses to her throat, Y/N felt her head fall back against the couch cushions.

"You taste good," Joe murmured against her neck.

Y/N was quickly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts. Every touch, every kiss was new and overwhelming and not nearly enough all at once. When Joe's mouth found that sensitive spot just below her ear, she made a sound she'd never made before.

"I like that sound," Joe said, his breath warm against her skin.

"I like what you're doing to make me make it."

They kissed and touched until Y/N felt completely undone, her body aching with need and hypersensitive to every brush of his hands. Joe’s touch was confident but reverent, slow and deliberate, like he was learning her by heart. His mouth dragged along her neck, down to her collarbone, his stubble rough against her skin in a way that made her breath hitch. When his hand slipped under the band of her bra and found her breast, she gasped—his palm was warm, his thumb circling her nipple until it tightened under his touch. He watched her face as he touched her, like he wanted to see every reaction, memorize every sound she made.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Y/N felt like she was seeing the world differently.

"Fuck," she said, still breathing heavily.

"Still good?"

"I'm good, I promise." Y/N looked at Joe, taking in his disheveled hair, his swollen lips, the way he was looking at her. "Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I understand now. What I was missing."

"What's that?"

"This feeling. This... wanting." She paused, trying to find the right words. "I always thought I just wasn't attracted to men. But I think maybe I just hadn't met the right man."

Joe's smile was soft and genuine. "I'm glad it was me."

"Me too."

They stayed on the couch for a while longer, talking quietly, sharing soft kisses, Y/N's head on Joe's shoulder. There was an intimacy to it that felt both new and natural, like they were settling into something bigger than either of them had expected.

"I should probably head home," Y/N said eventually, though she made no move to get up.

"You don't have to."

"I know. But I think I need some time to process all of this."

"I understand."

Joe helped her find her sweater, then walked her to the door. They kissed goodnight on his front step, a long, slow kiss that left Y/N's knees weak.

"When can I see you again?" Joe asked.

"Soon," Y/N said. "Very soon."

On the drive home, Y/N called Alex.

"Hey babe," Alex answered. "How was dinner?"

"Life-changing," Y/N said without thinking.

"That good, huh?"

"Alex, I think I'm really attracted to him. Like, I'm attracted to a man."

"I can hear the smile in your voice. Tell me everything."

Y/N found herself sharing details she might have kept private before, but Alex's enthusiasm and support made it easy to be open.

"How do you feel about all of this?" Alex asked when Y/N finished.

"Excited. Nervous. Grateful that you're okay with me exploring this."

"Babe, I love seeing you discover new things about yourself. It doesn't threaten what we have—it makes you more you."

"I love you," Y/N said, meaning it completely.

"I love you too. Now get some sleep. You sound exhausted."

"Good exhausted."

"The best kind."

As Y/N got ready for bed, she caught herself smiling in the bathroom mirror. Her lips were still slightly swollen from kissing Joe, and she looked... different somehow. More alive.

* * *

Y/N had made it exactly three days before texting Joe again.

Not that she was counting, but Friday afternoon found her staring at her phone, trying to compose a message that didn't sound as desperate as she felt. She'd been thinking about Wednesday night constantly—the way Joe's hands had felt on her skin, the sounds he'd made when she'd touched him, the way her body had responded to his attention in completely new ways.

Are you free tonight? she finally typed, then immediately deleted it.

Want to hang out tonight? Delete.

I can't stop thinking about you. Delete, delete, delete.

Her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Joe: Been thinking about you. Want to come over tonight?

Y/N stared at the message. Thank god. Yes. What time?

Whenever you want. I'll cook again.

Perfect.

Y/N spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of nervous anticipation. She knew where this was heading—they both did. The question wasn't whether they'd end up in bed together, but how it would feel when they did.

She called Alex during her lunch break, needing to talk through her nerves with someone who understood.

"I think tonight's going to be the night," Y/N said without preamble when Alex answered.

"The night for what?" Alex asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.

"You know what."

"I want to hear you say it."

"I think Joe and I are going to have sex tonight."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Terrified. Excited. Like I might throw up."

Alex laughed. "That sounds about right for a first time. What are you most nervous about?"

"What if I don't know what I'm doing? What if it's weird? What if I don't like it as much as I think I will?"

"Babe, breathe. First of all, from everything you've told me about Joe, he's not going to judge you for being inexperienced with men. Second, you're allowed to not like things. You're allowed to ask for what you want. And you're definitely allowed to stop if something doesn't feel right."

"I know. Logically I know all of that."

"But?"

"But this feels really important. Like it's going to tell me something fundamental about myself."

"It might. Or it might just be good sex with someone you're attracted to. Both are okay."

Y/N took a deep breath. "You're right."

"I usually am. Now go have fun, be safe, and call me tomorrow with all the details."

"All the details?"

"Okay, maybe not all the details. But I want to know how you're feeling afterward."

"Deal."

Y/N arrived at Joe's house at seven on the dot, carrying a bottle of wine and trying to calm her racing heart. Joe answered the door looking relaxed and gorgeous in jeans and a simple button-down shirt.

"Hey," he said, smiling as he let her in. "You look nervous."

"I am nervous."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'll get it together."

Joe leaned down to kiss her hello, and Y/N felt some of her tension ease at the familiar warmth of his mouth. When they broke apart, he studied her face.

"We don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he said. "No pressure."

"I know. That's part of why I'm here."

They had dinner—salmon and vegetables again, because Joe said he'd been perfecting the recipe—and talked about their weeks. The conversation was easy, but Y/N could feel the undercurrent of anticipation between them.

"You're thinking really hard about something," Joe observed as they finished eating.

"I'm always thinking."

"What about specifically?"

Y/N set down her wine glass and looked at him directly. "About whether you're going to kiss me again tonight. About whether I want you to do more than kiss me. About whether I'm ready for that."

"And what are you deciding?"

"That I want to find out."

Joe's expression softened. "You sure?"

"I'm sure I want to try. I'm sure I trust you. I'm sure I'm attracted to you in ways I didn't know I could be attracted to anyone."

Joe stood and extended his hand. "Come here."

Y/N took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He kissed her softly, thoroughly, his hands settling on her waist.

"If you want to stop at any point, you tell me," he said against her mouth. "Promise me."

"I promise."

Joe led her upstairs to his bedroom, and Y/N felt her heart racing. The room was clean and simple—dark furniture, white sheets, big windows. It looked like him.

"Second thoughts?" Joe asked, noticing her pause.

"No. Just... taking it in."

Joe sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to stand between his legs. His hands rested on her hips, thumbs tracing small circles through her dress.

"We can go as slow as you want," he said.

"What if I don't want to go slow?"

Joe's eyes darkened. "Then we don't go slow."

Y/N leaned down to kiss him, putting all of her want and nervousness and curiosity into the contact. Joe's hands tightened on her hips, pulling her closer, and Y/N felt heat pool in her stomach.

"Can I undress you?" Joe asked when they broke apart.

"Yes."

Joe's hands were careful and reverent as he helped her out of her dress, pressing soft kisses to newly exposed skin. Y/N shivered under his attention, amazed at how different it felt to be undressed by a man—his hands larger and rougher than Alex's, his approach both gentle and possessive.

Joe let her undress him slowly, her hands exploring the broad planes of his chest, the definition of his arms, the line of hair that disappeared beneath his jeans. Everything about his body was different than what she was used to, and she found herself fascinated by the contrasts.

"You're staring again," Joe said, his voice amused.

"I'm learning."

"What are you learning?"

"That I really like looking at you. Touching you."

Joe groaned softly and pulled her down onto the bed with him. They kissed and touched until Y/N felt dizzy with want, her body responding to Joe's attention in ways that surprised her.

"How are you feeling?" Joe asked, his mouth against her neck.

"Like I understand what people write songs about now."

Joe laughed, the sound vibrating against her skin. "That good?"

"That good."

Joe's hands and mouth continued their exploration, finding places that made Y/N gasp and arch against him. When he asked permission before touching her more intimately, Y/N nodded eagerly.

"Yes. Please."

The first touch of Joe's fingers between her legs made Y/N cry out softly. The sensation was familiar but somehow completely different—his fingers longer and more insistent than Alex's, his approach confident in a way that made her melt.

"Feel good?" Joe asked, his voice rough.

"So good. God, Joe."

Y/N pulled Joe down for a kiss, tasting herself on his mouth and finding it incredibly erotic. Her hands moved to his jeans, fumbling with the button.

"Can I?" she asked.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. I want to touch you."

Joe helped her get his sweats off, and Y/N felt her mouth go dry as she took in the full sight of him. She'd felt him through his clothes, but seeing him naked was different—bigger than she'd expected, harder, undeniably male in a way that made her stomach clench with want.

"You okay?" Joe asked, noticing her pause.

"Just... fuck."

Y/N reached out tentatively, wrapping her hand around him and marveling at the way he felt—warm and smooth and solid. Joe's breath hitched at her touch, and the sound gave her confidence to explore more boldly.

"Like this?" she asked, experimenting with different pressures and rhythms.

"Yes. God, yes."

Y/N found herself fascinated by Joe's responses—the way his breathing changed, the sounds he made, the way his hips moved seeking more contact. It was powerful knowing she could affect him like this.

"Y/N," Joe said, his voice strained. "I want to be inside you."

The words sent a jolt of heat through her. "I want that too."

Joe reached for protection, and Y/N watched as he put it on, her heart racing with anticipation and nerves.

"You sure?" he asked one more time.

"I'm sure."

Joe positioned himself above her, and Y/N felt her breath catch as she felt him against her. This was it—the moment she'd been both wanting and nervous about.

"Look at me," Joe said softly.

Y/N met his eyes as he pushed into her slowly, carefully. The sensation was intense—a fullness and stretch that was completely different than anything she'd experienced before. Joe paused, letting her adjust, his face tight with restraint.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Okay. Yeah, okay."

Joe began to move, slowly at first, letting Y/N get used to the rhythm and sensation. It was overwhelming in the best way—different than she'd expected but exactly what she'd needed.

"Feel okay?" Joe asked, his voice rough with effort.

"Yeah. Keep going."

As Joe's movements became more confident, Y/N found herself lost in sensation. This was what she'd been missing, what she'd been curious about. Not just the physical mechanics, but the emotional intensity of being connected to someone this way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Joe said, his forehead pressed against hers.

Y/N could only moan in response, her body building toward another climax. When Joe shifted the angle slightly, hitting something inside her that made her see stars, she cried out.

"Right there?"

"Right there."

Joe maintained that rhythm until Y/N fell apart beneath him, her orgasm even more intense than the first. The sensation of her climaxing around him pushed Joe over the edge, and he came with a groan, his face buried in her neck.

They lay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard. Y/N felt overwhelmed and satisfied and amazed all at once.

"How was that?" Joe asked eventually.

"Life-changing," Y/N said, echoing what she'd told Alex after their first dinner. "Seriously."

Y/N turned in Joe's arms to face him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being patient. For making it good. For helping me figure this out."

Joe's smile was soft. "Thank you for trusting me with it."

They talked quietly for a while, Y/N processing everything she'd just experienced. It wasn't just that the sex had been good—though it had been incredible. It was that she finally understood what she'd been missing, what her body was capable of responding to.

"I should probably head home," Y/N said eventually, though she made no move to get up.

"Stay," Joe said. "If you want to."

Y/N considered it. Part of her wanted to stay, to see what it felt like to wake up next to him. But another part needed space to process everything that had just happened.

"I think I need to go home tonight," she said. "But can I see you again soon?"

"Anytime you want."

Joe walked her to her car, kissing her goodnight under the streetlight. Y/N drove home in a daze, her body still humming from Joe's touch.

She called Alex as soon as she got to her apartment.

"So?" Alex said without preamble.

"So I definitely like men," Y/N said. "Or at least, I definitely like Joe."

"Details?"

"It was incredible, Alex. Different than I expected but so good. I understand now why people make such a big deal about sexual chemistry."

"I'm so happy for you. How do you feel?"

"Like I discovered a whole new part of myself. Like everything makes more sense now."

"That's beautiful, babe. I'm proud of you for being brave enough to explore this."

"Thank you for being okay with it. For encouraging me."

"I love you, Y/N. All of you. Including the parts you're still discovering."

After they hung up, Y/N lay in bed thinking about everything that had changed. A month ago, she would never have imagined she'd be here—sexually satisfied by a man, understanding her own bisexuality in a completely new way, grateful for the support of her girlfriend as she explored attraction she'd never known she possessed.

* * *

Three months later

Y/N was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, clutching her stomach as Joe continued his story about a play call gone wrong during practice.

"And then coach is screaming from the sideline, right?" Joe said, gesturing with his beer bottle. "But nobody can hear him because the music's too loud, so half the team runs the wrong route and I'm just standing there with the ball like an idiot."

"Oh no," Alex said from her spot on the other end of the couch, grinning. "Please tell me someone got that on film."

"Of course they did. It's probably still making the rounds on the internet."

They were sprawled across Joe's living room on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the remnants of the brunch Joe had made scattered across the coffee table. Alex was visiting for the weekend—her first trip to Cincinnati since Y/N had moved—and Y/N had been nervous about how this dynamic would work in person.

She shouldn't have worried. Alex and Joe had hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared amusement at Y/N's tendency to overthink everything and their mutual appreciation for good coffee. Watching them together, Y/N felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the mimosas they'd been drinking.

"I still can't believe you've been hiding cooking skills this whole time," Alex said to Joe. "Y/N made it sound like you lived on protein bars and takeout."

"Hey," Y/N protested. "I said he could cook fish. I didn't know about the whole Sunday brunch situation."

"Man of mystery," Joe said with a shrug, but his smile was warm.

The easy banter between the three of them was exactly what Y/N had hoped for. Over the past few months, things with Joe had settled into something she hadn't expected—close and comfortable, but not complicated.

They'd continued sleeping together for about six weeks after that first night, exploring Y/N's newfound attraction with an enthusiasm that had surprised them both. But gradually, naturally, things had shifted. Y/N had started dating other men—tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as she understood what she was looking for. Joe had been nothing but supportive, even helpful in navigating the sometimes complicated world of dating as someone in an open relationship.

"I should probably get going soon," Alex said, checking her phone. "Flight's soon."

"I'll drive you," Y/N said, starting to gather the dishes.

"Actually," Joe said, "would it be weird if I tagged along? I want to hear more about this gallery opening you're working on."

"Not weird at all," Alex said. "I'd like that."

An hour later, they were standing in the airport terminal, Alex's bag checked and her boarding pass in hand. Y/N felt the familiar tug of sadness that came with these goodbyes, even though Alex would be moving to Cincinnati permanently in just two months.

"This was really great," Alex said, pulling Y/N into a hug. "I'm so glad I finally got to spend real time with Joe."

"What do you think?" Y/N asked quietly.

"I think he's exactly what you said he was. Good for you, supportive, genuinely cares about your happiness." Alex smiled. "And I think you two have figured out something really special."

Over Alex's shoulder, Y/N could see Joe standing a respectful distance away, scrolling through his phone to give them privacy. The sight of him—patient, considerate, completely secure in his place in her life—made her chest tight with affection.

"I really love him," Y/N said, surprising herself with the admission.

"I know you do. And he loves you too, just maybe not in the way either of you expected."

Alex was right. What Y/N felt for Joe wasn't the same as what she felt for Alex, but it wasn't less meaningful. It was something else entirely—a deep friendship built on trust and discovery, seasoned with attraction but not defined by it.

"Thank you," Y/N said. "For being okay with all of this. For encouraging me to explore. For never making me feel like I had to choose."

"Babe, you never have to thank me for loving all of you."

After Alex's plane took off, Joe and Y/N drove back toward the city in comfortable silence. Finally, Joe spoke.

"She's really great."

"She is."

"I can see why you love her."

Y/N glanced at him. "How are you feeling about everything? The whole weekend, I mean."

Joe was quiet for a moment, considering. "Good. Really good, actually. It's nice to see you with her, to understand that part of your life better."

They pulled into Y/N's apartment complex, but neither made a move to get out of the car.

"Joe," Y/N said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Are you happy? With how things worked out between us?"

Joe turned to look at her fully. "You mean am I disappointed that we're not dating exclusively?"

"I guess that's what I'm asking."

"Y/N, what we have is better than what I was expecting when I first asked you to dinner. You're one of my closest friends. You trust me with things that matter to you. We helped each other figure out things about ourselves we didn't know before." He paused. "Why would I be disappointed in that?"

"Because most people would want more. Or different."

"I'm not most people. And what we have isn't less than a traditional relationship—it's just different."

Y/N felt tears prick her eyes, overwhelmed by gratitude for this man who had helped her discover so much about herself and asked for nothing but her friendship in return.

"I love you too, you know," she said. "Alex was right about that."

"I know. I love you too."

"Different than Alex, but just as real."

Joe nodded. "I feel the same way."

They sat in the quiet of the car for another moment, both processing the weight of what they'd just acknowledged.

"So what happens now?" Y/N asked.

"Now you keep dating interesting people and figuring out what you want. I keep being your friend who you can call when you need to complain about bad dates or celebrate good ones. Alex moves here and you two build your life together. And we all hang out and drink too much and argue about whether pineapple belongs on pizza."

"It doesn't belong on pizza."

"See? This is why we work as friends."

Y/N laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "You're a pretty great friend, you know that?"

"I mean, I'm probably the best friend you'll ever have, but yeah."

Y/N leaned over to kiss Joe's cheek. "Omg. Thanks. For all of this."

"Thanks for trusting me with it."

As Y/N walked to her apartment, she felt good about how everything had worked out. It wasn't what she'd expected when she'd first met Joe, but it was exactly what she needed.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Alex: Landed safely. Joe's a keeper—as a friend and whatever else you two decide. Love you.

And another from Joe: Thanks for a great weekend. See you Thursday for that hiking trip?

Y/N smiled as she responded to both messages. Thursday's hike was with David, a teacher she'd been dating for a few weeks who shared her love of the outdoors. Joe had recommended the trail and offered to give David some pointers about the best routes.

Six months ago, Y/N would never have imagined her life could look like this—happily committed to Alex, confidently exploring her attraction to men, supported in that exploration by both her girlfriend and the man who'd helped her discover it. It wasn't conventional, but it was honest and loving and exactly what she needed.

As she got ready for bed, Y/N reflected on how much had changed since that first foundation event. She'd moved to a new city, started a new job, discovered new things about her sexuality, and built relationships she couldn't have predicted. Most importantly, she'd learned that love and connection didn't have to fit into neat categories to be real and meaningful.

Her phone lit up with one more text, this one from a group chat Joe had started with her and Alex: Next time I'm making pancakes. Y/N's in charge of coffee. Alex can provide commentary on our questionable life choices.

Deal, Alex replied almost immediately. But I want blueberry pancakes.

Obviously, Joe responded.

Y/N typed back: You two are never going to let me live down burning that one batch of pancakes, are you?

Never, they replied in unison.

Y/N fell asleep smiling, surrounded by love in all its beautiful, complicated forms.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fanfic #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #nfl smut #nfl x reader #joe burrow x you #nfl x you

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noctunis · 8 months ago

Text

✧˖° - DESIDERIUM.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x fem!reader, slight hints of suguru geto x fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; “ for what is love if not brought back grief but just a little bit smaller? ” satoru wonders as he thinks about the time you got away from him, little does he know it’s eating you up inside everyday.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count ; 13.7k words, 74.2k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw ; sfw, fem!reader, fluff to angst with little comfort, canon au, not proofread, interchanging povs but for reader it’s always second person, technically need a pt2 but lmk if u guys want it, not proofread, mainly satoru x reader but hints of sashisu x reader for a while, spoilers / allusions / mentions of jjk 0 and later manga chapters ( after suguru’s left obv ), mentions and cameo from kenny later, canon character death, mentions of smoking, mentions of blood and typical canon violence, mature language, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes ; ( request linked here !!) wow so this has been sitting in my inbox for a few months now, this was actually requested but i forgot to link it to the post so this idea was brought to us by the wonderful @skypperlegacy — sobbing in my bed writing this i hope you all enjoy. ( edit: i wrote this note on 8/24 and i’m assuming i’m posting this AFTER my birthday, so take this as a little treat for not posting for my birthday ^.^ )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (2) ; it is currently 10/26. i have not finished this yet either. what the hell is wrong with me

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (final) ; i did it. i finished it. 11/13 oh my days i finally completed this thing. i didn’t even flesh out the full idea so lmk if you guys want more of sad pathetic gojo and reader

i. sunlit hallways in 2005

your footsteps bounce off of the walls of the hallway, sun rays ricocheting off the floor and projecting onto your body as you make your way to your classroom. your eyes zip around in every direction as you tried to scan the room numbers to try and find the one yaga had referred you to. you grimace at his booming voice replaying in your memory talking about these two boys who were supposed to help you — idiots he referred to them as. ‘strong idiots’.

you assume you’d be heading into the classroom with the most noise in it, as the sound of muffled chattering pricks your ears from beyond the sliding door of the homeroom to your left. a long exhale leaves your lips, your shoulders rolling backwards in an attempt to try and alleviate the weird pressure that settled upon them before your fingers find the little slot that allowed it to open the door, cursing yourself as a loud squeak emits from your action.

you scrunch your eyes shut in a wincing manner, taking in the silence before peeking an eye open to see two boys — which you presume were the ones that yaga had mentioned to you. both of your eyes shoot open at the sound of a small laugh, seeing a boy with spectacles and snow white hair snickering to himself while his friend shook his head at him and instead greets you with a small smile.

you clear your throat. “are you suguru geto and satoru gojo?”

they nod, the dark-haired boy scooting out of his seat to get up and properly greet you while the other lazily grins at you, the cerulean lenses of his gracing his face and framing his teasing gaze behind a deep blue. “geto,” the former gestures to himself, “and this is gojo,” his hand waves over to the seemingly brash boy who stands beside him, giving a small wave as his hands come to intertwine behind his back.

you lean forward, ducking your head as you bow out of respect for your new classmates. hair falling in front of your face, you introduce yourself quietly as you hear small shuffles emerging towards you until sheen black shoes come into your peripheral.

lifting your head up a little further, you’re met with the bright face of ‘satoru gojo’, the name striking a familiar cord within your brain. gojo, you think, as in the gojo clan? however, you don’t get to ponder on that for too long before he chuckles at your expression — clearly somewhat impressed with his appearance. either that, or you’re completely freaked out. although, gojo’s pride would only let him choose the former.

“so,” the boy, gojo, begins, “are you the little shrimp yaga-sensei told us we’d be looking after?”

you press your lips together in a soft frown, before your eyebrows furrow with the small huff that left you as geto smacks the back of his palm against his friend’s chest. “‘m not a shrimp, you know — not even that much shorter than you.”

as if to further prove his point, you get an eyeful of white hair as he leans down to meet your eyes, just barely but enough to provide the message. “yeah?” he breathed. his grin makes you nauseous, pearly whites on display and dimmed with the backlit centered illumination giving him a frontal shadow. you tilt your nose up at him before holding his own gaze, his bright ceruleans on display as you replied with a passive-aggressive, “yeah.”

geto laughs, pressing his arm against his friend’s chest to get him to back away from you, the intense scent of cypress and a deep sea breeze no longer engulfing your senses. soft snickers instead fill your ears as gojo stuffs his hands into the pant pockets of his uniform before slipping past you with a hum. geto follows in suit.

you turn your head back to the open doorway, seeing the boys make their way out before gojo turns to you once more. “you coming or what, shrimp?”

you groan under your breath and he smiles at your reaction, now no longer in your sight as he turns the corner; struggling to hold back a grin at the quick footsteps that trail behind him with a hesitant, “hold— hold on a sec! i’m not a shrimp!”

“you are too.”

“are not,” you huff.

his eyes trail up towards the ceiling for a second, tapping his chin as he feigns a long, hard thought before cracking out into another smile. “are too.”

this game continues for a while, and you almost feel bad for geto — except the little game of chicken that you and his counterpart had going on was taking up more of your attention at the moment. with his obnoxiously long legs, gojo purposefully takes wide strides to try and tease you at least a little bit, having you make more of an effort to keep up — just because you’re new doesn’t mean that you should be let off the hook so easily, he thinks.

“are too—“

“these are the dorms,” suguru interjects, his tone clearly exasperated at this point. a few minutes of walking and the poor man felt like it was hours of meaningless boredom.

your eyes follow the direction of geto’s finger over the trail of doors that lay before you. he leans his head forward, the golden sunlight capturing his face as a few strands of raven hair from his bun slip out from their ties. “my dorm’s on the very end right there,” he gestures his head to the door at the corner, “satoru’s is two down to the left.”

speaking of him, gojo slings an arm around your shoulders; keeping a firm grip even with only his bicep as you try to squirm away. “don’t worry, i’m sure yaga’ll help you in no time. by the end of the day, you’ll be lazing around in a nice bed with your feet kicked up, thinking about how you met the most beautiful man ever today,” he says to you.

“don’t you think it’s a little weird to call your friend the most beautiful man ever?”

to gojo’s horror, geto snickers from behind him.

“you’re a sassy one, aren’t you. .” he mutters under his breath, a sigh escaping him as the warmth of his arm leaves your shoulders and is instead met with the cool air conditioning of the halls, only the sun’s peeking through the windows warming you up. he takes a step near his friend, hands stuffed in his pockets once again. “well, you can always stop by whenever you do get your dorm, i’ll always be here,” he singsongs. you fake gag at his playful wink.

geto steps towards you, leaning into you as he mumbles a little too loudly ( whether that was on purpose or not remained unknown ), “don’t worry, the girls’ wing is on the other side — luckily you won’t have to see that idiot all the time.” you laugh at your eyes trail to gojo’s small pout from behind the boy, his shoulders deflating instantly once he realized he was left out.

“hey, so like, can we not bully me for today? just once?” he chimes in, tilting his head to the side a bit in question. you and geto share one last glance and laugh together before he walks ahead of you again, gojo lagging behind so you’d walk next to him as well.

he couldn’t help but glance at you, noticing how you keep your eyes trained in front of you. only occasionally flitting to the window to admire the outside scenery. it wasn’t everyday that they got a new student, and if they did, they never lasted long. despite still only being a first year, geto and gojo adapted to the harsh environments of jujutsu society — fully aware of the consequences and what it would take to save non-sorcerers. which only made gojo all the more curious as to why you were here.

“pervert, quit staring at me.”

“hey, people would pay for these eyes on them — you’re a lucky girl, today,” he explains, bumping his shoulder with yours. you glare at him. his smile doesn’t falter.

“so do all new recruits get this treatment or what?” you chide, putting a hand on your hip comfortably as you walk. he hums for a moment. “nah,”. he decides, “you’re special,” his grin only widens the more you banter, bright blue eyes mimicking yours in a sharp narrowing. you hold his gaze for a bit, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it — turning your head with a low, ‘tch’ as you keep your feet moving. gojo does the same.

they walk you around the campus, showing you the track field and the direction in which the girls’ wing is, telling you to report back to them once yaga had assigned you a room, gojo urging you to invite him over one day to which geto nudges the back of his leg with his shoe. and at the end of the day you’re left with a small wave goodbye to your new classmates, smiles on their faces as they walk off back into the dorms; leaving you to roam around with the new-known information.

you look back at the stone arch of the school’s entrance, the stone pathway beneath your feet as you squint from the brightness of the sun just beyond the horizon. a perfect point of which the ground and the sky meet.

you can feel the blocks of sunlight on your chest as you take one last look at it, face softening at the sight.

gojo takes one last look behind him to check on you, seeing your frame simply stand and soak up the golden skies. his lips only quirk the slightest bit upwards, geto quirking a brow beside him only to let an amused breath out at his best friend’s infatuation. “don’t start going all mushy on me now, satoru.”

said friend turns his head back ( geto notices how he takes one last quick glance back before fully rotating his head ) and scoffs, “no way.” geto merely hums and closes his eyes, a knowing feeling growing in his stomach. “she is kinda cute, you know,” gojo mumbles — closing his eyes when geto opens his own to look at the boy dubiously.

he, too, looks back at you only to find you walking off to another section of the high school; presumably to go and talk to yaga to find out where the hell your dorm would be. he chuckles. “don’t ruin another friendship for us by going a little too far with the flirting, this time.”

the snow-haired boy stays quiet at that, creating a small lull in the conversation only filled by the clacking of shoes against pavement. the sun on the nape of his neck slowly eases up with how it lowers beyond the skyline, small beads of sweat slowly seeping back into his skin before he huffs. “can you believe the way she talked to me?” geto looks over to him once more. “‘yeah’, who does she think she is talking to us like that?” gojo makes a dumb face as he mimics you, hands on his hips momentarily as he mocks the way you stood — it was surprising how he was the one saying this.

geto snickers. “you mean the way she talked to you.”

“whatever,” his classmate responds with a yawn, being able to crack a small smile at geto’s laughs of amusement at his frustration ( or how gojo would call it, his ‘suffering’ ). “you’ll learn to like her eventually,” he chides. his friend stays quiet at that once more.

gojo tilts his head up at the darkening sky. he swears he can feel the sun on his chest, too.

ii. the way the clouds shape us

“special grade? guess satoru was wrong about you being a shrimp,” the sound of geto’s laughter fills the air, thin fingers handing you back your student id as you pocketed the small, white card back in the pocket of your uniform.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you shake your head, placid smile painted on your lips. geto leans against the tree, careful not to ruin his sleek hair against the chipped bark. he watched as you lifted your hands up to the sky. you extend your fingers and stretch them out — watching as the light blue of the sky above you illuminates your open-faced palm and casts a shadow for the rest of your arm.

gojo wasn’t wrong, you were definitely beautiful. even geto knew it, taking in the way your hair splayed out delicately against the vibrant grass, as he could hear the distant chatter of his other two best friends making their way towards you two. you had to thank gojo for this, considering he was the found who found this little safe haven in the first place.

over the past few months ( even if you joined a little later than halfway through the actual school year ), it became quite comfortable for you to chat with these newfound friends of yours. you quickly got along with ieiri, much to gojo’s dismay as he has discovered you two make the best team against him with your sharp words towards him. he’d savor the way you’d lean in and tell him you were never really serious afterwards ( even though he was well aware of that fact, he’d like knowing you still didn’t want to really hurt his feelings ). it really felt like home when you were with them, a sanctuary only for the four of you.

with your eyes flitting closed, geto finally tears his eyes from you to gaze at the duo approaching the two of you, gojo whining about something like usual as shoko barely humored him with the little tolerance she had left; a pale cigarette hanging from between her lips.

you relish in the sun on your skin, lessened from the months before that first day you came to tokyo’s jujutsu high as you’ve adapted. you must adapt in order to survive. you realize that now, which is why you indulge in the small moments you can get — even if it’s just silence with geto or the fact that suddenly, even behind closed eyelids, the sun was gone.

allowing your lashes to flutter open, you see a familiar brunette stand above you. a combination of the sweet, earthy tones emitting from the dewy grass below you and her perfume suddenly hit your nose, surprising but definitely not unpleasant. you hummed, eyebrows furrowed.

she laughs, “eh? you two are just out here without us?”

“sigh,” you roll your eyes at gojo who audibly says the word ‘sigh’, “so inconsiderate, you two.”

geto laughs, resting his hands upon his stomach as he closes his eyes — nose twitching with the leftover pollen floating along with the soft, spring breeze down from its habitat within the trees and the plants enclosing you all.

he doesn’t exactly fall asleep, especially in such an uncomfortable position. but he makes peace with this discomfort and instead seeks refuge in his own place of serenity, only him and his thoughts ( and the quiet chatter of you and shoko ganging up on your white-haired friend ).

you exhale smoothly through your nose, a breath of fresh air leaving your lungs as you stare up at your friend, a smirk threatening to unleash itself on her face even from behind the cancer stick. “those things kill, you know,” you playfully chastise her, watching as she chuckles before crouching down.

she slips the cigarette from past her mouth, the end stained glossy and pink from that one lip product you always forget the brand of, before offering the smoke to you between her two fingers. she hums as you take the tube, the material dry against your lips. “might as well while we’re still alive and young,” she says — and the morbidity of the question no longer bothers you like it would have a few months earlier. instead, you actually chuckle at her dry delivery. you struggle not to choke with your laid back position as you hold it before letting it escape you, a hot puff of smoke emitting in the air.

“so, what’re we doing today?” a pair of lanky, slack-clad legs come into your peripheral along with a familiar mop of snowy hair before it disappears, his voice trailing off as he sits next to geto. you prop yourself up on your elbows, squinting at the sudden bright light as shoko sits beside you inside.

you crack a small smile at the feeling of her fingertips messing with the ends of your hair, shaking out the small bits of grass that got stuck in the delicate strands. gojo, however, thinks you’re smiling at him so he grins in return before your smile is soon replaced with an unsure expression — almost like you’re gonna throw up just from looking at him. he still doesn’t falter.

“what do you think we should do?” you ask after a bit, thanking ieiri under your breath as she’s done helping you primp.

“what if we go to the convenience store for a bit and get some snacks? i was thinking—“

“boringg..” shoko’s thoughts are interrupted by gojo’s loud interruption, her face immediately dropping as she looks at him. “hey, you don’t have to show off in front of your girlfriend every day, y’know,” she shoots back.

he pouts at the brunette, his shoulders deflating as his hands come up to his face to mimic a fake tear rolling down his cheek. a nervous huff escapes you as you look between her, geto, and gojo before you start, “he’s not m—“

“how about we go to the arcade in shinjuku city? they close in like,” he checks the imaginary watch on his wrist ( whether he didn’t know he had interrupted you or he didn’t want you to finish your thought was something you didn’t understand ), “two hours, i guess.”

you roll your neck around on your shoulders, sighing at the low cracks that escape your aching bones. eager for some activity, you shrug. “hate to admit it, but that might be the greatest idea gojo’s ever had.”

to that, he beams. you hear a duet of groans come from your other two friends. “aw, c’mon. don’t give into him so easily,” geto chides playfully.

“not to brag—“

“—all you do is brag, gojo—“

“—but i, personally, think i have a ton of great ideas.”

geto tips head back and laughs. you see the way his eyelids twitch and scrunch with his soft smile, outer corners crinkling as the airy sound frees itself from him. he crosses his arms. “that’s why you personally think that, im afraid ‘s not a very common opinion,” he answered calmly. gojo sulks as he looks to shoko for help. she shrugs and puffs out another cloud of smoke between the small opening she’s created on the side of her mouth.

“we can always bully him some other time, i’m bored and i’m practically losing years off of my life just listening to him,” you mutter to her — perhaps a little too loud as you see gojo’s jaw drop open from your peripheral.

geto gets up, dusting the damp pieces of grass sticking to his pants and the back of his legs before taking a big stretch. you wrap your arm around the other, extending your elbow and mimicking his motions as you let out a sigh at the feeling of weary muscles ( which you can already tell that geto and gojo will use against you when you spar ).

“why don’t we go already then?” he inquires, causing gojo to shoot up as you already start to slowly walk back to the campus entrance. shoko snorted as she shook her head, trailing behind to walk and talk with the raven-haired man. your eyes scan over the perimeter of the horizon, spotting all the grass and the vast architecture of the highschool, squinting as you look for the way you came from.

feeling the air change from behind you and the soft sounds of quick footsteps on grass, you begin. “hey shoko, do you ever—“

then you see his stupid smile.

“oh,” you say. he scoffs, almost like he’s offended that you had such a tame reaction. gojo huffs a bit, still attempting to keep up with your pace. “just ‘oh’? you aren’t excited to talk to me at all?” he groans.

you shrug. “just thought you were shoko ‘s all.”

oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. you think — because once you see the way his face splits into a grin once more, you instantly grimace. “so you are excited to talk to me.”

“never said that.”

“you didn’t have to. i’m psychic.”

“that so? what am i thinking right now, then?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from the ground and tilting your head at gojo; who taps his chin and pretends to think ( although, you know that there’s a seventy percent chance that whatever comes out of his mouth will be bullshit considering the way he’s struggling to hold back a smile ).

your question evokes a long hum from him as he looks up to the sky, to the right, and then back to you before he answers, “how handsome i am?” your eyes narrow a bit, one of the rare moments where satoru gojo could render you speechless.

once your mouth drops open, void of sound, gojo’s almost ready to backtrack and apologize before you finally laugh. a nice, hearty laugh that makes your chest rumble in between every breath. and if that isn’t the biggest ego booster for the boy then you’re not sure what is. he couldn’t care of you were laughing at him or with him, all he knows is that he can’t help but chuckle along with you. his chest swells with pride as you lean on the stone archway as the cacophony of giggles slows down.

you wipe the corner of your eyes, looking back at geto and ieiri as they eye you in confusion — but nonetheless give you a pity snicker in response.

“you’re hilarious, gojo — keep it up,” you finally say.

he beams boyishly at you, a warm wave of something washes over him albeit he can’t figure out what. “nice to know i still got it,” he asserted, making you give one last eye roll before you looked back at the stone steps leading to the front entrance.

you skipped forward and turned your body a bit to look at your classmates. the usual scowl on your face no longer evident anymore for it was replaced by a soft smile, one so foreign even to shoko who’s company you more or less enjoyed the most. she pursed her lips around the tobacco stick in an uncharacteristic curiosity, wondering what that fool could’ve done now to make you genuinely laugh.

“i’m gonna grab something from my dorm real quick, ‘kay?” although you were probably saying it to the group as a whole, gojo nodded eagerly as he flashed you a thumbs-up with a small, ‘okay’ as well.

he turned to shoko and geto as you rushed up the stairs and into the building, running along to the girls’ wing as they glared at him. “what?” his voice was too innocent to be gojo, just the sound of his “oblivion” made them want to facepalm. geto held a thumbs up as he mocked his friend’s earlier face while shoko have a light huff, the sound somewhere in between sounding both exasperated and entertained.

“th’hell was that?” she asked, finally stubbing the cigarette out with her shoe ( still keeping a pack on here though, you never know when you might need one. especially when you’re friends with the biggest idiot in tokyo ).

“what?” he repeated.

“nothin’,” geto shrugged, the tiny front piece he kept loose from his bun swaying as he shook his head. he shares a look with shoko that definitely throws gojo off though. he narrows his eyes at them, spectacles somewhat hiding the oceans that are his irises.

gojo crosses his arms. “you guys are just jealous that i can make a pretty lady laugh.”

“you— you don’t think . .” shoko trails off, her forehead crinkling as she looks like she’s trying to decipher something. gojo quirks a brow even though she was thinking aloud or possibly talking to geto instead — he still waits for her to finish her sentence. “what?” he repeats only to be met with a dismissive shake of the head from her.

he opens his mouth to ask what they’re talking about before he hears hasty shoes against stone and looks behind him to see you, walking back down with a small pin clasped in your hand that shimmers in the sun when you hold your hand up.

gojo’s eyes take their own route as they fly away from your palm, down your arm until it reaches your face — a fond smile written on your face like you had been claimed victorious. it made his own smile quirk back up again.

you only spare him a glance before you lope to shoko. he watches as you hand the item over to her before she takes it, a faint half-smile twitching on her lips bemusedly.

“so you can keep your bangs to the side,” you answer — even when no one has asked why you gave that pin to her. “i got it from osaka on that mission last month — thought it’d look cute on you.” geto cocks his head as he tunes out your conversation before shrugging and walking back over to gojo, hands shoved in his pockets.

he chuckles, “no need to pout, satoru.”

“i’m not pouting,” he placed a hand on his hip. unbeknownst to him, he totally was; whether it was unintentional or not. “she’s just playing favorites over here when i’m the one who so graciously invited her to start hanging out with us,” he frowns.

a laugh and a rough pat on the back from geto interrupted him from entering his soon incoming villain arc as he walked back over to you and ieiri, pulling his dramatic friend along with him. gojo’s ears perked up at your voice in the conversation once more.

“oh, you know i don’t like all those weird hair clips ‘n’ stuff—“

“don’t worry,” you lean over, brushing some of her bangs out of her face as you clip them to the side. gojo watches afar as your thin fingers work to cover the small pin with another piece of shoko’s hair, successfully getting it out of her face and concealing the pin in the process. you grin, mission accomplished.

pulling back, you watch as shoko touches her hair — smirking when she realizes how useful it’d be. she pats your head and looks at you before her eyebrows furrow; only then do you realize what she was focused on behind you.

“uh, where’s my souvenir?” your face instantly drops as you feel gojo’s chin on your shoulder, words purred dangerously low next to your ear.

“up your ass.”

“mind fetching it for me?”

“you’re disgusting—!” you push him off as he chortles, his eyes crinkling softly as bouts of laughter overtake him at your exaggerated reaction.

“we’re not gonna make it to shinjuku if you guys keep bickering like children,” you both hear geto chide. you look over to the entrance, a small smile on his face as he teases the both of you.

you scoff, stuffing your own hands in your pockets as you walk over to the dark haired man. “he started it,” you mutter.

he gasps. “nu-uh!”

“yu-huh,” you retort. he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation whilst shoko follows you and geto in return. gojo smirks as you huff and turn around, watching as his friend bumped hips with you on the way there, making mindless conversation.

the air wasn’t so bad, the light breeze felt more refreshing than over. he looked back over at shoko’s hair in thought.

perhaps he’d have to work harder at officially getting on your good side some other time, he thinks.

iii. the taste of blue raspberry

vibrant lights and loud video game chirps wasn’t exactly gojo’s scene despite how he always presented himself; extroverted and inherently obnoxious ( although, he’d prefer to use the word ‘comfortable’ rather than obnoxious whenever you’d refer to the latter ). all he could do was trail after you and shoko, geto following him as he observed the random teens and little kids accompanied with their parents that kept the arcade flowing.

cerulean eyes follow your movements in hopes that he’ll keep track of you. that he wont lose you in this crowd. he’ll occasionally look over at shoko and geto to make sure they’re still here, too.

“so, you chose a shitty arcade spot to hangout in? such poor taste,” he leans down over you, hoping that mild jabs and soft teasing will help keep his mind off of the fact that there’s snot nosed kids running around the already narrow spaces between the machines; their flat footsteps melding together with all the loud sounds as they become synchronized with the beat of the music.

your lips twist into a sneer at the sound of him, slowly turning your head to look behind you at the boy who grinned so slyly. gojo knew exactly what he was doing.

“would you rather have yaga put us to work and sweep the dorms?” you bat your eyelashes as he only smiles further, reveling in how you play along with his little game.

“i dunnooo.. wherever you go i go, i suppose.”

“such a flirt.”

“just being honest,” he puts his hands up defensively as he walks past you to a random machine that stands stationary in front of you, untouched with whirring, vibrant lights that glow brighter when he thumbs a few tokens in the slot at the bottom. as you hear the clinking of the coin hit against the curvature inside of the machine, the snow-haired boy turns to look at you with a boyish smile as he crouches down and points a finger to the blinking button saying, ‘play now!’

you have the urge to warn him about how the game is most likely rigged. you don’t. instead your parted lips close with a huff. gojo is said to be able to do anything, you remember, he’ll learn the hard way.

“you mind getting me a slush at the machines?” he says, lanky body extending to its full height as stands upright again.

“that’s so far — and scary,” you feign a pout. realistically, you were just too lazy to walk all the way over there and back for one item.

“take suguru with you,” he tips his head up to gesture in the direction of the dark haired friend, to whom you see looking out the glass doors at all the kids who run through the place.

so there you are, walking along with geto as you huff about how gojo could have gotten the drink himself. he hums occasionally, looking around and observing the environment to try and make sure you don’t run into anything during your chatter.

“he does care about you, though. you know that right?” his fingers sift through the yen in his palm, the coins clinking around as he grabs some and puts it into the thin slot of the slushee machine.

your lips press together as you hum almost dismissively, head cocked. the cup makes a soft thud against the metal as he puts the cup inside and closes the small glass opening. the machine whirs as he clicks the blue raspberry flavor almost like it’s muscle memory — the blue button lighting up with the white kana in front of it.

“you want something?” geto asks quietly, leaning down to interrupt your analysis.

the thought makes you crack a small smile as you think for a moment before turning to face him. “do you want something?” you inquire. “i’ll pay.”

he waves you off with a soft smile. “it’s alright, i’m not much into sweets.”

you grab gojo’s cup out of the dispenser, putting a clear lid and straw in it as you grab another disposable cup. if you were going to get a slushee, you weren’t going to let geto pay for it by himself. the whirring of machine’s drink being poured almost drowns out the loud, coinciding beeps and animated sounds of the nearby screens you both hear.

“then let me buy you something when we get out of here,” you smile at him.

you fail to notice the way his face softens at you when you’re too busy grabbing the cup, licking off the excess that spills over onto your thumb as you laugh. his smile falters a bit, before he walks with you back to go get shoko and gojo.

you scoff at the sight of the white haired man smirking at the pixelated screen, pointing it out to you and geto. the two of you lean over as you heard gojo sip on the drink while you roll your eyes at the big blue kanji in bold spelling out, ‘top score: satoru gojo’.

“thought you weren’t a fan of blue raspberry,” you hear from behind you.

already, you see the man in question leaning on geto as he looks at you with a quirked brow. you look down at your cup. ah, you think, guess you did. your expression must give something away because you hear shoko amusedly huff next to you.

you shrug. “guess i just wanted to try something new.”

clearly a mistake because his smile only widens as he slings an arm around your shoulder too. “nah, you know what i’m thinking?”

“you never think.” that earns you a flick to the forehead.

he leans down. “i think i’m rubbing off on you,” he laughs.

you try to push him off of you yet he manages to let his weight relax as you struggle to keep him up, “gojo, you ass,” you mutter.

he turns to look at you, his smile looks different. feels different. “call me satoru,” he beams.

iv. ‘the star plasma vessel?’

riko amanai is a pretty girl, you think. you have no idea why she wanted to be the star plasma vessel in the first place. you weren’t there when satoru and suguru went to go meet her, instead hearing her version of the story where they practically tortured her — and knowing the boys, you’re not quite sure that she wasn’t exaggerating.

she likes you, definitely favoring you a little more than tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, you think as you pointedly look at the pair of friends, walking ahead of you.

you look down at riko’s arm interlocked with yours and smile. “so,” you whistle, “what do you think of those two?”

her green eyes dart up to yours before looking at suguru and satoru and squinting. “they’re interesting, that’s for sure,” she mumbles. her lips twist into a sneer-like pout just at the sight of them, evoking a lighthearted chuckle from you. you fail to notice the way satoru’s head turns to look at you ever so slightly at the sound.

it makes riko grin as you playfully bump your hip with hers. satoru had never seen you so lax. maybe because the young girl was easier to handle than himself. he didn’t mind seeing you like this, but he couldn’t deny that it was pretty fun to work you up, too.

he smiles at the thought of your puffed cheeks with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes burning holes into him as he would flick your forehead for the third time in a row.

“what’s gotten you all cheesy?” he hears suguru inquire from beside him, tearing his eyes away from the stone road beneath him to look at his snow-haired friend. “eh? just thinking about stuff,” satoru replies.

suguru hums, his hand still shoved in his uniform’s pocket. “you sure it has nothing to do with—“

“a-tat-tat-tat—!” satoru waves a hand in front his friends face, holding another finger up as a gesture for him to silence. “what’d we say about sharing private stuff in public, suguru?”

“i can’t help it, some ‘gossip’ is too hot,” he shrugs.

“that does not help me—“

“what gossip are you guys talking about?” riko chimes, crossing her arms as the two of them look at her. you quirk a brow yourself.

if he’d had known better, satoru would’ve flinched at the rough hand you had smacked down on his shoulder. his eyes flickered towards you, already spotting the sly smile on your face. fuck you for being so beautiful, he thinks.

“yeah, what gossip are you guys talking back?” you press. he scoffs, waving you off as he continues walking. your lips press into a pout as you cross your arms as well, mimicking riko’s motions as you two whisper about whatever. suguru laughs at the two of you — only a few days and you guys were already twins.

sometimes the thought made your smile falter ever so slightly, knowing that you had to escort her only in a day or two was saddening. but for now, you’ll enjoy the smiles and pats on the back — knowing you’d have to part soon was only so minuscule in a world drowned in familiarity.

you intertwine your fingers with hers instead and swing your arms back and forth before you turn your head to your aforementioned friend.

“hey suguru, what do you say we show riko-chan here that little coffee shop downtown?” you ask, watching as he turns his attention away from his small flip phone’s messaging system ( as he’s most likely texting shoko and making fun of satoru in the process ) before his eyebrows raise with a soft smile.

you hear satoru huff again as his head whips around to look at you. stifling a laugh, you take in his furrowed brows and jutted lip as he sulks.

“hey, why don’t i know about any secret coffee shop downtown?”

“we had just found it walking around one day,” suguru deflects.

“and you didn’t tell me about this super-cool-top-secret-no-satoru café?”

you beam before resting your hand on his shoulder. satoru swears electricity shoots through his nerves as he turns to look at you. he wouldn’t spoil it now, but he’s seventy percent sure that this is the first time you’ve touched him without pushing him ( or as he’d like to call it, abusing him ) away.

“don’t be so jealous, satoru,” he ignores the way you call of his name makes a pit settle in his stomach. you turn to riko, “we’ll share the spot, yeah?”

“if you say so,” suguru puts his hands up in playful submission. satoru only chuckles.

your laugh synchronizes with the sounds around you, like music to satoru’s ears whilst you skip ahead with riko and scan your perimeter. everything sounds clearer now; the birds outside zipping around trees, chairs and drinks clinking, a heavy pair of distant footsteps that you can only assume is the trailing of a few people on their way to the same place.

but none of that really matters, although you’re sure everything does. all these sounds are apart of you and you’re willing to make the most of it. you walk hand in hand with riko as the boys follow in suit.

you scoff at the way satoru pulls the chair out for you before sitting himself in his own and kicking his feet up. his brow quirks cockily at the sound. “ah, so you’re only nice to me when amanai is around?”

“someone’s still gotta keep you in your place, satoru.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughs, tipping his head back lazily as his hands fold over his chest. suguru huffs and grabs his friend’s feet before shoving them back down onto the cement. “decency, satoru?”

“ehh,” he groans, only peeking an eye at suguru before closing them again and letting his body go lax. you shake your head and laugh, watching as riko eyes him in annoyance. they’ll warm up to each other eventually, you think — and you can tell suguru feels the same.

“this is so cool—!” you chuckle at the way the young girl gleams at the intricate details of the outdoor table and the faint music playing from inside the café. her green eyes shimmer in the light, you notice; perhaps maybe just curiosity glinting in them. she’s only fourteen.

your eyes flicker around your environment yourself, hearing the mindless chatter that riko and suguru partake in about, presumably about what they’re going to do next. you squint at the distance, seeing an unusually tall man towering over a few people as he looks in your direction. your lips purse as you narrow your eyes at him further before he tilts his head up and turns away.

you watch as he walks away, his toned back all you see before you hear a mumble of your name and a tap of your foot.

you look over to see satoru, who stares at you with an indecipherable expression — something between an uncharacteristic curiosity and a standoff-ish glow. your head tilts before you look back over at the front of the café. that man is gone.

you turn back to see satoru leaning over the table with a sly smile. “penny for your thoughts?”

you shake your head and dismiss him with a weary smile and a lazy shake of your hand. “just looking around,” you say — even if you know that you can’t fool satoru gojo, his eyebrows only pinch a bit before slightly rotating his head to look behind him a bit.

“you want a sweet?” you ask, tapping his side of the table to get his attention.

had his eyes always looked so piercing, you think to yourself, as you feel something move around in your chest. rearranging itself along with the soft onomatopoeic thumps of the organ that lays inside.

he hesitates. “nah, i’ll get something on the way back later.”

“who are you and what have you done with satoru?” you chuckle. he ignores the way the usage of his given name makes him feel, the way you say it — syllables still fresh on your tongue. instead, he laughs along with you while looking over to his friend. he doesn’t know what he expected, suguru was always observant; so why was he so surprised to see him looking at the two of you with a raised brow?

you look back at riko before gasping out a small laugh at her chubby cheeks, full of food as she eats it like it’s the last meal she’ll ever have. it only makes your grin grow wider when her eyes meet yours, like a deer in headlights whilst she stops chewing. you both take a pause, even when the boys turn to look at you as well — before you burst out into bouts of laughter. riko’s giggles are muffled by the parfait that’s swelled in her cheeks but she covers her mouth with a polite hand as she tries not to choke.

your cheeks feel warm with the way they stretch to curl into a smile. suguru and satoru exchange a look before satoru smiles right along with you. it wasn’t so bad, he thinks. if amanai made you act like this then maybe he didn’t mind her as much as he thought. his foot taps against the concrete underneath the table. he can feel something wriggling around in his chest.

v. deficit

riko amanai’s beauty, no longer will it be seen as the white sheet frames her features instead, you think.

the deafening sound of applause almost takes your mind off of satoru’s expression; only coldness lies within his features, now.

your hand clutches your side, even with the greatness of the stitches that shoko had blessed your wounds with — you could almost still feel his knife in your abdomen. the stinging never seemed to go away. the clapping doesn’t help, all of your senses are occupied on trying to focus on satoru.

with the close proximity of suguru next to you, you can feel the way his hand twitches against his side while he looks at riko, or more so, the sheet that covers her. you can feel his horror, too. just a couple of days ago, she was fourteen, trotting along tokyo with you

you’re almost upset you weren’t there for her death, you weren’t there to comfort her in her last moments or save her at all. you were only there for the aftermath, the same man who you saw at the coffee shop just days prior. you look at suguru to your right — who knows what he’s gone through, you think.

and yet throughout all the booms of cheers and applause, you can hear satoru’s voice and your head whirls back to him. you almost don’t recognize it when he utters, “i screwed up, it’s not your fault.”

your hand comes up to gently rest upon your mouth in a soft gasp as your eyes try not to trail down to where riko’s shoe clad feet swing with satoru’s steps, the only part of her that’s left unsheathed from the horror of what’s underneath the cover.

his next words come out muffled yet you know you couldn’t escape them even if you tried, so close yet so far to avoidance — but you know you heard him clearly.

he calls your name, then suguru’s. “should we kill these guys?” your stomach churns, the pain in your side gets worse — your head hurts and it feels like you don’t know where you are at one point. you start to question whether anything is real at this point. he adds, “i doubt i’d feel anything about it.”

his eyes don’t dart to yours like they had the few mornings prior, before you had gone to escort the young girl. he had smiled and slapped a comforting hand on your shoulder once you explained how you had a bad feeling. you still do. you wonder if there’s any other feelings you could have, anymore.

you hear suguru’s soft mutter next to you, the applause only simmering down as you try to hyper-focus on his voice. perhaps to ground you, or perhaps you couldn’t escape it; a reminder of what this world is really like. “no,” he says. “there wouldn’t be a point.”

your vision glosses over into a blur and you go to look at the light above you, florescent and blinding. your heart hurts and you do your best not to clutch it through the fabric of your uniform, you can’t be seen like this, you think. you can’t let them see what’s happening to you.

fingers digging into your palm, you tune the rest of suguru’s voice out; even though you can feel his eyes on you regardless. instead, the pair of your own follow satoru, seeing riko’s hand, partially crusted with the leftover pool of blood that had flowed beside her head, swing lifelessly as he walks past the two of you.

your brows knit closer together as you stare at him. everything clips in and out. the noise, the cheers, suguru’s voice slowly melding into satoru’s. “no point, huh?” he huffs. “does there need to be a point?”

“of course there does,” suguru snaps back. mauve irises are nothing but void now, his eyes only fixated on the ground a few feet in front of him. “especially for jujutsu sorcerers.”

your eyes burn with the way they’ve been mindlessly gazing at the snow-haired boy, the back of his head the only thing you can catch a glimpse of behind suguru’s dark hair. it doesn’t feel like they can close, only the sheen layer of oncoming tears coating them so they don’t entirely dry out. “satoru,” you breathe — and with the way things are going, you’re surprised to see cerulean eyes turn to meet yours.

suguru doesn’t bother to look at you since he can already anticipate the crumbling feeling of guilt when he sees your expression. it doesn’t matter anyway. it almost feels like nothing does.

glossed lips don’t part like how they’d usually do, they don’t even grace you with the smallest sight of a smirk like how satoru always would. you’re not quite sure why you whisper his name, what you’ll even say. maybe a mantra that only connects the two of you, something that’ll keep you sane.

he keeps his eyes locked on you for a second more before turning his head and walking away. your hand comes to grasp at your side. the stinging comes back.

vi. pinky promises (of two)

sentimentality was a privilege in a world of jujutsu — you learned, after riko. sensitivity wasn’t trained into sorcerers, in fact, you’d say it was actually trained out of them. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be sensitive. although, surrounded by the strong, tears burned hot on your skin and your hand burned even harder when they’d come up to wipe them away.

the birds outside the encapsulated feeling of the trees chirp, showcasing what once looked golden now is tainted with a dull grey that seems to gloss over everything now. your eyes feel droopy, no longer laced with sleep but with the dread that’ll come with the rest of the day.

you wonder how satoru’s doing, how shoko’s doing. how suguru’s doing. his face looks thinner, you noticed as you think back from the recollection of your faded memories from two mornings ago. he won’t go out with you as often, you wonder how badly it fucked him up. you wonder if anything will be the same again.

you run a frustrated hand through your hair, cringing at the way oil meets your fingers. you know you have to wash your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to. it almost feels like a chore, combined along with your classes and being put on your ass every time when you try to spar with satoru.

(he always says he’ll go easy on you and let you win. you huff in annoyance — he never does.)

despite all the breaths of fresh air you try to take, your lungs can never feel free of the burden that they’re tainted with. you close your eyes and savor the heat of the bark against your palm, in hopes that it’ll finally soothe the ache in your chest like how it did all those weeks ago — at the beach in okinawa.

you remember the warmth of the sand against your skin, smacking your hands together when you’d sit upright to rid your skin of the small golden flecks. you remember seeing riko and gojo splashing each other in the water as you heard kuroi and suguru’s soft voices conversation from beside you. the feeling of your hair tied, the brightness of the sun drowning your skin. it’s so vivid in your mind, you wonder if everything was all a dream, sometimes.

a raspy voice breaks your reverie as it excuses itself before you move your propped leg and look down below you. a faint smile finds its way to your lips as you see a familiar brown bob accompanied by the scent of tobacco and rose body spray.

“so distant out here,” she cranes her neck up at you with pressed lips, you internally sigh in relief at the lack of a cigarette that’s usually rested between them. a small pout forms on your lips at her extended arm, looking down at her hand and then back up at her with a cocked head. “i’d say with more to do out here, i would understand why.”

you huff. “i was brutally injured not too long ago, and this is how you treat your favorite patient, let alone favorite friend?” shoko smirks with an entertained scoff.

“i don’t see utahime around here anywhere.”

“shoko!”

she snickers as she makes her way over to the grass, the plush dirt cold against her upper thighs as she unceremoniously plops down onto it. you begrudgingly ( but not really, as the lack of social interaction practically burns your throat ) hop down from the branches of the tree, the heat finally capturing you in all of its glory as you carefully sit down next to shoko.

“always reminiscing, huh?” she asks. you can see the way she fidgets with the turtleneck of her uniform, presumably from the antsy withdrawal of her cigs. you give a small hum — whether it’s an affirmation or not, you don’t know. all you know is that it’s a noise that escapes you, now only a rare sight for the people closest to you.

your tongue tingles with the longing of verbosity. eager to say something, except the brunette beats you to it first. “i get it,” she sighs. “it’s nice to be alone out here.”

“we can’t ever be alone with those two idiots,” you remind her playfully, a chuckle managing to slip past your lips as she groans at the mention of the two familiar boys.

“how’s satoru doing?” you ask softly, plucking at the dewy grass that lay beneath you. shoko looks at you quizzically from out of the corner of her eye before closing her eyes with a snorted laugh. your heads whips around to look at her as you see her head shaking fondly.

a small, contagious huff makes it way out of you at the sight before she looks back at you, honey eyes narrowing once she realizes that you’re genuinely asking. her smile never falters, though ( which is usually a bad sign considering of the sadistic streak you’ve seen her partake in ).

“have you got it for the satoru gojo?”

you gape. “i don’t—! i just,” lips pursed, you huff and tilt your chin up with crossed arms. “the escort was a bust, just wanted to see if his ego wasn’t too hurt.”

at your brash synopsis; your ears grow hot when you realize shoko definitely doesn’t believe you — especially with the way she hunches over a fit of silent snickers.

“shut up.”

“ah, i won’t bully you,” her lips twist into a grin. “for now.”

“shoko!” you throw your head upwards while you fall back and ragdoll, your back hitting the solid dirt beneath you as you put your arms over your head, blocking the sun’s view from your eyes.

all you can feel is the ache in your stomach, even with your friend’s reversed cursed technique, you can still feel the knife that once pierced the flesh linger on. your lips twist until you hear the shuffling of weeds and dirt swipe next to you. you turn your head, lifting your arm only to see the brunette scooting closer. she pauses, “what?”

“you don’t wanna lay down with me?” you feign a pout as you look up at her on propped elbows, the corner of your lip quirking up when you see how unenthusiastic she looks with your antics.

“you can get bugs on you,” she chimes before leaning against the bark of the tree.

“it’s nature, sho.”

“some of it’s pretty gross. you ever see tortoises fuck?”

“you’re so weird,” you laugh before rolling on your back again and looking back up at the sky; eyes gazing at the sun until when you look away, you see faded, floating shapes in your trajectory. she snickers too, looking up at the sky, too.

she’s starting to get eye bags, you notice — the fold of skin forming under her eyes along with faint, darkened circles that sit right under her splayed bottom lashes. unable to blame her, you simply lay there and stare. your eyes still pick up on the way she fiddles with her thumbs placed in her lap, pale yet irritated hands a stark contrast to the darkness of her uniform.

“y’know if it’s me you want instead of gojo, you can say so,” she laughs, interrupting your analysis with how hard you were staring. but this time, you don’t say anything. nothing at all, not even a small twitch of your lips in annoyance or a giggle to her joke, you simply keep staring at me.

she barely tilts her head yet it’s enough for you to notice. she finally asks, “something you’re thinking about?”

the words sit heavy on your tongue, laced with a bitterness you could only describe as filth. “do you ever wonder what’ll happen when we’re older?”

“what do you mean?”

“look at what happened, now.”

her brows relax. “oh.”

shoko’s lips pout out a little bit as she looks off into the horizon, where the school lays dormant with only few staff occasionally walking out or a few students walking out to their drivers to participate in another assignment.

your hands feel hollow with the way they’re too weak to even ball your fists, so you swallow the pit that forms in the hollow crevice of your throat and look back up at the sky.

“we’ll be together forever, right, shoko?”

you hold out your pinky to her — and despite her scoff, she interlocks hers with yours anyways.

vii. words left unsaid, words always heard

“you think it’ll get any better?”

your turn your head to the velvet voice emerging from the shadows, tensing in your spot atop the dorm balcony as you slowly look behind you. long hair is seen first; thick, ebony silk cascading down suguru’s thin t-shirt. you can’t count how many days you’ve seen him wearing that familiar white oversized tee, you wonder if it’s become a second skin for him at this point.

you hum at his presence, turning back to the dark sky that lay before you. looking at the exterior of the school that lay in the courtyard, painted with darkness as only the soft glimmer of moonlight embraces them, embraces you.

“you act like everything will go to shit.”

“i’m not saying that,” his tone is sharp — no longer smooth as how it used to be, he sounds on edge, like the rubber band inside of his throat will snap at any moment.

you hear a few small steps shuffle closer to you whilst you turn around and lean your body forward, the metal of the railing cool against the sweat of your arms. another nightmare, geto notes; from the way your hair is still frazzled and your breaths come out heavy with few quick intervals of inhalation.

you could feel his presence beside you, the aura of tensity thickening the air as you struggled not to say anything. you could feel his eyes on you, observing you. suguru was always observant somehow — you wonder how long he had been that way before you had found out. he was a very interesting boy, you learned early on.

“i never said you did,” your lips twisted like something sour fell damp in your mouth. “you’ve just changed, suguru.”

“have you not changed also?”

closing your eyes, you hope for one more breeze to pass through — for one opportunity, for one sign that’ll release you from this energy. it doesn’t.

“suguru—”

“don’t you ever wonder how the world would be,” a pregnant pause wriggles its way into the two of you, “without curses?”

you look at him only to see violet eyes focused straight ahead of him. he doesn’t glance at you nor even breathe in your direction, his shoulders don’t seem as tense though.

you shake your head with a breathy laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”

you lean further to try and alleviate the pain in your stomach, a churning inside of your gut that gives you a bad feeling just at the thought of it. sharing a look, your heads turn toward each other in the moonlight — he looks paler, you notice. sickly.

“hasn’t everybody? or at least hasn’t every jujutsu user?” you mumble.

( you notice suguru pauses, an uncharacteristic habit that he’s slowly developed — once always so sure and witty with his remarks, now wilted with the uncertainness that’s plagued him. )

“why do we exist?” he finally says.

your eyes dart around, stomach finally squeezing at the discomfort you feel at his question; yet you laugh it off anyway.

“philosophical, are we?” you meager a forced grin, although it only falters slightly once you feel him sigh out a breathy laugh. “a human’s purpose on earth is undefined, i don’t really know the answ—“

“i mean as a jujutsu sorcerer: what is our purpose?”

“i don’t know where you’re going with this,” you finally say. suguru takes a step back and stops resting against the railing. you look down at the high drop, then back at the sky — you wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions, but you can’t help but look at him out of the corner of your peripheral.

( at your absence of an answer, he fills in the quietude for you. )

“we fight curses, right? to protect civilians?” he runs a hand through his dark hair, the sweaty strands connecting with the callouses that lie embedded his fingertips.

you swallow. “uh-huh.”

“but who’s saving us?”

your lips twist into a small pout as you try to comprehend the underlying meaning of his words, you wonder what sort of plan he’s dancing around — why he can’t share it with you. he always shared everything with you.

( your mind mainly focuses on that one blanket that he would always hog when he was over, fleece and blue with white polka dots; now faded and worn, and you’re pretty sure it has one hole in it from when satoru tried pulling it towards him at the foot of the bed. )

“curses are created from human negative energy, the shit that stirs within non-sorcerers that finally manifests itself,” he spits. you don’t move.

“i know what you saw out there. about r—”

you cut him off. the topic ends at the beat of your heart.

suguru calls your name softly, looking back at you with furrowed brows and an inquisitive look upon his face. he seems like he’s genuinely considering this, you think.

a pause ensues, and all you hear are the distant chirps of crickets that inhabit the area. suguru doesn’t, he only looks at you — his ears drowning out any other noises besides the soft breathing exerted from him. he doesn’t seem fazed, he’s thought about this for a while — regardless of your answer, even though he knows it’ll hurt him either way.

“satoru,” you mutter.

“what about him?”

“he doesn’t know?”

“the burden he carries is unlike no other, and i have a feeling we can change that.” he places a soft hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his hand spreading along your arm and only furthering your nausea. “i think you know that, too.”

you turn on your heel, feet similar to lead as it takes everything within you to turn away and head back past the glass, trying to make it back to your dorm before a deft hand catches your wrist. it’s bordering tight, but your head whips around to see him nonetheless.

“promise, right?” his other hand holds out his pinky — almost ironic in a way. you can feel your eyelids heating with the oncoming wave of tears threatening to spill. you can’t though, not now.

it takes a second or two but you apprehensively bring your hand to interlock pinkies, a childish but fond gesture the four of you had always done.

soon, he will have coffee and crepes in the street. he’ll breathe in bliss. empty his cup of its grief, for the new life he will lead — you think.

“promise.”

viii. satoru gojo - the strongest

satoru gojo often feels like he’s not as strong as he can be.

how silly is that?

goodness, to him, is adjacent to a rock flowing slowly through the rapids. he’ll float there first. although, he knows it’ll follow him — he can only hope he’ll meet you in the river, up to his knees, both hands full of something good, like silverfish wriggling for the waters.

a bright, childlike grin on his face as it meets your sheepish one, as if when he were to meet you as a child — being your friend would be worth more than being the heir of the gojo clan. his yukata dirtied and muddy from the cross contaminated water, soaked and dripping once the two of you would make it onto the small rocks. he would’ve been punished by the elders for the mess he had created, but he wonders if it would have made a difference.

he wonders, if you had been there, whether you would have made a difference.

he knows you’ve made one now.

and when he hears the news from yaga, he can’t help but clench his fists like his heart had clenched alongside it. his head pounds with blood thumping through his veins as yaga’s voice muffles.

he doesn’t remember much — he remembers being told about you and suguru, he remembers yelling, he remembers the hot tears that welled up in his lashes as he walked away. he remembers going back to your dorm room, opening your door, and feeling his gut drop at the sight of it.

satoru remembers the lingering scent of your body spray and how it engulfed your room. the small scratches satoru had carved into your desk with a pencil once he had tried tutoring you (it ended horribly and you didn’t get anything done, a smile threatens to tug at his lips at the memory).

the small notes you used to pass in class with shoko folded neatly in an organizer. he picks one up and squints at the shaky kanji of shoko’s handwriting bunched up on the page compared to the way your characters floated on the small ripped piece of paper.

‘did you do #14?’ he read shoko’s.

yours read, ‘yep’.

he could almost laugh at her last response — which read, ‘nerd.’

he wonders how you’re doing with suguru — satoru wants to believe you had no part in the massacre he had inflicted on the village but there’s no way to no for sure, all they can tell is that they found one was suguru’s buttons on the scene. his fingers run along your sheets, neat and made from the days before you had left — he feels his breathing quicken at the sight of your fluffed pillows.

(you knew you were leaving, and that part hurts the most.)

his eyes dance around the decorations of your room, littered with cheery figurines and souvenirs from past missions in shibuya or sapporo, ones you’d always have to march back into satoru’s room for because you knew he had taken at least one.

he had never told you that the only reason he did that wasn’t to be obnoxious, but so that he could pull you into his room and coax you to stay a little longer — how he’d promise you wouldn’t get into trouble with yaga if you just went out for a plate of takoyaki in the middle of the night.

when he had seen suguru in shinjuku that day, all he could think about was that he wanted to tell you — how he wanted to just see you, even if it was only a glimpse; even if you hadn’t said anything to him. he just wanted to see you.

words lingered in his brain, suguru’s request burned into his head. because he didn’t come to fight, he didn’t come with aggression. he only requested that he saw his side, too. a part of him was relieved you weren’t there with him, because he was always weak to you — it would’ve made it so much harder, he thinks.

has he always felt this way about you? feeling what way? what the fuck is he thinking? he doesn't even know.

there's a big, hot, white ball of something within him — something wiry inside of his gut that cuts and scrapes at every edge inside his intestines. satoru doesn’t know what it is but he’s never felt this way before.

but he’ll go outside, and he’ll see shoko or wave to his classmates. he’ll hear the whispers float around in the halls, overshadowing the faint sound of soft laughs he used to hear when he’d bump hips with you when you would take your daily rounds — to help with the dreams you had, you said.

satoru gojo didn’t get nightmares, he just woke up with once again another weight on his shoulders the next morning, groggy with the idea of obligations that would only pile up on him. and although satoru never dared to dream when he was asleep ( nor did he know how to dream when he was awake ), he would only pretend to so that he could roam around at night in search of you.

and when he’d find your figure, shaky breaths escaping your lungs with disheveled hair and tear stained eyes — so beautifully illuminated by the celestial pearl in the sky, the only beacon of light suspended in velvet darkness. you’d look up at the moon, perhaps with a prayer in mind, as you’d only think about what to do next.

like always, he’d sneak up behind you. only this time, he wouldn’t startle you with a playful call of your name or tap your shoulder and be on the other side to confuse you. he’d merely slip behind you in silence, leaning against the railing of the open-view gap that’d let you view the outside of the high school. he’d feel you glance at him with a wobbly bottom lip, swollen from the chewing you’d had to do just to silence your cries.

satoru wouldn’t say anything. but you knew why he was there.

(or at least, why you thought he was there.)

your head would drop low with eyes screwed shut, and only satoru could hear the quaky breath you’d take as you’d try to compose yourself. azure eyes would rake across your figure with a furrowed brow, he never understood why you were so emotional — yet he’d lay a comforting hand on your back anyway. you’d savor the warmth of his palm with only more tears building up in your lashes.

he’s strong. he has to be — whether it’s for you, for suguru, for jujutsu society; doesn’t matter. that’s neither here nor there. for now, satoru will nurse the thought of your memory until it bleeds and stains the very bed he dreams of you in — knowing he’ll awake the next morning and jolt at your absence. he’ll then wash his face, hold his head high, and walk right back outside. the hurts only scabs over for the day before he opens it up again the same night.

ix. migration

“you— what?”

“i’m going to the states.”

geto’s lips quirk into a soft pout, one you’ve gotten accustomed to for the past few years.

“how come?” he asks softly, albeit you almost frown at his tone. a sound that had come to be so comforting — it tingles at your bones in small zaps and shivers. it makes you feel terrible, but you can’t help but indulge in the feeling.

“always wanted to go,” you shrug. your eyes glance to the girls’ bedroom; the two twins suguru had found in that small village that had come to be but a large pile of ash and dismay. hand still warm from tucking the two of them in, it fills you with bitter sweetness.

his eyes linger on your face — you can tell he doesn’t believe you because he always has this tell, where his lips will shift to the side momentarily as he presses them together, almost in thought. you’re not sure you believe yourself, either.

staying in japan does nothing for you but weigh you down with the slow, imminent guilt that swells your chest from the fact that you’re stuck here. of course, it wasn’t an involuntary choice to go with suguru — you felt you had no other choice but to escape the things you had seen at the place that had hurt you most.

although, you can’t help but think about the boy who’s hair lights up the room, who’s eyes can see right through you — it’s almost unsettling how much you remember the flecks of blue and detail within them, practically painting the sky in those colored irises. often times, you’ll lie awake at night; hands folded neatly over your chest as the external stimulus of the outside world provide you with a sense of security, realness.

the expensive eau de cologne of his lingers in your nose, the almost spice of the musk permanently altering your brain that’s only triggered when you walk past advertisers outside of the store trying to sell a similar scent.

you swear your eyes don’t water, even though no one’s presence is there but yours — so there’s really nothing to swear about. you just don’t want to seem like something you’re so foreign to; vulnerability. letting the tears flow down the curve of your cheekbones. you don’t wipe your eyes for it’s the only reminder you have left that that boy exists.

so the next morning, you’ll wake up. slumped over from the thing that eats at your bones, your cursed energy being the only thing you can feel running through you.

fingertips coated with the smallest bit of dust, the leather cover of the suitcase is practically unused save for the few times you’d use it when you’d be sent to the outskirts of japan for certain missions. you almost smile at the faint memories that cloud your brain around that time; shoko’s quiet laughs while utahime and you would whine at small inconveniences on the trip. stopping by certain food stalls that weren’t available in tokyo, trying new things — it makes you miss it.

but you know you can’t go back now.

you pretend not to notice the watery eyes of nanako and mimiko once they see you walking out of the door, nor do you notice suguru watching you walk out the door all the same; the robes clinging onto his figure disfiguring him into a man you no longer knew.

the soft smile that once lied on his young face now replaced by one of feigned amicability; like a customer service smile. you’ve known him over a decade and yet it seems like the two of you’ve only been roommate faintly acquainted with each other. it makes your heart thump a little harder.

you pretend not to feel the way your throat closes up as a single tear courses down your skin; leaving a residue that coats the linear path trickling down your cheek — this time, you wipe your eyes.

x. (not so) divine intervention

tongue sticking heavy in your mouth, any form of noise that you could’ve possibly made dying on your throat. your hands feel a surge of pressure through them, fingers twitching along as the gears in your head turn.

you look different, he takes note of. your hairs parted a little different, a few inches of extra length added on as well. a smile tugs at his lips; one full of mirth and almost jocularity. you look so clean, healthy — strong. there’s potential, he realizes, as he searches suguru’s memory bank of you; your face making a constant reoccurrence throughout his mind. the day you left, you cooking for the girls next to him, you lying next to him, your tears that night.

his half-smile only grows wider.

he cocks a brow before he holds his hand up in salutations. he says your name, but it’s not how he would usually say it. it’s almost raspier, lower. your lips press together as you examine him, your eyes keep flitting back up to his head — intricate stitches wrapping around the width of his forehead.

“hey,” geto looks you up and down. “shrimp.”

tilting your head up, you roll your eyes at the nickname before continuing to walk forward. you don’t know what you expected because he follows you anyway, hands clasped together under the warmth of the sleeves of his robes.

his soft footsteps easily match your quick ones, stern and at least trying to flee. you don’t wanna look at him, whether that’s because you know you’ll crumble or because you’re so upset, you don’t know. all you know is that you can’t look at him now. even when he observes the bustling streets of and makes passing comments about the citizens of tokyo.

“i wasn’t sure that you had gotten back — how come you didn’t find me?” he asks, and you know it’s only because he’s fishing.

you spare him a glance out of your peripheral. you frown softly, it doesn’t even look like suguru anymore. paler skin, thinner cheekbones, lips now a lighter shade of pink with small cracks lining them. an angry, irritated color begins to form around his forehead where the stitches lay, the thread sunken so deep in his skin that it makes your own head hurt at the probable tightness.

you quietly exhale, but you know he can hear the shaky breath that comes along with it. “didn’t know if you were busy.”

“you know i can always manage some time for you,” he smiles bittersweetly. tilting his head up, he looks up at the tall buildings that surround you, admiring the straying leaves falling from the trees. one floats down and makes its way onto your head — your eye twitches as he plucks its off your hair before holding it up to his view.

you take your time to look at it, too. it’s starting to brown with the oncoming seasonal change, an amorphous combination of a golden crisp and veranda green.

“i’ve been meaning to ask your help with something,” he doesn’t look at you, still trained on the leaf. “only if you’re ready to be my partner in crime, again." he smiles at you, one that seems more like suguru. it’s confident and teasing, and with the way he leans a little more forward brings you memories of his old demeanor back in high school, the way him and—

you pause, because for a moment, you swear you could’ve seen a glimpse of white hair behind him. it’s almost concerning how quickly your blood runs cold at the thought. it’s not out of dissent nor is it out of a manifest of obscureness to which you’ve rendered him to.

but once you hear geto speak of his name — it’s like you crumble all over again. your hands going soft and clammy, your chest surging with an almost sort of giddiness at the thought of him again. just like a wishful coin in a pond, it’s beautiful to know that there are still glimmers of this feeling. even this deep in.

“suguru?” you tilt your head back, meeting his relaxed gaze as he halts his movements.

“hm?”

“what are those?” you gesture to your own forehead, keeping your eyes locked on your head as you talk about the stitches on his own. you don’t get a reply.

after that, you don’t pay attention half-way through his explanation, stopping him again with a closer step forward as he talks about some sort of plan. really, the only thing you listen to is the small glimpses you hear of satoru’s name. he talks about something going on in shibuya, he talks about jujutsu high — and you would be lying if you said that the mention of the school didn’t make you a little sad.

you wonder what satoru’s doing, you wonder what shoko’s doing. hopefully, you’ll see them soon — even if it’s just in passing. you know nothing will be the same as it was before, but you can help but wonder what they’re doing now.

you won’t know her now — but as she puffs the remaining tobacco through the small opening of her swollen lips, shoko shakes her head and looks down at her pinky. she wonders if that promise had gone down the drain like you had. she swears she can feel the corners of her eyes dampen a little.

and you won’t know it either — but satoru can’t help but see you everywhere he looks. when he sees the first years walking back home from the mission, he trails behind them just to get the view of them lined up together; yuuji bumping hips with megumi while all he gets is a glare in return. nobara looks up on the sky and drags her feet out of boredom, spewing off mindless bits of chitchat about how she totally ‘did that’.

his neck will crane up to the horizon as his lips only recite your nothings. all he is sees is sunset, yet he’s scarred with the melancholy he carries. he’ll try to close his eyes, your hands coming up to his collarbones before you press down. until he’s bruised with incompetence; until his shame has configured the astronomical.

and satoru will smile, a slew of memories seeping back into the curves of his brain as he thinks back to those times of you — of suguru, shoko, nanami. he never stopped hurting that day, but he can’t help but smile at the sight of something begun anew.

oh well, satoru thinks — he can only wonder to what you’re doing now. something inside him hopes for a day where he’ll see you soon. he’ll wait for the day where he’ll see you soon.

𐙚 holy shit i did it

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𐙚 requests are open — november thirteenth, 2024

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